Stage 16: Rouen - Le Havre - Portsmouth - Hamble

And so after three weeks on the road we came to the final leg of the Probert 2011 challenge - an insane valley ride from Rouen to Le Havre (see what I did there?...Seine...valley) and then from Portsmouth back to Hamble-le-Rice and home. It was another early start because we had to be at the ferry by midday, a blast of 56 miles through northern Normandy to the coast. As we hauled ourselves onto our bikes for the last stage we realised that by the end of today we would have done nearly 200 miles in two days ....but it would be worth it - we'd be back on Sarah's birthday!

What role would the GPS play today - hero or villain? It all looked good as we typed in our destination and it came up with a "avoiding main roads" route of 56 miles. Even at a fairly steady pace we should do that comfortably. We wound our way out of Rouen and northwards down the Seine valley, the road being mainly level apart from the odd river valley coming to join the Seine. Progress was good with each team member taking their share of leading and sheltering the others from the northerly headwind. By 9.30 we were half way and we reckoned we were about 45 mins ahead of schedule - enough for a patisserie pit stop.  

We continued at good pace and things were looking very good until we came across a "route barree" sign as we began our descent of a steep hill. With the misplaced bravado of many previous experiences where this proves to be only applicable to motorists we continued down the hill passing several lorries, diggers, and frenchman frantically waving their arms.....before seeing a road completely blocked by rocks and foliage. OK this one really was barree then, and we had to sheepishly work our way back up the hill, past smug looking frenchmen, to find another route. 

The diversion hardly affected our dash for the ferry, but shortly after looking across to the impressive Pont de Tancarville bridge, and with only 8 miles to go, the GPS directed us up a killer of a hill - much steeper than anything on the St Bernard Pass, but fortunately only short and sharp - so cruel on tired legs at this stage though. With the end nearly in sight the GPS then decided to send us down a road that we could see was going to end in a cul de sac in 100m or so. We were so close to the ferry now though so we decided to just follow the road signs into Le Havre - OK, except for the dual carriageway and 70mph traffic we had to endure for 2 - 3 miles before we got to the smaller streets near to the ferry terminal. 

We got our tickets and shot across the channel on the Norman Arrow, the worlds largest diesel powered catamaran. We had a good chat for a while with a fellow cyclist who had ridden from Bristol to Paris to see the final stage of Le Tour. We covered all the essentials - bike touring gear, french food and drink, Le Tour, Saints and Crystal Palace. Before we knew it, it was time to disembark - with the realisation that we still had another 20 miles or so to ride....still, nearly there. Yelling out a deafening "Come on you reds" and "We hate Pompey" in barely audible whispers, we fled the city and ferried over to Gosport. With the motivation of seeing Mum and birthday girl, and teenager no more, Thar (oh, and a Cinnamon Bay curry) (Editor's note: ...and the dog) we flew back in gathering gloom and darkness. 

We were met by flags and bunting, and nestled our steeds back into their home stable by 7.00 pm. Sarah had made us a fantastic "well done" celebration cake, and with the chocolate cake brought over by Sarah's boyfriend Tomas, and champagne from Mum, we felt our nutritional intake was well and truly living up to the intake we'd enjoyed over the previous three weeks...it will all have to stop. 

So - four countries, 1003 miles, 21 days, Arcade Fire, Marco and Ciro, agritourismo, Gelato, grappa, the Alps, the monks, St Bernard pass, Toblerone, Lake Geneva, Nick, Saints, 1 laundry stop, the Jura, the Burgundy canal, baguettes, 1664, Ricard, Samoreau, the Seine, Le Tour ... so many memories in a remarkable adventure.  And to borrow audaciously, but almost word for word, from Shakespeare's Henry V... 

It yearns me not if men my sick Rapha garments wear; such outward things dwell not in my desires.

But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.

He that outlives this challenge, and comes safe home, will stand a tip-toe when this ride is named.

And gentlemen in England now-a-bed shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us, over the Alps and back to Hamble.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, and Dad, and special guests for the first bit.... we did it.

Stage 15: Paris to Rouen

The big one. We had until midday tomorrow to get to the coast, leaving us 170 miles to cover in a day and a half of cycling. We woke up at 6.30, and slipped Fireman Sam - style into our carefully arranged kit. With lights blinking in the early morning darkness, we slipped out into the deserted Parisian street. The GPS had finally given up showing our pre-planned route, so our only alternative was to punch in Rouen and leave the machine to calculate the best route for us: for the tricky and dangerous exit from Paris we were completely in its hands. An hour of brisk lane-hopping and traffic light stops later (passing the Moulin Rouge on the way) and we were free of the city and cruising along next to the Seine once again.

Some un forecast light showers threatened to dampen the mood, but as we ploughed past vast undulating fields of wheat, the sun started breaking through, and by lunchtime it was blazing above us. As we swept down country lanes, and past grand chateaux, Dad was caught between relief that the GPS was managing to find us a perfect route, and concern that as team navigator he might now be out of a job. As lunch time approached we had 55 miles in the bag, and had the village of Giverny well in our sights, home of famous French artist, Claude Monet. The GPS had painted a promising picture of our progress so far,  and gave us the impression that it was time for a lunch stop in the picturesque village.  We tucked into sandwiches and apples with lashings of Orangina.

With arm warmers, fleeces and jackets now banished to our panniers, we struck out again into the baking afternoon. We still had 45 miles to get to Rouen, and really wanted to go through to the west side, to give us a shorter distance the next day. Focused on the task in hand, we formed into a tight peloton and ate up the remaining miles, climbing over 3000ft on winding hillsides as we went. An old Tour de France climb, signaled by photographs of famous riders at every switchback, was the final big challenge before a long and exhilarating descent into Rouen. As we entered the town, we confidently ignored a campsite sign, reasoning there would be plenty once we'd left the west side of the city.

It was a decision that we would live to regret, as we spent the next 2 hours searching for an elusive, and as it turned out, no longer operational campsite, before returning with our tails between our legs to a chain hotel on the outskirts of the city. We toasted a mammoth 114 mile day at the bar, then settled into our luxury suite, ready for another tough day to come.

Le Tour de France in Paris

The relentless pace of riding had left the team slightly jaded so on our rest day in Paris what better than to stand around for hours waiting for the Tour de France to arrive?

After a minimalist breakfast we headed west on the Metro to Trocadero where we emerged to join hundreds of other sightseers taking photos of the Tour Eifel. Stopping at a boulangerie in Avenue Kleber (strawberry slice and apricot tart) we headed for the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs Eleysees taking in the atmosphere as the crowds built for later in the day. We had about 4hrs before the riders arrived but already the best spots were taken and there were hardly any gaps to be seen along the temporary fencing lining the road.

We took on more energy and fluids (if you know what I'm saying) and walked right down one side of the road and then back up the other. By 2.00 we decided we should find a viewing spot and we managed to find one with only one row of people in front of us. After a short wait the "caravan" arrived - all the promotional and logistical vehicles. Eventually the procession ended and after a wait of another 45 mins or so the real action started. A succession of official cars and even more motorbikes was followed by the riders shooting by, right to left up the Champs Eleysees on the opposite side of the road, then after turning by the Arc de Triomphe they came thundering by us left to right - all in a bit of a blur.

Luckily they had to do this 8 times so we eventually got to pick out some of the riders including of course Cadel Evans, the overall winner, and Mark Cavendish, who went on to win this final stage. We made our way down to the finish line after the riders shot past for the final time and saw the final presentations to Mark Cavendish and an emotional Cadel Evans... Let's see them try that with panniers and a tent!

By now we had been standing around for way too long, especially with a long ride tomorrow, so we dragged ourselves along the banks of the Seine to the Louvre and got the Metro back to our hotel.

Stage 14: Samoreau to Paris

After a sleep broken by passing barges, Tom was up early to go on the Boulangerie run. Full of almond croissants and lemon tart, the team said goodbye to Samoreau and set off into the muggy grey morning.

The weather brightened as we wended our way along river side roads, through pleasant tidy villages on the edge of the Paris commuter belt. Greg's veracious appetite forced a food stop at intermarche where Tom rediscovered one of the highlights of the Coleys 2009 Paris ride: flat peaches!

The ecstasy of the moment was short lived however as shortly after the re-start things started to go downhill (not in a good way) Just as we started to hit some big nasty peripherique roads and needed a safe passage into the city, the GPS broke. With his navigational right hand man way laid, Dad broke. We struck off aimlessly down a road with our squadron leader trundling along at the back in an angry and frustrated haze when the weather broke too.

Paris was throwing everything it had at us. Fighting for elbow room on a 6 lane artery road, Tom powered away at the front, leaning horizontally into a galeforce headwind that was sending roadside tables and signs flying through the air. Behind him, the other team members attempted to navigate a safe passage between the constant stream of foot deep potholes. To complete the ordeal, the background rain turned into a torrential downpour, drastically reducing visibility as well as morale. And we got stopped at every traffic light on the road.

Just at the crucial time, Gps came back to guide us onto a cycle path that led us straight into the centre of Paris. We swiftly found our hotel and enjoyed the hot shower, the promise of which had kept us going for the past couple of hours.

As if to reward us for surviving the hellish entry into Paris, we were presented with our perfect scenario: a quaint locals bar right opposite the hotel showing Le Tour on a big screen. Installed at a table with beers and hot chocolate we felt the life seeping back into our bodies. And to put the proverbial cherry on the croissant, the friendly bar man went on a special baguette run to provide us with some spectacular camembert sandwiches.

We watched as Cadel Evans destroyed Andy Shleck's lead to effectively win the Tour de France. Then we retired to the hotel with a bottle of Ricard and some chocolate to anticipate the excitement of the following day when the Tour would roll into town.

Rest day: Fontainbleau

With no pressure to get the miles under the belt (over 750 covered now) team Probert lazed in their sleeping bags until Dad returned from a visit to the Boulangerie with croissants and pastries, again carefully selected to comply with the targets set by the teams fitness director.

After manhandling Greg out of the tent once again we sat on our panniers on the banks of the Seine eating our petit dejeuner watching the barges chug by and the construction of the imaginatively designed water treatment plant on the opposite bank.

Keeping up the fitness and exercise regime in the absence of any riding today we proceeded to circumnavigate the Samoreau lake, further exercise being taken in the form of impromptu games of "slog the stone into the lake with a broken branch". The jury's out on man of the match but as I'm writing this I'd say Dad was easily best batsman and bowler (got to make up for some of the abuse I get in other blog entries)(editor's note: Tom hit the most stones into the lake and most consecutive hits).

We headed into Fontainbleau again. His head filled with recent GCSE history revision, and desperate for cultural fulfilment Greg was psyched as we headed straight for the Chateau. Having seen the "wee-ing dog" fountains and walked past the front of the Chateau Gregs enthusiasm was satisfied and we set off for somewhere to have a quiet sit down - i.e. a bar.

Tom opted for moules marinierre, which has become a Probert challenge staple over the years. Memories of three days laid up in Majorca was enough to make Dad spurn the mussels option in favour of a less colonically challenging quiche and salad, while Greg selected some dodgy looking orange/yellow sausages which we were assured were better than they looked.

After some more nostalgic rambling through the back streets of Fonenbleau, and a visit to the tail end of the Friday market, we headed (this is starting to sound monotonous) for a bar to charge iPhones, write up the blog and watch the latest stage of Le Tour.

Stage 13: St.Florentin to Samoreau

We had been toying with the idea of an early start for a while, and with a big 60+ mile day ahead and the prospect of returning to the village of Samoreau (where we lived in 1998-2000) to spur Greg out of the sleeping bag, today was the day. With much protesting, we physically manhandled Greg out of the tent and arranged his half comatose body on his bike. With the tent packed away with military efficiency, we hit the road at 7am.

Following a team meeting the previous night, we had decided to blast down the a-road for the first 30 miles of the day, hoping to reach the town of Sens for breakfast. It proved to be as grim as we had feared, with frequent lorries blasting past at huge speeds, the draft often blowing the Probert team members off the road. To add to our woes, visibility was reduced to a few feet by a torrential downpour, forcing dad to the back of our formation (apparently as he has a bright rear light) and leaving Tom to 'lead out' the team all the way to Sens into the headwind and rain.

Just over two hours later, Greg woke up, and the team tucked into croissants, cakes and hot chocolate in a Sens cafe, which was all the more satisfying with 30 miles already under our belts.

All we had to do now was the same distance again, on what Dad promised would be picturesque, car-free lanes. Once again though, the GPS had other ideas and we were once again powering down the hard shoulder of a 3 lane main road, with Tom once again taking a battering from the vicious headwind.

The end of the team's slog along the dual-carriageway brought us the the picturesque town of Montereau, where a soaked and exhausted Tom took out his bad mood on an unfortunate motorist who had the audacity to beep at us as he went past. In a novel test of his French skills, at the next junction Tom launched into an animated argument with the driver, who was clearly in the wrong.

From the dribbling gargoyles of Montereau, it was a straightforward ramble through small villages and dark forested sections until we reached the famiar sight of the Samoreau water tower. We coasted down the steep valley side hill on which the town is built, stopping to reminisce about our old house, Greg's old school, and of course the boulangerie (closed for the customary 3hr lunch break) before we arrived at the river side camp site.

After a quick freshen up and nap, and realising we'd done all our day's cycling before 2pm, we caught the bus (free of charge, for reasons we still can't work out) in to Fontainebleau, the nearby large town. Once in the town centre, we ignored the legendary chateau, found a bar, and indulged in our favourite activity of watching 'Le Tour' and sampling some of the local beers.

With this important cultural learning taken onboard, we just had time to pick up a boulangerie supper of quiche and cakes before buzzing back to our cozy tent to eat and drift off to the sound of barges chugging down the Seine just outside our door.

Stage 12: Veneray to St Florentin

After our rest day, Toms bike re-shod, we cycled another 63 canalside miles today, from Veneray to St Florentin, taking our overall total to 692.

After an 8.00 breakfast we left the old farmhouse gite and headed for the canal under familiarly grey skies.

Initial progress was slow, Toms new France Poste tyres wanting to divert and stop at every letter-box in the village, but these distractions disappeared once we got to the Burgundy canal . With the front wheel buckle now removed Tom was able to admire the countryside around instead of being mesmerised by the rhythmic waving in front of him.

The teams expeditionary skills were by now finely honed and stocking up with cheap but great pic-nic ingredients in the supermarket before we left Veneray proved to be a master-stroke when we found a peaceful little canalside jetty miles from anywhere at lunchtime. In Monet-like surroundings (if you think of weeds instead of lily pads) the boys tucked into a meal fit for navvies - baguette, ham, salami and boursin, followed by chocky biscuits and water.

Despite the bone shuddering surface (for a road bike) Greg was gobbling up the miles faster than chicken nuggets in a KFC but in a break from recent tradition it was Greg who decided to have a puncture in the post lunch session and Tom was able to look on smugly with with new tyres fully inflated as Greg went through the familiar routine. For once Greg had to wrestle with the tyre levers instead of lobbing heavy projectiles into the canal while waiting for big bro.

For a while we played musical bikes, changing around to try each others in sections between locks. By the end we were all happy to return to our own steeds although Greg missed the "sofa- like" comfort of the touring bikes.

We soon found the campsite in St Florentine, perfect unless you like the little luxuries in life when it comes to toilets (toilet paper) but cheap and quiet. We rode into town to the strangely named "Batman Pizzeria" ... run by Turks, named after an American comic crime fighter, and specialising in Italian food in France.... just go with the flow. Accompanied by Ricard and demis the meal was a good carbo refresh (the team always monitoring intake and conscious of the optimum dietary requirements) ready for the next days ride.

Rest Day: Veneray les Laumes

There was no break in the strict early morning starts as the team rose at 9am for breakfast, prepared by the friendly Gite owners. Fully fueled with croissants and homemade jam, the boy's attention shifted from food, to the more important task of repairing Tom's bike.

After following the Gite lady's notoriously terrible directions, the team were surprised to find a real bike shop that was actually open! (A rare find in this part of France). Still sceptical, the team stretchered in Tom's bike. They were greeted by a friendly shop assistant who was impressed by the fine English craftsmanship of Tom's thorn touring bike. He said that he could straighten the front wheel and suggested he replaced the old knackered pnues with the ones used by the local postmen!

With item no. 1 ticked off, the team initiated stage two of their rest day plan: the bar. However the easiness and slickness of the bike shop mission left the three about 2 hours short of the start of the tour de France, essential revision.. So with time in hand, and their strict dieting regime in mind, they bought chocolate and crisps from the supermache, headed home and had a sleep.

A few hours later, team Probert were back in their natural environment. With cool beers and the tour de France projected onto the wall, the second rest day was going perfectly! The end of the stage coincided perfectly with the collection time of the bike. So Tom went to collect his postman bike leaving dad and greg in the bar.

Hours went past with no sign of Tom's return. Greg's hunger grew to dangerous levels and the pair resorted to trying to catch flies in coffee mugs as their main source of enterainment. Finally Tom appeared in the door of the bar looking pleased with the result. He explained how the shop was ridiculously busy and how he had to shelter from the rainstorm... And buy a cake.. But in the end he had a result, he now had some shiny new post'man' tyres to go with his woman's handlebars! Wrey!

Again though the teams's attention soon swung back towards food. Finding a nearby pizza lorry, they dined in the carpark opposite. Which was actually really good!

After such a hectic and eventful rest day, the team settled down in the luxury of their beds for another sleep. But they knew they had an even earlier start the next day.

Stage 11: Dijon to Veneray les Laumes

Monday's ride was a 75 miler, almost entirely along the picturesque Burgundy Canal.

After inspecting the Dijon mustard shop (produce made in Canada) the team powered through the back streets of Dijon and, like a laser, homed in on the canal. With misplaced trust in the GPS, and Dads navigational skills, the team ignored the canal and rode on following the GPS route out of town. After 4 miles or so, further inspection of the GPS and the map, and a team meeting, the Probert's turned around and headed back to what had all along been the canal they'd been looking for.

Progress was quite rapid although Greg's road bike tyres weren't ideally suited to the sometimes rough and gravelly towpath.
Mile after mile of central France went by and we came to the conclusion that it must be closed. Villages all seemed deserted and as the team rode through town they could be heard bursting into spontaneous verses of the Specials ""Ghost Town".

The regularity of the ride along mile after mile of canalside was matched by the frequency of Toms rear tyre deflating. The first time was unfortunate. The second, about a mile after the first, was tiresome. By the time Tom repaired his tyre for a third time the novelty was wearing off and we envied the Tour de France riders with their 5 back-up bikes and attendant backup support crews.

By 3.30, having not seen any sight of food or drink possibilities we spotted a canalside shack called Chez Bryony. As we approached and admired the postcards an English voice from inside said "course their nice postcards, they're mine aren't they".

The team were brought back to life by an almost instant, and very good, chicken and chips each, and with mars bars as backup we set off again to complete the final 30 miles.

Arriving at Veneray les Laumes at around 7.00pm, and looking for the gite to stay in, the team phoned for directions from the Gite de France owner, cycled round the village a couple of times, then got personally escorted to the right place on bike by the local campsite owner.
With no food to be found in the village, the team crashed out vowing to assault with gusto the next days petit dejuner.

Rest Day in Dijon

Team Probert have been enjoying our first rest day of the trip with absolutely zero bike contact. We've spent a highly cultured evening quaffing caraffes of burgundy in the beautiful old centre-ville of Dijon, so hopefully you can excuse the arty noir photography!

We had three main objectives today: wash our dangerously grubby clothing, sleep, and absorb some of the culture of the ancient town we're staying in. With steps 1 and 2 completed, we got the bus with the help of a friendly yet slightly scary local, into town.

Little did we know, this character was just the tip of the iceberg in a town with a population of rich and interesting (crazy) personalities that puts Portsmouth to shame. Once we'd hit the old carved stone streets of the vielle carrre, our mission was simple: find a cafe with beer, showing Le Tour (de France). After a surprisingly taxing search, we struck gold.

As we settled in to follow the final 40km of the race, what started out like any other unassuming bar gradually morphed into a French version if the Star Wars Mos Eisley Cantina (the bar full of alien scum and villainy). First there was mozzarella man (who unsuccrsfully dashed out to find the vital ingredient for our meal), mafia man, detective dog kissing all the ladies, cannibal barbecue dude and his sidekick Jazz Man, worried orange juice man and a short cameo from a tracksuit adorned psycho, and keeping the whole volatile mix somehow in balance was the ancient bearded mariner.

Single handedly attempting to serve this band of rogues whilst managing to take a fag and wine break with her mates every 10 minutes, and serve us and an entire Dutch family pizzas, was the wonder-woman bar-maid.

We finished off our lovingly botched together pizzas with some local burgundy pinot noir then stumbled back through the dramatically sunlit streets trying to process what we'd just witnessed- French cafe culture at it's absolute best!

Much Needed Laundry

Team Probert's kit has reached critical contamination levels, it's impacting on our performance and the smell is upsetting the locals. Just in time we've found a laundrette. Aaaaah.

Stage 10: Besancon to Dijon

A largely uneventful day was noteworthy for a few things: Tom opened up a new front on his cycling short tan lines, gaining another inch of red skin.

And we were reminded of the relative nature of value as after over 40 miles and 4 hours in the heat we still hadn't found anything to eat, with every village we passed deserted for the Bastille weekend. We finally came across an oasis of Pringles and Coke, imagining what that first drop would taste like after days in the desert.

Also it was possibly our last day of sun on the trip, with updates coming in from Dad (our resident 24hr weather reporter) of rain on it's way.

A straightforward 62 mile blast across undulating, windy wheat fields has left us in Dijon with a scheduled rest day to look forward to. We arrived, ate and crashed out.

Stage 9: Villiers Le Lac to Besancon

The old gite (the house, not dad) provided Team Probert with a rare comfortable, warm night and we woke up feeling refreshed. Then Greg went back to sleep again, as usual.

Tom was so excited to be in France, and the prospect of the town's boulangerie that he volunteered to cycle down for the breakfast run, returning with a pannier bulging with sweet pastries and a telling smile. We ate at the huge wooden dining table and discussed the day's route with French kids tv blaring in the background (more our level of language).

After a brief coffee stop in the Chamelion bar to update the blog and see the dog, the familiar caravan of bikes struck out again into the gloriously sunny day, and we were soon engaged in another slow crawl up the side of a hill. The morning was spent ironing out the last few ripples of the Jura, adding another 3500ft of climbing to yesterday's 4000, so in total more climbing than the Alps! What goes up, as they say...must come down and we were rewarded with some white-knuckle slaloming down hill sections that saw us start to rack up the mileage.

We'd spent most of the day with only dairy cows and the odd tractor to contend with, but as the terrain levelled out, we found ourselves on busier roads. When the GPS sent us hurtling towards a motorway however, we knew it had gone a step too far and reverting to old school technology we got the map out to re-assess.

The historic city of Besancon was now in our sights but after a day in the wilderness with nowhere to get good, the younger team members (who had been putting in all the work) were near starvation. Just in time a road-side restaurant provided a brilliantly French meal full of strange meats and potatoes which we demolished in the sun kissed courtyard. Dad followed up with a Ricard, perhaps explaining his drop in performance over the final 10 miles!

Soon we were cycling through the ancient fortress walls of Besancon, but with the sun now getting low in the sky we had to forego sightseeing for a dash through the city's back streets to the campsite. Another fine erection (the tent) saw us tucked up and desperately trying to sleep under the glare of a light that stayed on all night (why?!) and with a deafening bird happily squawking away into the early hours!

Stage 8: Cudrefin to Villiers Le Lac

Having endured 48 hours if rain, we were relieved to open the tent to glorious blue skies. We took advantage by hanging our damp kit on any spare surface available around the tent. While we charged various bits of equipment, Tom indulged his penchant for European supermarkets and cycled off for a breakfast run, returning with fresh bread, ricotta, meat and orange juice. We breakfasted like kings then set off on the road once again.

Our route swept up around the eastern end of the great lake and northwards towards the Jura mountains. We turned off the main road and were suddenly tackling a 15% gradient hill climb. Having focused fully on the Alps, we regarded the Jura as little more than a small wrinkle on the countryside, but after 3 solid hours of some of the steepest inclines we've ever encountered, and 4000ft of climbing, the Jura had earned our respect.

The top of every hill seemed like the summit, but finally we reached it and escaped the high altitude ice cold conditions into the safety of a ski lodge bar. After a  warming drink to toast the last mountain ascent and a change into our thermal gear, we braced ourselves for a huge descent. But as we plunged over the crest, our hearts sank as a brand new ridge presented itself. The Jura hadn't finished with us yet!

Thanks to our rigorous pre-challenge training regime we dispatched the hill with minimal fuss and were soon racing down a dramatic gorge through the 'watch valley' of La Locle, where we passed the headquarters of Tissot, Rolex, Mont Blanc and Tag Heuer. But with the Accurately crafted hand of time ticking down on our stay in Switzerland, we split across the border in to France. Phew.

Now that we could find somewhere to stay without first having to release equity on our house and pay in easy to manage monthly instalments, we dived down into the first French town we found. The sense if relief and excitement in the team was palpable, but a quick ring around the local guest houses of Villiers le Lac painted a bleak picture: no room at the inn.

We decided to check out a deserted looking farm that we'd passed and after an unfruitful knock on the door, we phoned the number pasted on the wall. 'I'll be there in 5 minutes' was the reply, and we waited in eager anticipation. A bubbly lady pulled up in her car and as she showed us around the house it quickly dawned on us that we had an entire French gite to ourselves for the night!

With no supplies in the cupboards, we struck out towards the town's pizza place. A rag-tag motley crew including Fabio Capello as chef and an ageing stripper waitress produced some exceptional pizzas which we washed down with a few well earned beers.

A few half-hearted fireworks popping outside reminded us that it was the national 'Bastille Day' holiday but celebrations in the restaurant amounted to the staff and locals having a heated argument. We left (one for Mike there).

Stuffed, we headed to the Chamelion bar in the main square where we pulled up 3 bar stools next to the place's only other customer...a rotund jolly Labrador! We drained our demis while the dog stared at us, then walked back through this quintessential sleepy rural town, passing Hawaii Pizza where Fabio and the stripper waved sadly at us from their empty restaurant.

Bonus day in Biel

Whether it was the morning after the Nick visit, and the high emotions and excitement of the previous day, or the fact that it had been tipping with rain all night we all awoke a bit groggy and grumpy. If we'd managed some sleep it would probably have lightened the mood. Today was supposed to be another highlight of the trip, and in the end it was.

The team considered many options for getting into Biel to see Saints play the first of two pre-season friendly games - walk and boat, walk and train, bike to station, bike to port for boat and others. The weather forecast wasn't good either, and after deciding to bike to the train station it wasn't long before the rain started.

When we arrived at the station the ticket machine informed us that the cost for taking the three of us with our bikes to Biel and back (about 18 miles) would be over £100. Cursing the Swiss cost of living once again we re-mounted our bikes and set off for Biel.

We were directed to the football ground at the Information Centre where were able to march in and lock our bikes up next to the turnstiles. We set off for city centre again but we noticed the Omega factory had a visitor centre and museum - so with time on hour hands (oh that's bad) we dived in - at least it was dry. It turned out to be really interesting though, with audio guides to talk us through the exhibits. At the end we were even presented with des petite cadeax - a secret agent pen each that wrote in normal and "secret" ink, wooh.

We met our first Saints fans in the cafe we used to re-charge the GPS (and eat cakes) and they told us that the Saints coach (Nigel's bus) would be arriving at the ground at 5.00 pm. We downed our hot chocolate in time to meet the bus.

After a brief chat and photo with manager Nigel Adkins (you can understand him wanting to be pictured with the 2011 Probert challenge team) we also bumped into Chairman Nicola Cortese - off course he also had to have his picture taken with us, OMG. Dad was left holding Nicola's umbrella (not a euphemism) and set off down to the changing rooms where he interrupted a conversation with goalie Kelvin Davies to hand back the vital rain protection gear.

Not wanting to miss out on the rare celebrity moment, striker Rickie Lambert (OMG he's a giant) also insisted on getting in on the photos. We retired to the main grandstand where we we first rumbled by the security guards who realised we'd sneaked in before the turnstiles opened, and then by the Saints player guys who asked us for an interview!

The game was also good, with Saints going 2 up before letting Biel score 3, and then equalising. A bumper crowd of around 300 included about 50 Saints fans. Some of the players joined us in the stand, with Adam Lallana permanently on his phone and Kelvin Davis passing the chocolate biscuits round.

We were brought back to earth with the realisation that we had to ride 19 miles back to the campsite in what was again torrential rain - the things you do...we laughed (not)

It turned out to be great fun, the team keeping up an average nearing 17/18 miles an hour in the dark in an exhilarating dash back. We settled into our sleeping bags and reflected on another amazing day.

Stage 7: Lausanne to Cudrefin

Days like this don't come along very often - a crazy, emotional but hugely memorable day that left Dad regularly shaking his head and echoing that immortal Ciro catchphrase of "WTF" 

Everything starred out in regulation manner, the team settling to another day of searing heat, dismantling the tent and seeking out something cheap but nutritional from the supermarket for breakfast. The ride was a joy, passing again along mainly car free roads and tracks through fields of corn, maize and fruit. 

We chose to stop at the beautiful lakeside town of Yverdon-les-Bains, everything you could wish for. The team tucked into a delicious picnic sat next to the medieval castle walls in the town square. Although it was indeed a splendid meal, Gregs video filming did seem a bit over the top, but all was to explode into surreal unreality  in a matter of seconds. 

As Dad sat blissfully unaware, a voice from behind the bench asked for directions to somewhere for a good lunch. With incredulity bordering on stupidication (journey to the centre of the earth, Rick Wakeman, 1975) Dad saw that this random traveller was none other than the legend that is Nick Lindsay! (Dads friend from 1974 OS days and longtime blog supporter)

Starved of Probert challenge involvement since last years Lejog (and something else that was also addressed on the same flying visit) Nick had driven to Edinburgh, flown by Easyjet to Basel, hired a car, and with great cunning and text co-ordination with Tom, had managed to turn up at just the right time and place to make a "surprise" - to Dad at least, meeting with the boys. What can you say, a suitably shocked and bewildered Dad was caught on film, but somehow had the presence of mind not to come out with the string of expletives that initially came to mind. After a few minutes of explanation the band of four were sat down in this small Swiss town square chatting away as if everything was quite normal - aaaaaaah! 

The trio rode on, Dad still in a state of shock, riding along re-living the previous hour with a shaking head and marvelling at the amazing act of friendship by Nick, and the amazing cunning on behalf of Jan, Greg and Tom in helping to mastermind the re-union. Nick appeared from time to time along the lakeside ride now, appearing at the verge all of a sudden to take a photo or driving alongside, out of the blue, window down to yell abuse - but somehow this all seemed quite normal now!

The team arrived at Cudrefin, after a days ride of 57 miles to find Nick waiting at the campsite with cans of beer at the ready - of course. After getting the tent up in a record 7.5 seconds the band of four squeezed into it to drink beer and shelter from the developing lightening storm. 

It was such an amazing occasion that the team felt compelled to spend money in Switzerland - well it was very special, so a very pleasant evening was spent over a meal and bottle of red (small, special Swiss size) before the Proberts said farewell to Nick - a ttear in his eye at the thought of missing the Saints game in Biel the next day. But he had to be at Basel airport again by 5.00 the next morning (2 hours drive away).

Just another day on the Probert 2011 challenge.