Category Archives: France

153. The green monster – Ditchling Beacon and the London to Brighton bike ride

UPDATE February 2012
For a Ditchling Beacon map and gradient information, please see here:
223. Cycling on Surrey and Sussex hills – from White Down to Ditchling Beacon;

And for return routes back to Guildford, see here:
245. London to Brighton, and back;

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ditchling-beacon-the-green-monster-2007.jpgSummer. Early afternoon. A soft and unassuming heat haze rising from the lush green meadows of Sussex.

And rising too, slowly but relentlessly behind this pretty village, lies the reason that we’re here.

The most famous climb in all of southern England.

The mean city streets of London seem such a long time ago. The start in Clapham lies almost fifty miles behind us, and barely a handful more remain ahead. The countryside is peaceful. Very peaceful.

The chatter and banter of those early miles has faded now. With a myriad and more of cyclists on the road, along the classic route to Brighton – you can hear them, all the way.

london-to-brighton-bike-2007-spirit-of-the-peloton.jpgNot just the whirr of spokes, the squeal of frantic brakes, or the grinding, mashing sound of crunching gears. There’s a richer, more lyrical sound to listen to, louder and more urgent still than the rhythm of the riders’ breathing.

Much more than that. Because I’ll swear that on these Sussex roads you can hear the spirit of the peloton. Continue reading

118. The scales of truth

Six weeks have gone by. The cowslip has grown high and lush beside the country lanes I drive to work each morning, the Sussex fields beyond the office are fast drying out enough for lunchtime running, and the sun is high in a warm blue sky. Our cold wet spring will soon become a distant memory.

rainbow-surrey-hills.jpgAnd yet, it won’t – not quite.

The memory of a glorious FA Cup Final defeat does not fade so quickly.

And neither will the memory of my last nine miles in London the month before.

Pain on that scale burns deep into the soul, and I won’t forget it.
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114. Mont Blanc morning – Flaine, France

mont-blanc-from-grandes-platieres-flaine-sixt-glacier-des-bossons.jpgHigh upon the Grandes Platières ski-lift, the French resort of Flaine recedes quickly behind us, the colour of the concrete fading fast into the grey of the rocks, and the outlines of the Bauhaus school buildings blending with the cliff faces just as architect Marcel Breuer had hoped that they would.

It was two Swiss friends who discovered the delights of the Flaine bowl whilst ski-touring in 1954, eventually recounting their find to geophysicist Éric Boissonnas in 1959.

And it was Boissonas who took the bold step of commissioning Breuer to design a ski station in its entirety, that brief encompassing everything from the village layout to the hotels, and even all the furniture within them.

It was a huge undertaking, which had to begin with the blasting of a switchback road out of the mountainside just to reach the site. But by the end of the sixties the resort was essentially complete, and love it or hate it, Flaine is listed as a site of architectural interest today.
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56. Paris – a view from the Champs de Mars

eiffel-tower-picasso-blue-roofs-and-champs-de-mars-paris.jpgKicking down the cobblestones on a warm and sultry morning, there are just a few marble steps to climb ahead. And already, blue sky is rent by cool bronze metal, still tepid in the hazy sunshine across the river. From here at the Trocadero, the Eiffel Tower stands framed amidst the Champs de Mars. The green baize stretches far into the sun, with only the black morning menace of the Montparnasse Tower revealing the modern face of the golden city beyond.

If a million strands are bound together to make a life, then the thread of Paris runs through much of mine. Continue reading