As a boy my grandmother and I often walked together on the headland around Falmouth. Romantically she would gaze over the sea onto the distant horizon and talk of our ancestors coming over the water.
She spoke of it as a recent thing, like something that had occurred the previous Tuesday afternoon.
In reality, and much to my disappointment she meant centuries before, during the Norman conquest.
Fancifully she described how one of them was a great Frenchman and an adviser to William himself.
After researching my family tree I was never able to make the connection, but never able to rule it out either.
I certainly like the idea that my origins may have been from France and reckoned that the 'adviser' could have been like a Game of Thrones Character the 'Hand of the King'.
As the second born son, the ancient family name of Deverell evaded me and still irkes me to this day, My parents could at the very least have put an extra P in my first name.
There is something about the French that I love. They are a foil, a natural antidote to the starchiness of traditional British values.
The shrug of the shoulders, the passion, the rebellious spirit all wrapped together in a blanket of arrogance.
Its not the arrogance that we might associate with some Etonian backbencher, but Gaelic arrogance
The french seem to be happy in their own skin, are self effacing, yet confident.
They are often dismissive too, but not because they don't care, but because they don't take things too seriously.
Having undergone a revolution there is a subconscious sense of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity amongst its people which not unlike America gives its citizens the self belief that anything is possible.
In 2015 I embarked on a 3 day charity ride from London to Paris with Chapeau Events, It was the first time that I had actually cycled in France and I immediately felt at home.
The french love cycling and cyclists. They share their road in the same way that they might share their food. With warmth, and generosity.
When you hear a car horn directed at you - its somehow different.
Whether it's depressed in a certain way? I'm not quite sure, but the meaning is clear.
It can say a few things like.
'Hi there I'm just coming up behind you' or 'Allez allez allez' or 'Welcome'.
It's often accompanied by waving, smiles and always encouragement.
On some of the WAG infested lanes in Cheshire the car horn is a weapon.
To startle, frighten and intimidate and with only one offensive meaning.
In 2019 I was given the opportunity to ride to France again in a 24hr Challenge from Trafalgar Square In London to the Eiffel Tower in Paris again with Chapeau Events. When I signed up for it I knew that it was perhaps out of my reach.
Although I had done a variety of cycling challenges in the Alps, Pyrenees and the Rockies, this was going to combine Physical fitness and stamina with mental strength.
For a valiant heart nothing is impossible.
By the time July had come around I had long discovered that there were two 5 o'clocks each day and I had been regularly been riding through both of them. I was fitter, leaner and stronger than ever but still not convinced I was ready.
On Friday the 12th of July I set off with 7 others to complete the challenge.
I took the train down to London to meet up with my bike in Battersea Park
The first leg was from Trafalgar Square to Eastbourne 64 Miles
Starting at 4pm the journey out of London was exhausting. Not because of any great physical endeavour but through the total concentration required.
I was passed several times by inquisitive dogs, elderly pensioners and child on a skateboard.
On the plus side it meant that collision avoidance was achievable.
After one hour we had travelled about 5 miles, after two 13. There was still more concrete than vegetation and the accompanying traffic lights.
It wasn't until after 7pm that we were able to attain the sort of speed that was required from the start and we only had 2 hours to get to Eastbourne.
At this time when upping the tempo was required, the South Downs had other ideas, ambushing us was variable gradients and forcing us into the lower chain ring.
We enentually entered Eastbourne as the sun was flirting with the Horizon but with time in hand to at least have a meal at 'The Mill'
We boarded the Ferry at about 10:30pm to sail at 11pm. The plan was to try and secure cabins to have a rest before the 6 am start in Dieppe. Unfortunately there were none left, however I did manage to at least get a shower.
I am not a great sleeper in new or strange environments.
After many hours of restless fidgeting and cramp spasms, I elected to lay on the floor. Clearly it worked as my 'fit bit' recorded a grand total of 36 mins sleep.
The ferry arrived in Dieppe at about 5:15 - just as dawn was beginning to break.
With no sleep, I curiously appeared to have hangover symptoms.
I felt tired, nauseous, and shaky.
Confusingly my usual 'hangover anxiety' also surfaced, where I try to recall and playback the events of the previous night.
In this case my only misdemeanour was seemingly straddling my bike which I now re-engaged
Only another 120 miles.
With the cloak of darkness still present I turned on my lights, reminded myself to move to the other side of the road and started to think French.
Although my schoolboy Franglais would limit my ability to share my socialist views with les Movement des gilets Jaunes, I did feel a sense of solidarity sporting a fluorescent yellow gilet.
The road inland from Dieppe followed the course of La Bethune river, a steady climb of 500 feet to Beaubec-la-Rosiere. After 2 hours we had done 35 miles and were well ahead of schedule.
Refuelling with Bacon Butties and coffee we then followed the former Dieppe to Paris railway 'Avenue Verte' to Forges-les-Eaux and then the D915 to Gournay-en-Bray.
Through this section I struggled.
My eyes protested relentlessly trying to close in pursuit of sleep.
This was made worse if I was following a wheel - I found the motion hypnotic.
Like a scene from the Jungle book the circular motion of the wheels were now the eyes of Kaa.
My head nodded slowly with each rotation.
Thankfully our progress was still good, so at Gournay-en-Bray we made the first of a number of unofficial stops.
As well as having Coffee to wake me up, I also elected to have a small beer.
Although it was only 0930 there was some psychology behind this apparently reckless act.
I thought that it might kid my mind that it was not time to go to sleep - but time to party and dance on my pedals.
The idea was suspect, the action tentative, but the effect was instant, and I can now say - inspired.
The terrain was not taxing and now lubricated I felt good.
The morning soon turned into afternoon and with a favourable warm tail wind, beautiful sunshine and great company we were able to savour the french countryside.
Taking the D3/28 we found ourselves at Monneville for another unofficial stop.
We now had about 45 miles to do in 4 hrs.
We all congratulated ourselves in the knowledge that baring any unforeseen events we all had the legs to complete the task. Shoulders were shrugged and Franglais was spoken.
I again decided to give my coffee some company, a 500ml glass of beer to be exact and others followed suit.
Dave from Chapeau Events was less relaxed.
He encouraged us to get going again, saying that getting through Paris could be a nightmare.
He was right!
3hrs later we were on the hard shoulder of an urban Paris freeway stricken by a puncture.
Cycling into Paris on the Saturday before Bastille day was similar to getting out of London on the Friday. French poodles and Grandmothers walking with baguettes appeared to be making better progress.
We found ourselves in a position that we now had 1hour left to do 12 miles.
The traffic that was moving about 6mph.
With the puncture repaired we set off as fast as we could possibly travel.
There then followed probably one of the best urban cycling movies ever to - not be recorded.
Travelling faster than the traffic and pumped up by pure adrenalin the goal remained in sight.
45 mins - 9 miles, 30 mins - 5 miles.
I was frightened to look behind, concerned that their might be all types of carnage.
20 mins - 2.8 miles
It was touch and go.
Then we arrived at The Arc de triumph.
With 12 roads leading off it, and room for up to 8 lanes unmarked lanes its an insurers nightmare.
The surface consists of roughly hewn cobbles to ward off any cyclists - to say its terrifying is an understatement.
Circumnavigating this monument should warrant some recognition, a certificate of achievement or even a medal.
Having already encountered this traffic maze before, I knew that you are meant to have priority when entering it so I just took a deep breath and pedalled.
Clearly not everybody had the same script as me.
My fellow cyclists screamed as I jousted with a bus and shouted optimistically 'don't worry just RIDE.'
It reminded me of the fairground dodgems. Cars and other vehicles were massed together, facing different directions and all were trying to avoid any significant impact.
Some were moving, some were stationary. Some had been stationary for some moments as the drivers exchanged blows or obscenities.
Having positioned myself in lane 4.5, I was ready to exit on the Champs de Elysees before being told to take the exit before.
It was not what I really wanted to hear.
Thankfully nobody seemed to mind if you were travelling clockwise or anticlockwise some the problem was soon solved.
A few moments later and with 6 minutes to spare we were there.
Happy, tearful and all together. (In one piece)
Well done to all of my fellow riders Simon, Catherine, Merryn, Mike, Mark, Ross and Nick.
Thank you Chapeau Events for hosting such a memorable and challenging ride and for the total support throughout.
