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After watching a celebratory fundraising cycle video at a charity do, my good friend Will Jessup and I insisted on going a step further and cycling from Newquay to our surf camp in Somo,, surfing along the way. I hadn’t actually ridden a road bike before and had a couple of months to get sorted, so here’s how it went: We started the trip by hatching plans and planning routes on the Plymouth to Roscoff ferry with the support vehicle team headed by Will’s Father, known to old school Newquay folk as Crazy Nick. A loose arrangement to meet at Carnac in two days time was made and we hit the road. Despite picking up the wrong map, in which France was the size of a piece of A4 paper, the first day was a cruise. Brittany is like Cornwall but less hilly, so we put in a good effort til around 6pm, then befriended a friendly landlord and spent our first night on the road in a pub garden. Day 2 we arrived into Carnac earlier than expected, yet no sign of the support vehicle/surfboards. Turns out he decided to go to Les Sables, two days cycle away.

Cool town and the setup looked good but there were no waves anyway. The next two days were cycled in a very unorthodox and unadvisable way, after coffee in Vannes, the most beautiful old cobbled French town I’ve ever seen, we had some KM’s to crush so decided to stick to the main roads and do 3 stints of 40km per day. It was actually quite exciting absolutely smashing it on a bicycle on a French motorway and good for concentration / the mind, but not exactly in the spirit of a cycle tour. We arrived into Les Sables, yet no sign of the support vehicle as they had decided to go to San Sebastian. Our one pair of underwear each and patience was wearing thin so we made a firm plan to meet in Mimizan in two days time.

The following days opened our eyes to how many beautiful cities-on-the-sea there are in this part of France. La Rochelle is massive and breathtaking at sunset and sunrise, Rochefort and Royan are also very nice places with that full Brighton’esque vibe.

The latter being our entrance into what I would be called SW France and where we met the third Amigo, a chain-smoking unfazed by anything hero called George who had ridden from Holland on a £70 bike with £20 pannier stacked as high as himself. He was heading for Malaga via Lisbon (check that on the map).

Finally, the support vehicle provided much-needed support and we got barreled at completely empty Mimizan Plage for two days. Definitely, a spot to remember. There are cycle lanes all through this part of France and they are incredibly long and really cruisy. So we rolled into Hossegor, got boards off Harry and Vince Timson (cheers fellas), got barrelled, ate croissants, slept on the beach in Biarritz, lapped up beautiful sunsets and ate delicious meals served by incredible waitresses, etc. San Sebastian is where things really stepped up a level. After smashing it through France and assuming Somo was around the corner, we felt it was time to celebrate and taste the local delicacies. Several hours of gluttony made the progression to a nightclub where we randomly partied with some pro surfers until a good 2 am.

This is when I lost George and Will also disappeared into the night, so I sat by mine and Will’s bikes outside the club, keeping myself awake by reading the only book in my artillery, the Yoga Sutras of Pantalaji (basically a yoga bible). Obviously it was a long night but I was feeling mega spiritual when George came stumbling down the road, bike-less as the police seized it. It was 9 am, George was alright, spirits were rising so we waited for Will at the bar from the previous night.

Will have had the same thought and stumbled down the road in his lycra all–in-one, having woken up in a town one hour away. He had got on a train, fallen asleep and woke up at the last stop. Classic Will. Nothing too major had happened so spirits were high.

So in San Sebastian style, we embraced a bit more of the local culture of constant pinchos (Basque for Tapas), before hitting the sack. The following morning we had to sadly part with George here, a true third amigo, who needed to get to West Portugal (he bought a new bike for €50 and cycled there if you were wondering). It was an emotional morning and leaving San Sebastian straight into a massive mountain, that took about an hour to cycle up and overlooks the city was even more emotional. The emotional comedown was welcomed as our endorphins came back with a vengeance and we were now high on life.