Tour of No-Ferry (Normandy) 2025

By James Hibbert and Chris Holland

*Black Swan Event* an unpredictable or unforeseen event, typically one with extreme consequences.

Planning the third annual four-day bike packing event proved tricky right from the moment we agreed that there would be a third Annual ride!

How do you even try and match the previous years rides; the infamous King Alfreds Way and the picturesque Isle of Wight ?!

The challenges of booking an event are numerous as all the jigsaw pieces need to fit perfectly into place. It’s got to be the right distance and terrain (‘parcour ‘if your ‘coffee’ is a skinny white latte with soya milk and sugar free syrup), it’s got to be geographically located in such a way that we can get to and from the start and end without losing too much of the allocated four days, it’s got to have accommodation available at the right price and distances along the route, and for them to be happy with two sweaty cyclists turning up requesting secure storage for their often muddy bicycles. It’s not an easy ask puzzle to piece together. (Full disclosure – credit and thanks always has to go to Chris, our expert events organiser)

Our initial thoughts for some time had been Norfolks Rebellion Way, but that proved too tricky on a few fronts, predominately just getting there and back – more of this to come later but the rail network isn’t as accommodating as you would like to think it should be, and even less so welcoming to cyclists who are restricted from using the trains during peak times… however the nail in the coffin for us was (not) finding accommodation at the right locations and/or right prices.

A solution was found though, and it was a lovely idea, and that idea was France!!

Both Chris and I had independently already spent some time in France this year, and the romance of cycling around France with the likely favourable weather, courteous drivers, and the French passion for good food and drink was a winning combination. The plan which will become clear below was an overnight ferry to Cherbourg, with four similarly distanced (approx. 115km) days taking us back up to Dieppe and the ferry and train home back to the bright lights of Croydon … Mais Oui, a perfect plan was hatched !!

Thursday night the support crew (Mrs Holland) assisted with our transportation to Horsham Train Station as peak times meant we were banned from traveling with our 2 wheeled friends *rolls eyes*, and we made our way down to the Ferry Port in Portsmouth.

The following 12 hours that saw us docking in France could not have been more textbook bike packing perfection. We’d arrived at the ferry terminal in good time, we’d not forgotten anything crucial, we’d had some random interactions with random people, like the well-on-her-way-to-getting-drunk Welsh lady who accosted us in the ferry queue and kept us entertained with her excitement for her up and coming cycle-polo event in France, the perfectly clean ferry and our cosy cabin complete with 2 beds, shower and toilet. There was one heart stopping moment when it looked like our cabin was in and amongst the (whiffy) dog cabins, and the first feathers of the black swan came to flapping up to our imaginary cabin window in the form of constant ‘weather warnings’ for the crossing. Of course, we’d been keeping an eye on the weather forecast for weeks, and in complete contrast to the literal heatwaves of the last 2 years rides, the weather was looking like our biggest concern this year with us even getting caught in a large downpour when loading the bikes back in Sutton, however the journey over was relatively calm and we rode off into North France with a slightly chilly nip in the air but no rain (initially). 

The first day was a mix of quiet lanes, gravel tracks and damp trails. Mostly dry, but with the occasional heavy shower, it was a perfectly acceptable day. We stopped for lunch in a lovely French town, had more random interactions with some visiting Brits …. Firstly a group of Brummie power-ranger-dressed motorcyclists who must have forgotten to pack a mirror when they joked with us about our clothing choices, and who convinced us to buy baguettes next door to the café we were intending to eat at ‘because they weren’t serving food’, only for us to sit down with our measily filled baguettes whilst watching as the café starting to serve hordes of locals some incredible looking plates of hot food as the clock struck 12 O’clock !!

Of course, being the Westcroft stalwarts we are, we did console ourselves with an impressive cake before leaving town!! 

We were also accosted by a family trying to sell us the virtues of visiting Guernsey before getting back on the ‘roads’ to our ultimate destination. In fact, a large proportion of the rest of the day, and in fact trip, had us travelling along long straight stretches of re-purposed railway lines. Perfectly clear from traffic, mostly flat, and occasional interrupted by old railway houses. They made for good progress, even if they didn’t always leave much interest for the brain, and very little rest for the legs – it was constant pushing-on and as each day would turn out to be, the relatively undaunting distances of between 110k – 120km never really told the full story of how fatigued we would be towards the end of each ride.

The destination was a Gite just a short cycle from a beautiful small fishing port, where we eyed up a lovely little restaurant for our evening meal. 

Whilst I have titled this ‘No-Ferry’ .. I was close to titling it ‘No-body’. It really is quite incredibly how few people there seem to be just generally when travelling through France. The roads are empty, the towns are empty, the factories are eerily quiet, and the restaurants are empty … except they are not !!!

The only time that you could class France as hectic is when trying to eat out. Each and every restaurant needs booking or you face a long queue or even refusal.

This evening we went up to the Gite, cleaned up and cycled back down to the port, locked the bikes up across the road from the chosen restaurant and positioned ourselves in a nearby bar overlooking the restaurant that opened at 7pm. Time ticked by, 6:45pm – no movement, 6:50pm – no movement, is it even opening tonight?? 6:55pm a man on a bike turns up and locks himself in the restaurant and at 7pm there are a few people floating around – we make our move. Chris opens the front door to the near empty restaurant and its looking perfect until ‘Monsoir – say complete’ (or such like) … fully booked !!! 

We make our way back to a stretch of restaurants along the other side of the port, and we sit outside the largest restaurant and end up being the first people through the door. As it turns out going here was no hardship and we eat our way through the three course set menu and more bread than you could shake a stick it. Great restaurant, great food and great atmosphere. Again, as it would appear throughout the trip the staff ARE the restaurant. The staff felt like part of the proposition. Lovely end to the first day even if the cycle was back up to the Gite was damp and a new level of dark with our daytime intended bike lights not really cutting Le Mustard.

The next morning came round quickly as the night was interrupted by a group of noisy neighbours who later turned out to be young golfers whose volume was no less at breakfast, and we got chatting to another cyclist who was travelling alone for a few days. Breakfast was top notch; bread, pastries, coffee, cheese, meats and eggs – pretty much the staple breakfast for the trip until my stomach could take no more eggs and I avoided them at all costs.

If day 2 was a Friends episode would be ‘The one with steep hills, war memorabilia, epic rain and Disney style houses’.

Day two felt like a real follow-the-coastline sort of day, only deviating away from the coast occasionally for what felt like a sight-seeing jolly up some steep hill for a view of where we were heading, only to head back down to the coastline again. The route was littered with sobering war memorabilia and a mixture of French, British and American flags. Today was also the day that I would say the landscape and feel started to really change, from relatively sleepy and rural France, through the wide and open D-Day landings stretches and slowly moving into a more glamourous and affluent France of Cabourg and Houlgate. 

Today was also the day of contrasts, not only of landscapes and properties, but also in weather. Setting off in the morning I was starting to think that the removal of my sun-screen could have been my biggest mistake, and we were basking in good strong sunshine until way passed lunchtime (a crepe and fizzy drink) until the weather took a serious serious turn for the worst at about 90 minutes from home, when the heavens opened and from what might have only been 30 minutes in the end, but at the time felt like it would never end. 

The destination that day (Houlgate) was a picturesque renaissance town, with us being positioned just off the main high street, and 30 seconds away from the local recommended Moules-Frites restaurant. Again, as with vampires (the houses certainly have that eery feel to them) the French only come out at night, and the restaurant was full to bursting with us being positioned in the (overflow) outside awning and the busy waitress having a full time job of just clearing bowls of Mussel shells and satisfying our demands for more bread.

Our accommodation that night was a self contained two bedroom apartment, and we headed down to the main bar for a breakfast.

For Day 3 – I will hand over to my travelling partner, Chris;

Day 3’s route involved crossing the mouth of the River Seine near Le Havre. Route options were limited, either risking a narrow bike lane on the daunting 4 lane 2.4km cable-stayed Pont de Normandie suspension bridge or a 40km detour inland to the seemingly slightly less intimidating Pont de Tancarville. First, we needed a hearty breakfast so we tucked into scrambled eggs, cheese, ham, croissants, pain au chocolat, baguette, local jam, chocolate cake, apple cake and coffee (yes – all of these!). Suitably fuelled we set off but soon hit an unexpected steep climb out of town, the effort needed threatening an early re-acquaintance with our breakfasts. As we rounded a corner the narrow track transformed into a series of steps and we resorted to pushing the bikes up.

After around 30km we reached the crowded port town of Honfleur and after wasting half an hour trying to find a boulangerie amongst the tourist throng we made our away along the river Seine towards the looming Pont de Normandie. I’d seen videos online of cyclists warning about the dangers of crossing the bridge when windy and we decided not to risk it so we ploughed on towards the alternative bridge. It turned out that this bridge also involved a narrow bike lane running next to counter flow traffic approaching at speed. We slowly edged our way across and emerged unscathed.

We ploughed on through particularly unattractive industrial landscape and began looking for a coffee stop. Nothing happens and nothing opens on Sunday afternoons in France but eventually we found a place in a run down town for a quick caffeine shot, our outdoor table surrounded by local urchins armed with pea shooters (remember them?).

After two days of cycling our legs were questioning what we were asking them to do and a series of brutal climbs drained our reserves further. By now I was counting down each 1/2 km as we neared our anticipated 112km for the day. But the kilometres kept coming and we finally arrived at our campsite after 118km.

Home for the night was a mobile home. Happy memories of staying in a mobile home at the infamous WTC Sandy Balls training camp were short lived. Our residence was tatty, had no towels, no duvet covers, one sheet and pillowcase per bed and no tea/coffee. Thankfully there was a decent restaurant within walking distance so we headed there for warmth and sustenance. James was even brave enough to eat snails for the first time but I’m guessing it may be the last time!  

Yes, Chris … for sure it’s my last time eating Snails … hehehe ….

Day 4 – the last day, that was not the last day !!

At this point I think it’s about time we addressed the elephant (or pesky swan) in the room; Why was day 4 not, as planned, the last day??!

Looking back I am pleased to say that the below did not dominate or ruin the trip, but at the time it was for sure a big consideration and unsettler for us.

The plan, as you know, had been four days from Cherbourg to Dieppe -all nicely planned out. However, on the first evening (Friday) Chris received a text saying that our Ferry on Monday night had been cancelled. We’d tried to contact the ferry company, and in the most frustrating fashion ever, they’d sent a text to us and closed up for the weekend. We went through every emotion over the next few hours. How can it be cancelled now, the weather appears ok?! and how can they predict Monday evening now?! Was it a scam to be ignored? What options are they going to offer us? How do we get hold of them? We’d tried emails, phone calls, and their website (where there was no mention of cancelled ferries (on our route at least), and our last resort was to WhatsApp them, but to no avail.

Saturday (day 2) we stopped for lunch and tried them again, and we eventually got a WhatsApp back – it wasn’t a scam – our ferry was indeed cancelled. Our options; take a ferry 24 hours later (if the ferries are running again) or get a refund. We took some time, looked at the options, and decided to cancel and re-route the last day back to Le Havre, change the train tickets and get back home just 12 hours late. 

Sunday went without a change, and on Monday (day 4) as we circled back towards Le Havre in awful weather, checking our emails with trepidation in some roppy tourist trap restaurant only to read that once again our Ferry had been cancelled *cries*. This time was more challenging as it was clear we weren’t getting home that night. We needed a new ferry plan, new train plan, accommodation and food that evening, all whilst sat in damp cycling clothing, and me being constantly distracted by the fact the bikes were parked out of sight and were holding my passport and other critical items at this stage. All I needed to complete an epic blog was for the bike (and my passport) to go missing now (which thankfully it did not).

The plan saw us go back to the same village as the night before, only this time to a lovely (but cheap last minute deal) hotel, the same (brilliant) restaurant, and the same late Ferry from Dieppe, only 24 hours later.

The plan had reverted back to the original plan just with a small interlude. All feels quite simple now, but at the time it felt a lot more fragile.

So, Day 4 was just ~45km circling around – Hills, wet and muddy roads, long gravel cycleways, and heading back to our previous nights location. On paper it looks like a rest day, but it didn’t feel like that, and we went back to the hotel to unload and carry out the usual evenings activities of unloading the bikes and bags, hand washing the kit, and getting prepared for dinner. Dinner was the same restaurant as the night before, and they didn’t let us down, and we had another slap-up three course meal, except this time I swapped our the ‘never to be ordered EVER again – OMG – yuck’ Snails, with a much more palatable plate of giant prawns, with steak main, dessert and coffee completing the meal. 

Day 5:

Normal service resumed, we just hoped and prayed it stayed this way. Normal service also continued with the morning routine. Shower, partially cycling and partially civvy dressed for breakfast (of bread, pasties, coffee, cheese, meats and this time cake whilst refusing eggs), lumber my overfilled with breakfast belly up to the room for final packing and dressing and down to the bikes for repacking. This morning the rain was hammering against the windows as we were getting ready, but thankfully it subsided just before we got on the bikes. Today was the usual ~115km and we had lots of time before the ferry left, but there is always that niggle in your head that time can slip away from you, and you are only one mechanical or puncture away from the need for a last minute time trial to the ferry port. As it happens we didn’t have a single puncture this year, nor mechanical, but upon arriving in Dieppe roadworks (or rather the removal of the cycle bridge to the ferry port) did see us waste a good 45 minutes trying to find and then cycle the alternative route to the ferry check in.

The route today saw us heading much more inland for long chunks of time, with long long expanses of repurposed railway lines with the wind behind us, through to wide open and exposed areas where we battled against the wind, farm lands filled with both crops and wind electric generators as far as the eye can see. Lunch (burger and chips today) was ordered in a canny little town (actually called Canny) which was quickly hurried inside when it started to rain on our plates before we pressed on to Dieppe, a mixture of beautiful old architecture and typically slightly run-down ferry port industry needs.

The ferry back was surprisingly quiet if a little unsettled across the water, and we disembarked with just a few minutes to spare to get the (delayed) trains back to Croydon and the push back home at close to mid-night.

Year 3 of the Chris and James annual 4 day trip done!!  We went bigger this time and the plan was absolutely flawless, and we would have got away with it had it not been for those pesky kids … errrr … I mean winds !! 

Will there be a 4th annual four day ride, and if so, where will it be?? Who knows, I hope so. Memories were once again made, and that also remains my motivation for writing these blogs. Even the exercise of writing these helps cements the memories in my mind, and if/when that fails me I’ll be able to read these myself and recall the finer details. There is always so much more you can write, but I hope the above is enough to inspire, entertain and for me to recollect in years to come.

Bon Soir and thank you for reading !!!