Thanks to the blessed night in the free static caravan, we woke on the 3rd May with a sense of purpose; get to Paris a day early.

The more time to stuff Pain Au Suisse and Croissant into our gobs, the better.

That meant smashing out about 70km in one day, including a pit stop in Giverny to peruse Monet’s house and gardens.

The day started with bad news. Our rain drenched clothes had not dried in the tumble drier before setting off. I’d persuaded Ludo to put it on a cold setting to prevent our polyester tops from shrinking.

Stupid move. Why do driers even come with a cold setting?

No matter. With assorted clothing lashed to our handlebars and a gracious goodbye to our benevolent camping host, we set off…to a Boulangerie about 3 minutes down the road.

That’s the problem with France. There’s always a Boulangerie selling irresistible bits and bobs just round the corner. You can’t get anything done.

Now with added Pizza strapped to the top of our pannier racks, we departed for real this time.

Back on the Avenue Verte, life on the bike felt so much better than the torrential day before. The sun was shining, fluffy clouds skimmed overhead and chateau’s peaked out from behind leafy trees on the hillside. This was how you imagine bike touring to be in Northern France.

We zipped through the 30kms to Giverny, including another puncture for Harry, in 2 hours.

Upon arrival, Giverny felt momentarily alien. We’d been in rural towns that were eerily quiet for a few days now, so the flashes of American accents queuing up for Monet were a surprise.

We locked all six bikes up in the car park and whipped out our makeshift washing line to dry clothes whilst we took our dose of French culture.

Monet’s house and gardens were impressive and of course beautiful. But it felt a bit like you were on a ride at Disney being pushed around on a travelator to see all the stuff, only this time Jack Sparrow wasn’t there to jump out at you with a bottle of rum.

I saved a caterpillar on the floor and got enthusiastically lauded by an American man and his partner. That’s all I can say on the matter.

With another 45km to go, we thought it best to make hay while the sun was shining and got back on the road. It was about 3pm at this point so we had to get a move on.

We were aiming to get to a campsite in Vernouillet to the West of Paris leaving us with a pleasant 30km ride into the city the following my day.

And miraculously, apart from a short detour into a subway filled with old insulation, builders waste and probably every disease known to man, we made it in good time. A little over three hours.

As an aside here, we said a brief goodbye to Pete and Harry just before Vernouillet as they had made the call to get to Paris on that same day because they were leaving Paris earlier than us.

They made it, 120km later and with 5% phone battery, and a lost wallet at 12 midnight. Chapeau boys.

Back with the main group and we had rolled into a campsite directly on the Seine. It was 1 star, the phone number on Google didn’t work and there was a weird amount of empty caravans on sight.

First impressions, you’d be forgiven for some apprehension. But it would have been wildly misplaced.

We shouted ‘Bon Soir!’ to see if anyone was around and soon enough, from the reception building, out stepped a portly gentleman with a big smile.

He didn’t speak English but said he’d get the ‘Big Boss’ to come and talk to us about staying the night.

The ‘Big Boss’ duly came over to us and shook our hands and joked with us: ‘Are you lost?’ He said at first. Then the first man asked if we knew any French.

Woody said ‘Pinot Noir’ and I counted to ten. He loved it. Whenever he saw us again, he’d either mime popping a cork and drinking Pinot Noir or just count to ten in French.

A great ambassador for the country if ever I saw one.

Both of these men were incredibly friendly and did everything to make us feel at home. We pitched up near a hardstanding shelter where we also made our dinner.

The Seine was 20 metres away, the Normandy Cider and Red Wine from the local Auchan was 0 metres away.

We slept fairly well that night, thankful for the lack of rain. Goodbye to the friendly French men and away it was once more.

I’m quickly learning that bike touring is both a slow and quick thing. You don’t really get anywhere fast geographically and when you meet people, it’s often over very soon as you need to get back on the road.

Paris was within touching distance on 4th May. The ride in was majestic and chaotic.

First came the leafy suburbs of upmarket Paris with grand views of downtown and the Eiffel Tower.

Then came the frankly incomprehensible traffic system of the city roads.

Red lights seemed to mean nothing for pedestrians or cyclists and bike lanes criss-crossed over the roads at every junction.

It rarely felt unsafe though and Paris is a very bike-friendly city.

We cycled up to the Eiffel and got the customary photos then decided it would be rude not to tackle the Champs Elysse fully loaded with touring gear.

Apart from a few hairy moments with an ambitious bus, we got round with ease. It was great fun and exhilarating to get up close to the Arc.

About 30 mins later at 4pm we got to the Airbnb. We must be soft but the prospect of a comfy-ish sofa bed after only 3 days of camping was already far too enticing.

£20 a night each (6 people), a 10 min walk from the Notre Dame, what more could you ask for.

Our time in Paris was bliss. Good friends bumbling about, eating food, drinking beer/wine and slobbing at Tabacs.

We also somehow managed to watch The Matrix, The Godfather and Forrest Gump. Good times, sleepover vibes.

It’s times like these that you really appreciate the freedom of your 20s and the enrichment you get from just having nice, supportive people around you.

Amongst other places, we also ate at an Anthony Bourdain-recommended kebab shop which you can read the review of here.

Far too quickly though, the time had come to say goodbye to our fine fellow cyclists on the afternoon of the 6th May.

I was caught off guard with how sad I felt that we weren’t going to be accompanied for longer on the trip. It made me feel like we needed more experiences like these together so I hope they come along after we’re finished with this behemoth.

It also randomly made me miss home. I think it just put into perspective the task ahead.

Now Ludo and I are in a tent in a man’s back garden in the suburbs of Paris.

There’s no toilet.

We have an 18 hour coach to catch to Vienna tomorrow.

The next leg begins.