We’ve enjoyed Cambrai, but it’s time to move on. 204K to be precise. It’s a clear and simple route. Even allowing for no motorways (our permanent choice) we intend to be in Varennes en Argonne by early afternoon. We won’t even need to depend on Pat.
Later, much later. We venture up from the camp side river and stumble across a stunningly memorable WW1 American tribute. The peace and calmness of this elevated final outpost places our six hours of traveling turmoil into perspective. It doesn’t stay calm for long though. A squall sneaks up right in front of us and sends us scampering back.
Earlier, much earlier. A short way out from Cambrai and the D932 is “barré” 3000m up the road. No alternative deviation signed. No worries. We continue in the general direction “off piste” (a favourite past-time of mine, but not of yours truly) and the aim is to rejoin five or so miles further on. A village fete looms. Villagers ambling along in the sunshine. Ignorant of our fate? They’re having fun – we’re not. Every rue in and out of this place is barricaded. It’s “Les Mis” all over again and that’s just how we’re starting to feel – feeling lost and totally “piste off”.
We head off into the Cretan-like labyrinth of winding country lanes again. Pat Nav is creaking, starting to crack at the seams, just like us. She doesn’t like it. Heading first this way and then the next, at our whim rather than hers. Repeatedly she cries “Turn around and make a U-turn”, “No Way Pat! This is war!!” Two hours later we come up for air at Guise. Recover our senses and sense of humour, just about. It’s all about the adventure? Right? Pat has lost hers completely and for the rest of the afternoon she pretends to have lost her voice. Thanks a bunch Pat!
On top of that we discover the fridge is leaking and our unknown guest decides to chuck a bottle of red into the general melee up front. I find a safe place for it in my deep driver’s door pocket. We’ll be OK as long as Monsieur Gendarme stays clear and I resist the urge . . .
