Tell us about your weekend ride

Spent the Easter weekend in Northern France.

Me, Mrs Jangle and the Janglettes braved the slings and the arrows of hurricane Katie in the tiny village of Boubers sur Canche in the Pas de Calais.

Notwithstanding the dubious weather, and the lack of a decent broadband connection, this is a lovely part of the world for an Easter break. The countryside is gentle rolling downland, much like Kent, but without the twats and fly-tippers.

Thursday started breezy but dry, so I decided to chance a bit of a ride. The village is in a valley, and I started out heading north, uphill to the hamlet of Flers which sports a fine Chateau perched on the top of the hill:

There are a lot of Chateaux around here, and every village seems to have a massive church, much larger than the local population would appear to require. The next village down the road was Croisette, which sports a suitably ancient and venerable church:

After Croisette, it was on to Beauvois which sits on the 'crossroads' with the D99:

These days, Beauvois languishes in the midst of the road to nowhere, but that building I rested my bike against used to be a bar, and I reckon in simpler times it must have been a great place to while away an hour or two over lunch.

After Beauvois, it was on to the unpronounceable Humeroeuille, which had another impressive Chateau:

Then onwards through Blagny sur Ternoise, among the many attractions of which is the level crossing on the way out of town:

My destination for the day was Azincourt, where Henry V and a handful of his mates decimated the pride of the French aristocracy in 1415. Just south of Azincourt is the village of Maisoncelle, which is where Henry's forces lined up before the battle. The locals have gone crazy and erected an impressive monument to mark their place in history:

After that, it was a short roll down Henry V Street into Azincourt itself. It was lunchtime, and the town centre was buzzing:

I'd actually had a lovely morning, tooling around in some really pretty villages and countryside, but I needed to get back and it was starting to rain, so I headed cross country toward the D928, which is the most direct route back toward Boubers.

Around the village of Bucamps, which is really in the middle of nowhere, I was intrigued to pass a house with an old GPO 'phone box installed in the garden:

After Bucamps, the 'road' turned into a dirt track for a mile or so, and I began to regret bringing my best bike out for what was turning out to be a solo 'cross ride. Eventually, I picked up the main road just after the village of Rumenville - a place so non-descript, the local tree is actually named on the map. I kid you not, here is L'Arbre de Rumenville:

As main roads go, the D928 isn't too bad for cycling. French motorists, even the lorry drivers tend to give you plenty of room, and the D928 descends through the Forest of Hesdin in a broad, gentle sweep.

At the foot of the hill is the village of Huby St Leu, where, as in far too many of the villages 'round here, there is a Commonwealth War Grave:

After Huby St Leu, I rolled into the local town, Hesdin, which sits at the confluence of the Canche and Authie rivers. Like so many of the towns in this area, Hesdin seems to be dying on its arse, with most of the shops and cafes closed, and lots of the houses either derelict or up for sale, which is a great shame, because it really is a lovely part of the world, steeped in hisory:

While having a pleasant coffee in Hesdin, the beautiful Mrs jangle called and told me to get my hairy arse back, pronto - which is exactly what I did.

A very pleasant morning pottering about Northern France.