The weather finally headed us off at the pass despite managing to get a dew free night. The beaches looked unappealing with grey choppy water frothing away over the mussel beds that spread along just below the low tide mark. From a distance they could have been people paddling, or, having a tendency to be melodramatic, soldiers wading ashore.
The German defences have been left as they were in June 1944. If you felt inclined you could fall down the hole that housed the gun turret on the reinforced concrete emplacements.
A derelict sea wall remains
exposed just above the high tide mark. Should these relics have been removed?
The defences go on right up the bay; cast your eye along the
dirty waters. The horrors of that day are rendered in Saving Private Ryan, the
first thirty minutes being one of the most shocking in movie history.
There are a handful of campsites on the bay but very little
else. It is not a tourist destination
other than for the Utah Beach museums at either end of the bay. We flock to the
south coast but why would the French come here when they have the west coast
and the Riviera? The flatlands here and the dull beach do not offer much and
the lack of amenities reflect that – nearly eight miles before we found bar – and it neighbouring boulangerie – in
Quinéville. The Tdf is going right past the front door of the cafe...
We continued slightly inland on the D14 to the pleasant
Saint Vasst la Hougue before stopping at the tiny port of Barfluer for a
seafood salad. The coast here is reminiscent of Scotland’s west with dashes of
bright yellow gorse in amongst the dull, weatherproof houses. The last few miles to Cherbourg were knocked without much fuss.From Saint Vaast the going was preety easy but for one shocker of a 10%.
47.3 miles 1211ft elevation
