On to Bayeux...Part Deux

We pick up this blog with our little group spending its first night in the charming Midieval town of Bayeux...

After exploring the town and grabbing dinner, we all decided to call an early night for several reasons:
-we had to get up early for the D-Day beach tour the next morning
-it was freezing
-there was nothing else to do

When we went to bed, the world around us looked like this:



When we woke up, it looked like this:


About four inches for fluffy snow had fallen during the night. Not thinking much of it, we went to breakfast at the restaurant in the hotel. While we were eating, Battle Bus, the tour company we hired to take us to the beaches, called. The tour was canceled. The guides couldn't get their cars out of the driveway. Plus, the roads were "treacherous."

What? For four inches of snow? Puh-shaw!

We decided to head out on our own in the rental car. Again, que the dramatic music.

At first the roads were just wet. But as we wound our way down (note the word, "down") to Omaha Beach, it became increasingly snow covered and icy. Add to that the excitement of a two-foot ditch on either side of the road and we really have a ballgame.

After some slipping and nearly getting stuck, we decided it was best to turn it around. Uphill. On ice. Ugh.

With the traction control working full time, Tim began easing the car up the hills back to the main roads. Give it some gas, slip to the right. Put on the brake, slip a little more. The driving was difficult at best, our knuckles matching the snow we thought was no match for us.

Finally, it happened. The car wouldn't move any further. We were stuck on a back-country French road with no pastry shop in sight. Not a single crepe stand to speak of around.

It's time to push the car up the hill. I got the money job of driving while the other four pushed our snot-colored Vibe uphill on ice. But, we're all pretty tough, and since I'm blogging here now, you probably guessed we made it to the main road with a story to tell.

After a quick stop at the British Memorial Museum and a drive-by of the cemetary, we decided another spanking was in order, so we turned the car toward the North Sea, a huge snowstorm we knew nothing about, and the abby of Mont St. Michele.

The drive started out as simple as one can expect driving in a foreign country. Then the first few flakes began to fall. Charming, we think. Then, the flakes got serious. Soon, it looked like this:

Shit.

Lord bless him, Tim gave it his all with that car and driving in yucky conditions. But after seeing a few road signs that roughly translated into, "Hey dummy! Turn around! The roads are horrible!" we decided it would be best to come back another time. Like in the summer. When it's nice out.

So, we drove back to Paris and out of a blizzard. And that was our big adventure to the North Sea.

The End.