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Discussion in 'Ride Reports - Epic Rides' started by Neo, May 13, 2002.
Spot the village
Bram going up
GREAT PHOTOS!! Truly awesome setting. Expect to see a lot of these on the opening screen and at least one in the hall of fame.
Sound of silence,in memory for those who fought for Europe
In front the pontons...........
Thank you for including in your wonderful pictures the one taken in the grave yard for the fallen soliders of the Second World War.
Someday I hope to ride in Europe and see for myself the bueaty of your part of the world, until then it's folks like you and the other Europeian riders who send in photos to share that makes me glad to be alive.
We often times forget that life and all of it's pleasures are but a fleeting thing, thanks to all of those who have sacrificed so that we may enjoy it.
Thank you. That was very moving and much appreciated.
Gave foto's Neo, vooral die Adventure invasie foto...
Altijd al gedacht dat de GS amphibious was
Your english story is much better and is a great reflection of the trip:):
(Good thing you did not find the village Normandie,that would be the greatest Adventure )
Quote from Razorbak:
During one of my trips to France, my wife and I made a special effort to drive up to the north coast and visit Normandy. I drove for about two hours, looking and looking for the city of Normandy, but couldn't find it. (I know, I know... another Blind Pig Run. ) Finally I stopped and pulled out my large Michelin map and scoured the northern part of the country for almost half an hour before it finally hit me. Normandy isn't a city, it's an entire region of the country! Here I was looking at all the circles on the northern coast with the small print indicating cities, and I couldn't see the large blue block letters in the background crossing the entire page of the map.
When I finally got my bearings, I found the D-Day beaches (i.e., Utah, Juno, Omaha, Gold and Sword) near the city of Caen. I also located the Mémorial d' Omaha Beach on the map. On the way to the memorial, we drove by the church at Ste-Mere-Église, from which the U.S. paratrooper became entangled in the steeple and dangled during heavy fighting throughout what is now known as The Longest Day. I was surprised to find the church still standing, and I noticed that it had a model parachute permanently fastened to its roof.
From Ste-Mere-Église, we drove to Pointe du Hoc on Omaha Beach, where the cliff heights were still deeply pitted with German bunkers and shell holes. We actually got out and walked around those huge concrete bunkers, both inside and outside. It was an eerie feeling standing inside and looking out towards the English Channel through the foot-wide slit in the concrete that runs around the perimeter of each bunker.
After a short pause for reflection, we got back in the car, stepped on the petrol, and headed quickly to the Omaha Beach memorial, since it was getting late in the day and we wanted to see the memorial before it closed. When we entered the memorial, we passed by U.S. military guards and quickly realized that the soil underneath us was no longer officially French soil.
Dusk was quickly approaching as we began wandering amongst the rows and rows of white crosses, so neat and clinical as to give the appearance of graph paper.
At one end of the memorial, a muscular giant dominated a huge array of battlefield plans and diagrams, covered with surging arrows and pincer movements showing the culminating drives of the allied foreces during their ultimate victory in Europe.
On the northern side of the cemetery, we looked out over one of the most peaceful beaches in my memory. Parents and children were walking their dogs in the sand. Several couples were picknicking, and others were splashing away in the temperate waters. The wind was blowing a nice breeze in from the water.
If I recall correctly, about 9,000 American soldiers died storming that beach, but you would never have known it by looking at the beach itself. To me, that's such a large number that I found it hard to comprehend. Hard to comprehend, that is, until I turned around, looked up, and saw the endless rows of impersonal graves, with no individual epitaphs, just gold lettering for a few exceptional warriors, stretching out on both sides of me as far as my eyes could see. That's when I finally realized the price that was paid to take that particular beach, a heavy, heavy price that was paid in American blood.
As I was reflecting on this simple but profound fact, dusk finally arrived, and the memorial began preparing to close for the day. As the vivid strains of "Taps" were being broadcast over the loudspeakers along the perimeter of the cemetery, I lost all composure and wept openly. I was so deeply moved that I actually felt unworthy of standing on what I now considered to be hallowed soil. I looked up at my wife, and she was crying, too. Just thinking about it as I type brings tears to my eyes again. All we could do was put our arms around each other and count our blessings in silence.
I will never forget that day as long as I live, and it's memory will no doubt guide and influence me throughout the rest of my life.
Hey Emile.......not ALL of us speak double Dutch, y'know.......
Great pictures from an area very familiar to me.
When I lived in the south of England, Normandy was an easy day's ferry/ride away and in all I have visited more than 20 times over the years.
Great country, fine roads, friendly natives, wonderful food and of course......Calvados.......
Your pictures have bought back loads of fantastic memories............thanks!:):
Wow! Thanks so much for post those pics. Just incredible.
I`am glad you like em ,it was a mixture of feelings to be there.
It makes you think again about certain things...................and the sacrafice of the soldiers.
But the ride was great!