FOR me it isn't a holiday unless there's a bit of adventure involved. But this year the realities of household bills and fresh memories of 24 hours spent in Heathrow's Terminal 5 made a break close to home unusually appealing. My eager boyfriend quickly decided we would take his motorbike to France and so, after spending my holiday clothing fund on a stout pair of boots, helmet and protective jacket, we were ready to go.

We caught the midday Brittany Ferry from Poole, which took just over four hours. Onboard there was choice of places to eat, from bar snacks to a smart looking restaurant. We chose the mid-range self-service restaurant, where for £15 the two of us filled up on heaving plates of potato dauphinoise, fresh salad, cheeses and sweet cherries.

Arriving in Cherbourg bloated from our over-enthusiastic first taste of French food we set off on the bike. With 10 days ahead of us we had no firm plans about our destination, no hotel bookings and a limited budget. And while my partner has ridden motorbikes for years, I had never ridden pillion before. But while this lack of planning might not be suitable for everyone for us it was an asset, as it meant we were completely flexible.

That first day we settled for a gentle ride down the country lanes of rural northern France. Our indispensable satnav was loaded with French maps, so we set it to take us to Flers, which sounded pretty and was in the right direction - south.

Being on the back of the bike was an immediate revelation. There was no dozing off in an air conditioned seat as the scenery flashed by the window. Instead we were outside and the tedium of a long journey was replaced by the wind rushing through my helmet, the heat of the sun on my back and later the biting sting of the rain cutting through my jeans.

After four hours we reached the unremarkable Flers, which like most French towns offered a range of hotels. We filled up at a cheap pizzeria before staying at the shabby but clean Oasis, where for 28 euros we got a good nights sleep.

Up early the next morning we consulted the indispensable Rough Guide and decided to visit Puy de Dome - a volcano in The Massif Central in central France. It didn't look far on the page, but after a day of riding along the autoroutes we were shattered.

Pulling into the town of Riom, full of black buildings built of volcanic rock, we found the hotel recommended by the guide was full - but the owner cheerfully directed us down the road to another, where we took the last room for 38 euros. This was the only time on the trip we were nearly left without a bed, but we were reassured by the identikit chain hotels regularly studding the autoroute.

After a stormy night we woke to thick clouds and heavy drizzle - not ideal motorbike weather. After a depressing drive through the industrial landscape of Clermont we were waved past the queuing cars and up the steep ascent. As we reached the 1,464m summit the cloud cleared, leaving us looking out on a breathtaking, pockmarked lunar landscape of forest-covered volcanoes.

By the time we had explored the remains of a Roman temple to Mercury and tried to pick out Mont Blanc, the crowds had gathered. So, after lunch in the newly-built glass-sided restaurant, we set the satnav to avoid the mind-numbing autoroutes and left.

Late that afternoon we turned a hilly corner and looked down at the remarkable town of Le Puy-en-Velay. Towering above it were incredible lava pinnacles, springing up theatrically in the middle of the dense, winding streets of the old town. A brick-red statue of the Madonna and Child perched imposingly on one, the church of St Michel on another.

We were greeted warmly by the owners of the immaculate Dyke Hotel, where for 42 euros the moto' was tucked away in the garage while we enjoyed a raucous night with the friendly locals in the town bars.

Next morning we paid 2.75 euros each and climbed 82 metres to the calm of St Michel. The thick stone walls, improbably built in 962, blocked out the noise of traffic as we stood in the light from the jewel-coloured windows. Overcoming our vertigo we headed down, hangovers gone, and back to the bike.

From Le Puy we headed south, and away from the drizzle of the first few days to eye-watering sunshine.

For hours we rode along the mountainous valley of the Ardeche down a terrifyingly twisting road. Reaching the safety of the bottom we pulled into one of the many secluded campsites, where for 15 euros a night we camped by the side of a glassy blue/green river. After three days of bathing under the waterfall and eating peaches and olives from a nearby farm shop, we were ready to continue.

Having ridden through the Rhone Valley past vineyards and olive groves we reached the Gorges du Verdon - Europe's Grand Canyon.

In contrast to our camping economies we splashed out to stay in the dramatic setting of Castellane, where for 80 euros we slept at the three-star Hotel du Commerce. Under the shadow of an immense rock face topped by a tiny chapel we ate amazing Provencal food in the hotel's garden restaurant, with a set menu for 20 euros.

Waking to dazzling sunshine we set off on the incredible 130km circuit of the gorge. The azure blue of the river snaked below as we followed the hair-raising road, where for stretches there was nothing to stop us going off the edge.

Heading north again through the scented lavender fields of Provence we spent the night at the Hotel de Provence in the well positioned Digne-Les-Bains, where for 60 euros we feasted at Le Chaudron, trying duck with lavender honey-roasted apricots and gratin framboises.

The following day we headed up through the Alps, passing Geneva and mountain villages to stay in a tiny hamlet near Dijon, which boasted of playing a part in World War I.

After paying 20 euros for a night in the French version of Royston Vasey we carried on along the Nationale 6, the old road to Paris.

Avoiding cities and autoroutes we spent the day exploring villages and stopping in the sunshine to look in abandoned farmhouses.

Late that night we arrived in Normandy, spending the night in Arromanches where at the Normandie hotel a room with a view of the bulky concrete remains of the D-Day landings set us back 38 euros.

Our last day was spent exploring the WWII graveyards and shops of Bayeux, before a gentle drive back to Cherbourg for the ferry home, the bike well loaded with olive oil, wine and honey.

The holiday cost us about £300 each, a lot less than we would have spent chasing a unique experience in Africa or Asia, but all the more memorable for that.

Factfile Lizzie and Corin travelled to France courtesy of Brittany Ferries. Visit brittany-ferries.co.uk for information on fares and routes.