Another long haul day along back roads that seemed to be the preferred route for heavy vehicles. Odd that bicycles are not allowed on tollways and other major routes in spite of their having ample hard shoulders and perfectly safe for bicycles, while back roads often carry the heaviest traffic but no space for cyclists.
I had a late start from L’Isle Buchard due to my chatting to Brian and Janet, especially Janet who was concerned that I’d had a few finger cramps the evening before and she didn’t want to let me set off in less than perfect health. A lovely lady – Huddersfield’s best.
I finally set off cross country, northwards towards the Loire, with chateaus every few kilometres of so. No wonder the French turned on their owners – such fortified opulence at the expense the ‘villaines.'
I saw my first fallow field today. The French seem to use the land so productively.
Just as I approached the magnificent River Loire my speedo registered 1600.00km, Of my estimated 2000km to London this means I am 80% of my journey complete with only flat country ahead of me.
Undernourished and badly jaded
The bike soldiers on but I heard a loud ‘ping’ at midday followed shortly by another. Two rear wheel spokes had given in, fortunately on the other side to the gear cluster so they were easy to replace from my stock of spares. Since the wheel is brand new I wondered how many rear wheel spokes I might have gone through with my old rear wheel.
I rolled into Chateau du Loire (just south of Le Mans) at 5pm ready to call it a day, The two ladies in the Tourist Office competed to advice me on the nearest campsite – I didn’t realise sweat and grime were so attractive to women before (note to work on that). They very nicely didn’t respond to my French in English so maybe I‘ve finally cracked the French accent. I put it down to my frequent use of the expressions 'poof.' and 'voila.' Or maybe they just didn't speak English.
As I left town en route the campsite a grumpy looking man in French 'blues' stared at me as I passed his gate, then burst into a big grin and gave me a vigourous Tour de France 'wind up' gesture and as I climbed the long hill past his gate. I returned the grin and waved.
At the reception for the remote lakeside campsite I shamelessly asked if there were any English or Australians resident, thinking it remotely unlikely (or indeed that anyone was resident). Again I was astounded to learn of three English campervans in corral formation almost, to match the nearby corrals of French campervans and Dutch campervans.
At the reception for the remote lakeside campsite I shamelessly asked if there were any English or Australians resident, thinking it remotely unlikely (or indeed that anyone was resident). Again I was astounded to learn of three English campervans in corral formation almost, to match the nearby corrals of French campervans and Dutch campervans.
For the rest of the evening an ex ‘British Army of the personal experiences of all things military. The other Brits had long since retired to the comfort of their TV insulated campervan worlds, while I pondered the daylight still left even after 10pm, and still so long before the summer solstice.
