# Travels with Hobbes - The Velodyssey



## HobbesOnTour (3 Apr 2020)

I'm off the road and we're all cooped up trying not to go stir crazy and be overwhelmed by fear so I thought I'd dig out something I started writing up last year when I was confined to my floor with illness. I'm on lockdown too and there's only so many Spanish lessons I can do before my head explodes! 

@florencethnurse , @tom73 I know that this is a busy time for you guys at the moment, but this might offer some light relief and a bit of inspiration for a happier future

It's lacking detail in terms of distances (but if you really want you could look them up) and after the first few days some of the sections blur into one.

This is the first part of my trip down to Spain to "do" The Camino to Santiago. This will cover the part from my front door down to the south of France. When I get through this, I'll post up my recollections of the Camino experience itself.

The only photos I have are those saved on Google Photos, so some postings will be a little bare.

As always I'd be happy to answer any questions and would like to stress that this is not a "Oh look at what I've done thread" but a "If I can do this anyone can" type of thread. 

With the exception of my Ortlieb panniers I had no expensive gear, no GPS, no fancy touring bike. I had the time and the desire for adventure. That's all we really need!

Enjoy!


*Heading off along Bel's Lijntje, an old railway line running from Tilburg (NL) to Turnout (BE)*​


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## HobbesOnTour (3 Apr 2020)

Well, what makes someone pack up and head south on a bike for an adventure?

Yep! That’s definitely a rhetorical question! When it’s put like that, who wouldn’t want to do such a thing?

My story was simple, and probably not all that original.

I’d had an idea to do the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage not because of any deep religious motivation (although the time earned off Purgatory wouldn’t go amiss!) but as an experience. Of course I’d read about it, watched the movie (“The Way” with Martin Sheen) but I think the real reason was that it was a clearly signposted route, followed by all kinds of folk of all different abilities and if they could do it, then so could I. But….. I have a bad knee and the kind of walking required would probably mean that completing it in one trip would not be possible. 

So the solution was to bike it! But…… that felt like cheating. 

So the solution to that was to cycle from my home (Tilburg, The Netherlands). Problem solved!

I used to run a bar (or more correctly, over a number of years the bar had begun to run me). 

I’d finished up there at the end of 2014 and thought I’d do the Camino in Septemberish 2015. I took some down time for a couple of months and then went looking for a stress-free job. Not having looked for a job in about 18 years, I was initially happy to get some work in a logistics centre not too far from where I lived.

I was employed on what I believe is a zero hour contract which meant that I was guaranteed exactly zero hours per week! Sure, there’d be some hours, sometimes 30, sometimes 5. One week I was cancelled every single day! 

After a few weeks of almost no work, I decided to bring forward my departure date a little bit. Instead of 4 months, I’d depart in 4 days! 

And that’s what I did!

On Tuesday, May 12 I rolled out of Tilburg and headed south.

Now, I wasn’t totally unprepared!

My bicycle touring history was limited, but progressive. By that I mean my first tour was two years previously - a (at the time!) challenging trek along the Danube from Passau to Vienna where my bags were carried from hotel to hotel and the average distance was about 50 km per day. 

My second tour I carried my own gear and I followed the German Romantische Straße from Wurzburg to Fussen.

This was going to be the first time I would be looking after everything - carrying everything I needed and sleeping in a tent for the first time in close on 30 years.

I had already started picking up some gear. I realised very quickly that the choice of equipment was endless! As were the opinions on offer! I eventually decided to equip myself in the same way that I am personally equipped - for comfort, not speed! 

I got a three man tent for the simple reason that it might be nice to have a companion at times and 2 man tents are too darn small for 2 people and their gear in the rain. Yes, it’s heavy but when it rains and myself and my gear are dry the next morning I really don’t mind.

I got a cheap sleeping mat (with a pillow!) from China - a mistake I won’t make again! It lasted 3 days!

I got a decent 2 season sleeping bag which turned out to be fine for the trip.

I got a solar panel and a battery pack to keep my electronics charged.

I had done some practise riding with full pack and had tested everything on a two day trip to Antwerp. It was my plan that I’d take several weekend trips over the summer and refine my gear, but when I decided to drop the non-existent work and head away, I had the main things I thought I needed.

So I left.

But there was one thing I did not get to do before I left.

The Camino de Santiago (The Way of St. James) is actually not one route, more a collection of different routes all ending in Santiago de Compostela in northwest Spain. Commonly, it’s taken to mean a route originating in St Jean Pied de Port in southern France. But there are many historical routes from all over Europe. It had been my intention to start at a traditional starting point in the Netherlands, and get my first stamp in my “Pilgrim’s Passport”. But now, I was eager to head south and didn’t want to head north to Haarlem. The evening before I left I was hit by (divine?) inspiration and set out for the local Trappist Monastery (& Brewery) where I received my first stamp!

I liked the symmetry - as I set off on a trip to mark my new life, I was doing so with a symbol from my old (I used to sell lots of their beer!)

My Travelling Companions:
Rocco, the Bike.





Yes, I’m one of those people who names their bike. Sue me!

Rocco was a gift from a friend and sometimes competitor who had a spare bike sitting at home. He’s a hybrid of unknown origin but we have developed a bond over the years. 

Hobbes, the Tiger





For those that are familiar with the Calvin & Hobbes comic strip you’ll know who he is. For those that aren’t you should check it out - humour, observation and a whole lot of entertainment.

I’m not the most comfortable of people in photographs, and I’m not a big fan of selfies, so Hobbes records our travels photographically.


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## tom73 (3 Apr 2020)

Cool nice one


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## Cycleops (4 Apr 2020)

Thanks HobbesOnTour, that’s really lifted my spirits.


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## HobbesOnTour (4 Apr 2020)

Day 1 Grimbergen, Belgium, Tuesday May 12

*Similar location, different trip*






This was an easy day’s cycling. The first stage I had covered many times before so it was familiar and the sun was shining and whatever wind was blowing wasn’t bothering me.
*Exotic animals already!*





*World class trolling on the Bells Lijntje at the Dutch Belgian border. Belgium were in the World Cup (WK), Holland not! - taken on another trip*​





Navigation by bike in the Netherlands is straightforward - even for somebody as directionally challenged as me!
*Typical cycle path - from another trip*





You can follow main roads town to town, normally on separate bicycle paths or follow the knooppunten - numbered routes that bring you through the countryside.
*Satan's Brewery (taken from another trip)*





They use knooppunten in Belgium too, so navigation was easy enough, though finding the campsite in Grimbergen was tricky because they were setting up for their Kermis (funfair) and lots of traffic diversions were in place (for bikes too!), but we got there just in time and set camp seemingly surrounded by Polish campervans.
*Belgium! (Taken on another trip)*





Dinner was from a Belgian frituurtent (chip shop) and if every day could end that way, then every day would be a perfect day.
*A different campground at a different time - but still Belgium!*​




_*Elsewhere in Belgium....*_





*A local canal, taken at a different time*


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## HobbesOnTour (5 Apr 2020)

Day 2 Unknown location just over the French border

*Taken at a different time and a different place included because it's bright & cheery! 😊*​





Wow! This is real travelling! 2 days on the road and 3 countries visited! 

*No, I wasn't lost! Another time on the Dutch coast*​





Today was a bit tougher. More hills! And the new ecco runners I had bought seemed to be hurting my ankles.
*An actual correct photo! That's Brussels in the background*​





*One of the great things about bike touring is that I have the time to stop and admire boats! I love boats! 
( A different trip)*​





Finding the campsite again wasn’t easy, but this time because it was in the middle of nowhere in the countryside. But what a campsite! In a forest and this time away from the mobile homes and campervans. I went for a shower and came back to a rabbit staring intently at Hobbes who was guarding the tent. The following morning, the dawn chorus was glorious! And to add to the general interest, there were dozens of chickens happily clucking around.






*Just to fill this out, a couple of pics taken on my morning commute. *











​


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## HobbesOnTour (6 Apr 2020)

Day 3 Peronne

After crossing the border I had run out of knooppunten to follow and my plan was to buy a French map today. Great in theory, but this was Ascension Thursday and everywhere was shut!! At least it meant that the roads I was travelling on were not busy, but gone were the calm and comfortable cycle paths I was so used to travelling on. (Holland spoils cyclists!) 
*Taking the long way home from work!*​





Today was wet. And stormy! 

I actually enjoy cycling in the rain (so long as it’s not cold) - it’s the getting wet that I hate! And today was one of those days where it rained, then stopped then rained some more. Then the wind picked up and it rained hard. So I was getting wet…. but slowly. 
*Taking the long way home from work!*​





At one stage as I cycled along the crest of a gentle hill the wind was threatening to blow me across the road. A couple of kilometers further along there were some trees along the roadside representing the only available cover so I raced for them planning on sheltering until the gusts had passed. Just as I stopped a heavy branch was blown right off the tree and crashed onto the ground a little further up the road - in the general area of where I would have been! This solo cycling can be exciting!

*Taking the long way home from work!*​





Arriving into Peronne, still raining, I was already looking forward to having a shower and some dry clothes at the local muni (Municipal Campsite). This was well signposted and easy to find being located very close to the town centre. As I cycled closer to the campsite I became aware of a car behind me hanging back, taking the same turns as me. As I turned onto the street that the campsite was located on I was a little worried to see nobody else around and this car still driving very slowly behind me.

*A Dutch Sunset*​





When I stopped at the gates of the muni, the car stopped behind me and now I was getting really worried. I looked desperately for a way to open the gate, so desperately, I completely failed to notice the fact that there were no signs of life in the campsite. When I heard the car door opening I braced myself for a mugging and immediately felt terribly guilty when an elderly gentleman introduced himself and pointed to his wife still in the car who had spotted me and encouraged him to follow me in case this was my destination because, yep - you’ve guessed it - the campsite was closed!

Wet, rapidly cooling down, and with no research done for possible alternatives I could feel my spirits plummet but this elderly man soon fixed that. Explaining in great detail where there was another campsite he soon had me on my way again. 

And that right there is why I like travelling on my bike so much - we are so much more approachable on our bikes.

*Our Hero in Austria*​





*Still in Austria.....*



​An hour later I had set camp, showered, the sun was out and I was sitting beside the river eating delicious food served from a trailer. 
*Somewhere in Holland*​





_Apologies for all the incorrect photos. It gets better after Paris, I promise! _😊


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## HobbesOnTour (7 Apr 2020)

Day 4 Peronne - Amiens - Paris (Train)

On the advice of the very friendly guy working in the campsite, I headed off the following morning following the river Somme in the direction of Amiens. My plan, such as it was, was to avoid cycling into Paris (where drivers are well known to be crazy) and instead head in by train. I had a hostel booked for a couple of nights for exploring the city of Paris.
*A cold February night!*​





The route I was following was little more than a path, but I had been assured that it was fine for a bike. Well, I don’t want to impugn the reputation of all French people, but I think this guy was having a laugh. Somewhere I encountered what could only be a field of deep mud. I mean a foot deep. The bike stopped. I put my feet down. Pushed off and left not one, but both of my trainers behind!

In fairness, I wasn’t alone. There was another guy ahead of me, on a road bike, in all the gear. At least he could pick his light bike up and walk with it. I couldn’t! I was brought back to my old history lessons about World War I. There was lots of talk of the mud around the Somme. It’s true what they say - if you really want to learn about something, you should experience it.
*On the way to Ireland.....*​





To say progress was slow would be an understatement. It was non-existent. I was stuck. Physically, I was glued in place. Mentally, I was not ready for this. I’m supposed to be cycling. Sun shining. Easy. What the hell is this???

I laugh at it now, but I was really getting frustrated. This wasn’t in the plan! I wanted a cigarette, but had given up when I left. So I had none. And there was no prospect of me drawing on the sweet nicotine smoke as long as I was stuck there! So, I removed my shoes, shook what mud I could off them, and strapped them on top of my tent on my rear rack. In bare feet I started to push, drag, slide my bike along. A few times I nearly slipped down myself, but the bike was so heavy and so stable in the mud it actually supported me. I could take my hands off it and it would remain standing!

At some point, I really can’t recall the length of time, I emerged out of the thinning mud onto some grass. Then I had to clean the bike with a few twigs I found. When I had done the best I could do with my limited tools, I turned to cleaning myself as best I could. I think it was then I realised that I was turning into some sort of a cyclist - the bike got cleaned before I did!
*On the way home from Ireland*​





Onward to Amiens. And my next lesson in cycle touring. From misery in the mud I was charmed by the approach to Amiens, past ponds and little streams and gardens and frankly, living versions of Monet’s water-lily type paintings. It was simply beautiful. In most other countries, these private gardens would be allotments, producing vegetables. Here, in France, they were full of flowers. And places for people to gather and sit and to enjoy all those flowers. Maybe there were vegetable gardens, but I don’t remember them. I just remember some absolutely beautiful scenes that a guy with mud up his legs, all over his shoes and still caked to parts of his bike was able to enjoy.

Remembering something I had read about churches, or more specifically, cemeteries, having a water tap, I pulled off and was able to wash myself, Rocco and the bags. Now I was feeling less like an alien invader in this beautiful, natural world artwork.
*Boatwatching in NL*​





In Amiens, I headed for the train station, shuffled the bike along a bemused queue of people to buy a ticket to Paris. Despite everything earlier I was still on schedule, although it has to be said more by accident than design.

I went out to the board to see what time my train was going to see that there was a strange word where the departure time was. My French is limited. In my defense, you never met my French teacher. I know that, because if you did, there was no indication from him that he knew any French. In any case my French was as limited in the same way that the river path along the Somme was limited. Somebody might say it was passable, but go ahead and try!

*Roccalita, Roccado's sister on our way to work*​





I tried to ask a few people, but nobody seemed to want to help. Eventually, I resorted to Google translate, Cancelled was the result. Now I was just mad! They had sold me a ticket, said nothing and now my train was cancelled. I wanted to go back to the ticket desk, but the queue was long and I really didn’t want to be dragging the loaded bike along the zig zag of the queue. Frustrated, I started to move to the door and then realised that there was an information office located in the middle of the lobby. I joined that queue. When my turn came (quickly! This guy was obviously very efficient!) he looked at my ticket and said something I didn’t understand. At this point, I assumed that there would be another train running soon - I just wanted to know when and if my ticket was still valid. I tried to explain this in my best French. He just got louder…. And quicker! I did my best lost, desperate tourist interpretation but I’m fairly sure that it’s part of the French educational curriculum to teach themselves how to ignore such pleas.
*The greatest advantage of bike touring? Lots of food! *​





I was in luck, however, when a woman behind him leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. He sighed, turned towards me, grabbed a piece of paper and started to scrawl on it. “Ah”, I thought, “He’s writing a cover note to accompany my ticket”.

But that wasn’t what he was writing. He was drawing. His drawing consisted of a train on a railway track on the left of the page and a car on the right hand side. He held this up to me then quickly pulled it back and started scribbling again. He held it up again and the car was now closer to the train. And back to his drawing. Now the car was right against the train and back to his scribbling. The next time he held it up to me the train and the car were covered in big, bold scribbles and his display was accompanied by sound effects like a child playing with cars….when they crash."Crash! Boom! Bang!"

He looked at me and said “No more car”.

I really didn’t know what to say or do. I was stunned trying to process the scene. Then he said again, “Maybe an hour”. And smiled.

Outside in the fresh air, I thought I’d better call the hostel. They had a check in window and I was afraid I’d miss it. So I called them. They had no reservation for me! First no more car, now no more hostel! They looked around and it turned out they did have my reservation - it was for tomorrow! How’s that for planning! My one and only reservation of the trip and I screwed it up!. In any case, there was no problem - they had a bed for me.

And so I came to Paris with the plan to have a day or two to wander around.

*Paris!! *





​


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## HobbesOnTour (8 Apr 2020)

Two days in Paris

My first order of business was to get my Pilgrim Passport stamped. Paris features on many of the Camino routes and Notre Dame is the most famous church for a stamp. So I was up early the next morning and heading around the corner to that famous Cathedral. I was so early it wasn’t open yet, so I wandered around, along the Seine, looking at these strange green boxes along the wall wondering what was in there. All kinds of things as I found out later when their owners came along, opened them up and began selling everything from old records to book to postcards and all different kinds of things.





Back at Notre Dame, the doors were open, the rope queue guides were out and the Texan in front of me was loudly proclaiming to his wife that just because the sign asked people to be quiet and respectful because this was a working church didn’t mean he was going to be quiet. He’d damn well behave as he wanted. Gee. I can’t wait to get to Texas. On a bike!

Anyway, Notre Dame is incredible! My faith was lost a long time ago. However, it’s not possible to be unimpressed by these places. Some people had a whole lot of faith to put these places together…. And keep them together. It’s also difficult not to be saddened by what these places have become - effectively tourist sites. This one particularly. There was one chappie who quite literally was running around snapping photos of every single thing he could. He spent no time investigating what he had just photographed. He just ran on to the next. Even the Texan must have been impressed because I didn’t see him running anywhere and I couldn’t hear him at all!

I wandered around soaking up all that was on offer. I don’t feel comfortable taking photos in these places. There was actually a service taking place in the centre of the Cathedral. 

There was no sign of a desk for Pilgrims to get their stamps. Eventually I asked a young man in a cassock who seemed to be on guard. He intimated for me to wait just where I was, so I did, beside an alcove. 

After a few minutes the service at the nearby chapel in the centre of the cathedral was over and a veritable team of priests and altar boys (and possibly girls - they moved so swiftly I couldn’t be sure) sped towards me and the young man clad in back. They turned into the alcove confusing me because at the speed they were travelling at they would hurl themselves against the wall. And that’s when the magic happened! Someone did something and the wall of the alcove swung open! A secret passage!! My young friend caught the most serious looking priest and started talking to him, occasionally pointing over at me. He strode over to me, bellowed something about Santiago and whipped the passport out of my hand disappearing down the secret passage. It swung shut and I was left standing there alone. 

That was the only time in my life that I was tempted to rush out and buy a book by Dan Brown!

A few minutes later, the wall swung open and out strode my man! The only problem was he stopped the first male he saw, who happened to be with a woman, and presented him with my passport! 

The poor fellow was bewildered! One moment he’s walking around a cathedral with his girlfriend, the next a secret door has opened and now a strange man in strange clothing is attempting to thrust some kind of a document into his hands, a document he really is trying to avoid. I rushed over and in my pidgin French attempted to explain the error. The priest just harrumphed, handed over my passport and disappeared back to his passage.

I have to admit that I was very, very excited by all this! Secret passages! Epic Cathedrals! This was certainly not my usual daily life! It had been a very long time since I’d had any official business in a church.






My second order of business was to correct a few of my fundamental errors.

The first, was that I had bought an inflatable mattress from AliExpress. It even had a pillow included! It was already punctured. After 3 nights! I live and learn.

The second were my shorts. My red holiday shorts were ripped and the elastic had finally failed, so I needed some new shorts. 

I had also sent off just using my rear panniers. I wasn't happy with the handling of the bike without two panniers on the front. I had a set of Ortlibs at home so arranged to have them sent further on and wanted to pick up a temporary solution here.

This was my first trip to Decathlon! And certainly not my last! A fantastic store and dangerous, too! 

The final error I had made that I needed to correct was that on my first day, deciding that I needed a power bump, I inexplicably raised my saddle higher than normal. There was a logic in my head that the higher my saddle, the more power I’d generate,

I really have no idea what I was thinking! 

I knew what I was thinking now, though! I was wondering why my ankles were so sore! They were in agony. I believe I stretched my tendons. Funnily enough, they were fine when I was on the bike. It was when I was off that the pain kicked in.

I took to soaking a pair of socks and strapping them tightly around my swollen ankles for some relief. I would do that for 2 weeks until the pain subsided!






I’d been to Paris before, but I was really charmed this time. I was getting used to travelling on my own and starting to enjoy it. 





I organised a train ticket to get me & Rocco to Morlaix where I would pick up the Velodyssey route south. I still wanted to catch a train out of Paris so I cheated a bit to bring me further away


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## cwskas (9 Apr 2020)

HobbesOnTour said:


> _Apologies for all the incorrect photos. It gets better after Paris, I promise! _😊



No apology necessary. I am really enjoying the pictures.


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## HobbesOnTour (10 Apr 2020)

Starting the Velodyssey
*Decisions! Decisions! (Belgium)*​





Next morning bright and early I’m in the train station ready to rock and roll. I was early and just as well because the lifts to the platforms were out of order and I had to bring the bike and 4 panniers up 2 flights of steps.

My train was gone!

In a fit of oh so righteous indignation I had to bring everything back down again and I attacked the ticket office. In fairness to the guy behind the counter he was very Gallic, very calm and with the stereotypical shrug of the shoulders he showed me my ticket - 10 before the hour not the 10 after as I had thought.

Oh dear!

He was very good. He set me up with new tickets for new trains, a bit more circuitous now and didn’t charge me anything extra. I really wasn’t good at this reservations thing! At least I was in the right train station. I once went to the wrong airport!





I was going back to Amiens, then changing for Morlaix. I had a few hours off in Amiens, so I cycled around again. I was so charmed by the place.

*I was so charmed and awestruck by the approach to Amiens that I did not take one photo!!*​





Then back to the station and onto a train that I imagine would not have looked out of place in Japan - complete with people pushing people in before the doors closed!

It was packed! And stopped at every station. I have to say everybody was very calm and no-one objected to the guy with the bike and all the bags in the way. The conductress was even apologetic.

*Off to see the Rolling Stones!*​





Arriving in Morlaix it was later than I had planned - obviously, and I was surprisingly tired. I knew there was a Youth Hostel in the area so I headed for that sans reservation.

There was an intercom where someone far away was able to interview me and let me in. Very efficient. I had a dorm to myself. Somewhere there were a few girls but I was more interested in having a shower, drying out my clothes (it had been raining) and getting some sleep.

*Holland is great for boatwatching!*​





I had planned on being further down the road, but given my complete inability to get on a train at the right time I was just glad to have a roof over my head and be out of the rain!

Up to this point most of my days were above 100km - a little high for me. That was mainly due to having a reservation (hostel in Paris) and minimal time to plan multiple camping options en route. With my swollen and very painful ankles as a consideration as well as many more camping options this stretch was going to be more easy going.

*Camping in Arnhem*​





On a different trip in France I have a very clear memory of stopping along a little river and sitting on a wall in the sunshine (it had been raining for five days straight) and enjoying a baguette, some cheese and a half bottle of red wine as the river bubbled and gurgled beneath me. Bliss!
*
A bridge too far, Arnhem, NL*​


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## HobbesOnTour (12 Apr 2020)

Morlaix to Nantes

Now, this is where it gets tricky, trying to put together a travelogue so long after the fact - everything starts to blur together.

The first few days stick in my head, but the details thereafter, at least for a while, are lost. Given that I rarely use my camera when it is raining, I can figure out the rainy days. But that is about it. So what follows are more stories of events or themes that have stayed with me from that time.

This first phase of the Velodyssey is through rural Brittany. And rural is the operative word. The route follows canals mostly, where the quality of the surface can be variable. But doable.
*One of my favourite pics!*​





The campsites that I stayed in were unusual if they did not have signs warning about potential flooding. One even had a siren mounted high on a pole if I remember correctly.

Now I was back to following a sign posted route the navigation was easier, except perhaps through the towns where the lack of direction (N-S vs S-N) on the signs could cause confusion, especially at roundabouts. It might be an issue if you’re cycling with children, but for an adult with a bit of patience it wasn’t really an issue.





I didn’t have any maps with me and one day was surprised when asking at a tourist office for a local map showing the route (I couldn’t find my way out of the village) they had a map alright, but not with the Velodyssey marked on it. I wasn’t the only cyclist with that issue that day in that place.

My cigarette giving up gave up somewhere here too. And not for the usual reason. The fact of the matter was that I hadn’t had a poop since I left home. Normally, I’d be reasonably regular. As you can imagine, a few days of this and I was starting to become uncomfortable. Eventually, one fresh morning, after packing up my gear and hitting the road, I stopped at a bar-tabac, went inside, ordered a coffee, bought a packet of smokes and let the caffeine/nicotine combination do their work. Relief was pretty much instant!

Those bar-tabacs are interesting places. They were always open, no matter how early I hit the road. They always had patrons drinking alcohol (and full of smoke) no matter how early it was. And they always had sports on the many, many tvs that people were gambling on. And some of those sports were bizarre!

*I got very excited when I saw one of these Camino mileposts! - I wasn't lost!*​





*Recumbent Man*
On my first night camping as I set up my tent I was approached by a fellow cycle-tourer, riding a recumbent and sleeping in a coffin tent. We had an interesting chat. I was very interested in his bike with 2 small panniers attached. The next night we bumped into each other again and the chat continued. He was heading as far as Nantes where his wife would pick him up. He was loving the freedom but starting to have issues with his tent. It was very small. And he was getting frustrated with his gps that seemed to be getting him lost.

The third night it seemed only right that we have dinner together when we met at yet another campsite. That’s where it started to go a bit wrong. The couple of beers with dinner were fine, but then he started on the Irish coffees and the poor chap really couldn’t handle them. Pleasant to and fro conversation turned to one way ranting, bragging and just general unpleasantness. 

I paid my tab and retired to the tent. 

Sometime during the night I heard shouting and screaming in French and surmised that our friend was either staggering back to his tent, or out for a late night pee and was expressing his displeasure with the occupants of another tent.

Now, these people were an elderly couple, on touring bikes, with what could only be described as a family sized tent. It was so tall you could stand upright in it, and it had a living room as well as a bedroom. I was amazed at their ability to carry it from place to place. I had tried chatting to them earlier, but the language barrier was too high. I had seen them previously, so they were keeping pace with me, which I found to be impressive.






I had no idea what the shouting was about, but our friend continued to wander around yelling, presumably at himself at this stage because there was nobody else in the area. 

The next morning he was late emerging from his tent and had the decency to look a little sheepish. He tried to get me to agree that the food was bad the night before, but I suggested that the Irish coffees may have been more of an issue. Then he started to blame the older couple for “attacking” him for no reason. I just couldn’t see an elderly couple getting out of their tent to accost a passing camper. 

He wanted to know where I was heading to that night and desperate for a break from him I picked a place much closer than I reckoned I’d reach. He said he was going somewhere else to see an old car rally. Since Nantes would be the next day, this was our goodbye. Truthfully, I was glad to be getting away. So I got away.

I remember that day’s cycling as being very pleasant. Lots of canals. And then I came across the most basic of Munis - a field at the side of the canal, with a tiny block with a toilet and a shower. There was one picnic table in a corner and that was it. It was early, I had no food to speak of, but something about this place spoke to me, so I pulled up, went in and pitched my tent. I think it speaks volumes that I threw my gear inside my tent, emptied one pannier to carry my supplies, checked Osmand for the nearest village and headed off. I had no concerns that my stuff would not be there when I got back.


But man, that was a long 10 km! There was a vicious climb. But I found a minimarket, bought some food, stopped for a coffee at a bar tabac, then headed back to the tent. When I got back to the campsite there was now one more tent, a couple, and they had commandeered the picnic table. However, once they were finished eating they offered me the table. 

*I stopped and stared at this work of art hoping to be invited aboard.... Mais non!*​





I recall a lot of flies (this was beside the canal) so I think that’s why I was inside my tent when I heard a shout of frustration from outside. Recumbent man was back and expressing his displeasure to be bumping into me again. I knew how he felt!

He actually gave out to me for not being where I said I would be - until I pointed out he wasn’t where he said he would be either. Then he was complaining again that he had no food. So, to shut him up, I gave him my breakfast - bread, sausage and cheese. With the food in his hands he continued to complain about everything else. He never even said thanks, but I was grateful when he set up his tent in the far corner of the field. 

Next morning I was up at the crack of dawn and gone before he was even awake.


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## jay clock (12 Apr 2020)

a great Easter read.... keep it coming!


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## HobbesOnTour (13 Apr 2020)

jay clock said:


> a great Easter read.... keep it coming!


Thank you! Praise indeed 😊
I'm enjoying reliving the trip too!


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## jay clock (13 Apr 2020)

It is particularly fun having the random photos not at all to do with the trip!


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## HobbesOnTour (13 Apr 2020)

jay clock said:


> It is particularly fun having the random photos not at all to do with the trip!


Funny you say that just as I move into the stage where I have lots of photos! 
I might just throw in the oddball every now and then just for you 😉

However, on a slightly more serious note..... Another idea I had was a thread where we post one photo (tour related) and write the story of the photo and what it means to us.

Want to start the ball rolling? Anyone else?


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## tom73 (13 Apr 2020)

what ever the pictures are the right ones or the wrong ones. 
still enjoying the right up


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## HobbesOnTour (13 Apr 2020)

Morlaix to Nantes ctd….

*Encounters with the Wildlife!*

Long distances bike tourers in far flung foreign lands often have to risk facing down predatory and lethal local wildlife - it's par for the course!! So too in France!

While cycling along a canal on a gravelly, narrow path of yellow stone and sand I was suddenly set upon by two wild animals operating as a duo and nearly ended my adventure prematurely!

One moment my head was full of the beautiful scenery around me - still water perfectly reflecting the elegant and refined trees along the opposite bank, rich green grass contrasting beautifully against the light gold of my path, my ears relaxing in the sound of my tyres cutting through the gravel and birds singing out their warnings of an intruder on a bike.

The next I was fighting for my very existence!






A butterfly swooped up under my glasses and entered my left eye, flapping its wings in a ferocious attack (of course, it may just have been panicked and wanted to flee). It was a shock to my system but our hero instinctively closed his eyes and gained the advantage. This advantage was short lived, however, as the attempted assassin's accomplice crashed between the arm and lens on the right side of my face, putting up a brave battle of wing flapping that must have caused many, many hurricanes in other parts of the world!

I now had both eyes closed, travelling on a loaded bike on a narrow path beside a canal - I'm sure you can appreciate the peril.

A quick adjustment of the glasses and my left eye was free, but very watery. However, that caused the right wing assassin to redouble his efforts. Totally disorientated by all the flapping at my eye I finally jammed on the brakes, removed the glasses and the would be assasin fled, leaving me about 20cm from the water's edge pointing, Evil Kenievel-like at a fool's jump!

I had never wild camped up to that point and was eager to give it a try. These empty canals had lots and lots of places that I thought suitable and with no-one around I had determined to set up camp in one of these secluded beauty spots. At one stage I came to a beautiful, still spot, along the canal with nothing but wild flowers and trees for company. I'd need to flatten out a place for my tent but it would be worth it. I had visions of being woken by the dawn chorus and peeking out of my tent to a view of wild flowers and still water. I was standing, straddling Rocco admiring this wonderful view, thinking how lucky I was to be there when I realised I wasn't as alone as I thought. A rustle in the tall grass at my feet had startled me, but I quickly put that down to a field mouse or other such cute creature. I'd have a little buddy for my night's adventure! But my little buddy wasn't alone there seemed to be a few moving in a line beside my foot.





I can still vividly recall looking down, searching for my family of field mice, a welcoming, friendly smile on my face when I saw the snake slithering not 30cm from my right foot!

I don't know if I screamed like a little girl or bellowed like a mighty bear. I've no idea how I got the bike turned around considering I was intent on keeping both feet tucked up under my armpits. I don't really know much except that seconds later I was racing over the overgrown path and my urge to wild camp disappeared, snakelike, into a cold, French canal where it stayed in a state of hibernation for a while.

I hate snakes!!


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## avecReynolds531 (13 Apr 2020)

Thanks very much - really interesting travel & photos.


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## HobbesOnTour (14 Apr 2020)

Morlaix to Nantes ctd….

*Not France..... Back in NL*​





*Touring in a nutshell.*

Not all stories from the road are positive. Sometimes there are negative stories and I suppose it's in our nature to either focus on the negatives or consign them to the "experiences" folder of our brain where they can slowly accumulate dust and be forgotten. But I've found that no matter how negative the experience, there's always a positive just down the road to balance it out if we're in the frame of mind to be receptive to it. This next tale is such a one.

*Outside Rotterdam.....*​





I don't remember the town, or small city, but it was sunny, warm and quite busy. I was cycling through, looking for a place to grab a bite to eat but became aware of two young guys who separated themselves from a group hanging around a bench. They followed me on the wide cycle path and slowed when I slowed, sped up when I sped up and refused point blank to overtake me. Conscious that I was leaving the security of busy streets and lots of people I decided to take action and jammed on my brakes! They stopped too, but one was close enough that I could shout in his face - only I didn't. I figured speaking English wouldn't help and my French was not good enough to tell him to feck off in any kind of a convincing manner so I fell back on an old trick and growled loudly like a savage dog. It worked! I could see the confusion on his face turn to fear and the next moment himself and his buddy were belting back from whence they came!

I was still very unsettled heading off again and this just increased as I turned off the main strip and onto a side street.I passed a little store advertising hot food and though hungry, I thought it better to hotfoot out of town. A couple of hundred meters on my belly growled in defiance so I turned around and rolled back, scanning the street for any sign of being followed.

The store was a mishmash of little grocery store selling garden hardware with a little deli counter. I ordered a baguette with hot chicken only to be told that there was no hot food, only what I could see behind the counter. I settled on ham and cheese and as it was prepared got to talking to the two guys working there.

I was obviously on a bike - bike helmet - but when I explained where my destination was - Santiago - the whole mood in that tiny shop changed. All of a sudden my sandwich became much, much more full, a Coke was thrust into my hands, my hands were shook and my back clapped. When I asked about cigarettes I was told they didn't sell them, but one of them opened his own pack and took three out (leaving himself with one) and insisted on me taking them. I'd also picked out a few snacks and when time came to pay they only accepted money for my sandwich. I was a Pilgrim, and as Muslims they understood and respected that. In fact, it was their duty to help in any way they could.

I cycled out of that town and pulled up under a tree to eat my lunch digesting the rollercoaster that travelling on a bike can be.

*Along the Dutch Rhine....*​





*Still on Pilgrimage*

On the Pilgrimage theme, at one stage I passed a sign for a Trappist Monastery that was about 15 km away from where I was. Continuing on, my mind wandered and I started thinking that it would be a nice thing to have more Trappist stamps in my passport. So I turned around, joined the road and cycled, mainly uphill towards the Monastery. I eventually rolled up and went off searching for someone to give me a stamp. There was a kind of shop and an old monk behind the counter. In my best French I tried to explain what I was looking for but he looked at me as if I was speaking a strange, foreign language, which,in all fairness I was. I showed him the Passport. No joy. Just then, a younger monk came out and I tried to explain again what I was looking for. I was really beginning to regret the uphill detour until he grasped what I was on about. His eyes almost exploded with excitement and his arms started waving in what could only be described as a joyous arm wagging welcome!

You see, these Trappists take a vow of silence - they cannot speak!

*La Trappe, Tilburg, NL*​





(Funny story - in the Trappist Monastery & brewery in Tilburg there is a phone in an area of the brewery and a smartass on a tour thought he had caught the “silent” monks out - until he saw it in action. The phone is used by the suppliers who call the Monastery, and orders are made by the supplier calling out the product and the monk tapping the handset off the wall, the number of taps corresponding to the quantity!)
*There's a beer garden at the Monastery - well worth a visit *​





This young chap was very excited, trying to explain with sign language to his older colleague what I was doing. He looked at my passport and could see where I started. In the strangest game of Charades I’ve ever played he asked me when I had started, how long it would take, where was my bike and so on. In the end I got my stamp and headed off, rejuvenated and recharged by what I was doing and the effect it was having on some people. 

*Full size replica of Noah's Ark, NL. This thing captivates me! *​


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## HobbesOnTour (17 Apr 2020)

Nantes to Bayonne

Yeah, this is kind of a long stretch to include in one section, but although the route changes dramatically from rural countryside to seacoast it also merges into one blur, albeit a very pleasant blur.





The big campsite in Nantes was amazing! The biggest, most sophisticated campsite I had been in until then. 

I love the sea, so any day cycling along the coast is a good day in my world. Throw in the fine weather, the excellent paths even the headwind couldn’t get me down. In fact, it kept me relatively cool in the hot sun.





Small details that stick in my head include my introduction to squat toilets in some of the campgrounds. Truth be told the first one I encountered I mistook for a shower! It was only when I failed to locate a shower head that the truth slowly dawned on me.😊

Another pleasant surprise was the quality and quantity of the Municipal Campgrounds. They just seemed to get better and better and filled with interesting people. I specifically recall watching a woman wheel a big, big suitcase along past me. She found her spot, withdrew a tent from her suitcase, set it up, returned to her case for a double blow up mattress which filled her tent. Then she withdrew a second tent, a comfy camp chair and some books. She didn't seem to have a car and had probably arrived by bus. Two tents and she had a bedroom and a sitting room - I liked her style! 






I recall, too, in a town nearly being knocked off by an unobservant driver. Filled with rage I roared & gesticulated wildly at him. I had calmed down a little by the time he caught up with me again in the traffic but his horn beeping at me just set me off again. As it turned out, the poor chap was trying to apologise, only I couldn't see it for a while through the red mist. When I finally calmed down we shook hands through his passenger window and I set off with a few things to think about.

One night I was most amused after I had set up my tent to see ants crawling around on my fly. Closer investigation revealed one of the guylines positively swarming with the little buggers! I had staked it out directly into an anthill! We live and learn! 





My takeaway things from that leg are: Sunsets, a Big, Big Dune, Medieval Feelings, and the perfect dinner.





First of all the sunsets.

Being on the west coast, there was nothing between the sun and me as it sank into the sea. Given that just about every campsite was close to the beach, my nightly ritual was to walk along the beach and watch the sun dip lower and lower. I was learning the pace of the natural rhythm, waking with the sun, bedding down with the sunset. It was such a change, and truthfully, a positive change. I felt tired and satisfied every evening and refreshed the following morning. 





Watching the sunset gave me the time and the opportunity to think of the day just gone. It was actually a very useful and valuable exercise and a habit I tried to keep when I made it home.





Some of the beaches were not safe for swimming and some were famous for surfing, windsurfing and kitesurfing. There were some amazing skills on display some evenings, while on another I enjoyed an almost pantomime performance of a kitesurfer who could not control their kite - on land or on water.





The sound of waves breaking and washing up on the sand was a wonderfully soothing sound. When I was really lucky I could still hear the sea in my tent.


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## HobbesOnTour (18 Apr 2020)

Nantes to Bayonne ctd......

*Lots of boats to keep me happy!*​





*There were also some lovely forest routes*​






*The Dune:*
There’s a very detailed Veoldyssey website with huge amounts of information on it. I had studied it extensively, copying large parts into my kindle to act as an on the road guide. But here’s the thing with sitting down and reading something and actually doing something - they are totally different! And The Dune is the perfect example for this. I’d seen this dune in the info. It made zero impression. A big pile of sand. So what? But _The Dune_? That was something different altogether!





I became aware of this huge pile of sand on my right hand side as I cycled along. There were regular campsites on both sides of the road, so I picked one and rolled in. Pitching my tent, there was this huge pile of sand directly behind the campsite. I could see a couple of people slowly making their way up. In one place there was a ladder type device, laid flat in the sand to ease the climbing.
I chatted to a German couple in a campervan who were enjoying their retirement then set off to climb this thing behind me. I had zero enthusiasm. It was too early to eat, this was just something to do to pass the time.





The first thing that struck me when I left the back of the campsite was just how big this thing was - it was HUGE! I couldn’t see an end, either side and it towered above me. The second thing that happened was that I literally stepped back in time as I stepped onto the soft sand and felt my foot sink in, the fine sand flowing around my sandalled foot and between my toes. Off with the sandles and soon my feet were sinking deep into the sand, almost burning on the surface, but cooling pleasantly the deeper they went.
I quickly figured out to head for the flat ladder placed in the sand, otherwise I’d never get up.
The view at the top was phenomenal. On the land side, campsite after campsite. On the road there were big gaps between them, but they all met each other at the back. Seeward, the tide was out so there were little channels in the sand and the sea off in the distance.
The photos cannot do any justice. The scale is just so big. But it was great up there! 






I had literally entered a completely different world! I walked along up and down wondering if this is what it was like in deserts? It was so easy to get lost. Features in sand all look alike - As I discovered when I realised I’d left my camera on one of the spots where I had been sitting. You’d think it would be easy to retrace my steps (literally), but I hadn’t been the only person up there so there were footsteps all over - all looking the same. Thankfully, after an hour or so of searching, I found it exactly where I had left it.
I’d like to say what happened next came from within, but the truth is I’d seen a couple making their way down earlier. If going up was tough, going down seemed to be harder - until with peals of laughter and screams of joy they started to run down hand in hand until first one, then the other, tumbled and rolled down.

I was too sensible for that, so when my time came, I gingerly started to walk down in a zig zag pattern. But gravity had other ideas and I could feel myself being pulled down. Ah, to hell with it, I took a quick look around, could see no one else and started to run a little.

I’ve done a few things in my life that, if pushed, I’d admit to being pretty proud of. And this is one of those! The sheer joy of running down a hill of sand, your feet sinking in sand half way up your calf, the contrast between the warm air, the hot surface sand, the cool deeper sand, the softness of the sand when you eventually fall (and you will!) and the simple fact of time travel to a simpler, childlike time is something that has me breaking into a smile, even now.
I hooted. I hollered! I laughed out loud, big guffaws of fun and pleasure. And then I tumbled, finally succumbing to the top heavy situation as my torso was moving faster than my legs could handle. And that was even more fun! Total chaos as sand, then sky, then sand again flashed past my eyes, my body rolling and tipping, arms and legs flailing, sand squeezing between my lips and up my nose, filling my ears. My body was thrashing at high speed with absolutely no danger. So. Much. Fun!





When I finally stopped, I lay panting, exhilarated, staring at the blue sky rapidly maturing from a little kid back to an adult.

With regret, I picked myself up and shuffled towards the campsite, a little disoriented from the spinning through the sand, but more disorientated from the spinning through the years.

My disorientation continued when I couldn’t find my tent, nor the friendly retired German couple. Then I realised I was in the wrong campsite! Embarrassed, I shuffled towards the exit, along the road and back into the proper campsite.


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## HobbesOnTour (19 Apr 2020)

Nantes to Bayonne ctd….

*Medieval Reenactments!*

I had brought my Kindle with me for this trip. As well as a compilation of notes for the trip it also had a few books that I was enjoying. Having avoided the Game of Thrones TV series and books, I had decided to give them a go on the road. In truth, this was an inspired choice as there were lots of ruins along the way, bringing a reality to some of the scenes depicted in the books. Then there was the fact that I was on a bike, not too far from a horse, in reality. Then it all came together in one place.






I had stopped at a campsite and went to check in. There were lots of campsites in the area and there was no real reason for selecting this one. I rolled in, settled the bike and went over to a hatch in an office with a man behind the glass.





He didn’t want to take me. Shook his head in what could only be described as a stereotypical, French “Non”.

Then he smiled and explained he thought they might be a bit expensive for me. Indignantly, I wanted to know his prices. He told me and followed up with a suggestion for a campsite that might be more in my budget.

He was right! His campsite was very expensive. He was actually doing me a favour. I was grateful and thought I might eat in their restaurant later as a thank you - until I saw their prices!





Anyways, on to the cheaper campsite, friendly check in and off to my spot. Further south now and the ground was harder. Rock hard. There were no stones around to hammer in my pegs. I looked and poked and stealthily peered around. Nothing. So I hopped up on my bike and cycled back to the office to borrow a hammer or mallet. He wasn’t surprised and gave me what could only be described as an old, old, sledgehammer with a half length shaft. Off I cycled back towards my tent swinging the hammer and suddenly some of the battle scenes I had been reading of came to life, right there, in the French sunshine, I was no longer a galoot riding his bike through France, I was a knight, astride his trusty mount, armed and ready for battle…… with the hard ground!

*The perfect meal*

*A particularly enjoyable meal!*​





Everybody knows France has some fantastic food - and I was eating my way through France. It was wonderful. Great food. Fantastic value. I ate outside whenever I could. The fresh, sea air seasoning the food in a magical way.

*More boats! *​





I distinctly recall in a tiny village having the choice of pizza or kebab and opting for a kebab. Now, I like a good kebab, but let's face it - they are normally thrown together quickly and while tasty, are unlikely to feature in Instagram posts. But, of course, in France it has to be different! My kebab was prepared with the utmost of care with the finest lamb. I saw it - it was really, really good quality. It was assembled with precision and artistry that suggested preservation in a museum of food rather than demolition by a hungry cyclist!

There was no place to sit inside so I sat down for my feast on a bench outside. The old man from behind the counter joined me for a bit of a chat - limited by total lack of conversational French and a mouth full of divine flavours.

Yet one of the simplest meals was the most memorable.

I was camped a few kms back and had set off looking for food. On the sea wind I picked up something pleasant that I followed past some terrace restaurants to a little stand alone shack, not much bigger than a garden shed. Inside was a little old man and a young girl, a table, a big oven and a fridge - But from that shack came the most amazing aroma!





A steady stream of locals were coming by to pick up their pizzas, so I got one too and a couple of cans of beer. A walk of 10 meters along the prom to a bench and I got to sit down and eat the most delicious pizza as the sun dipped into the sea that was lapping at my feet.






As for the cycling, I found the biggest challenge to be the heat, relieved somewhat by the headwind. The surfaces were normally very good, sometimes sandy. There was a bit of a detour inland around an army base, where the surfaces alternated between poor and excellent, but nothing that should cause any difficulties. Sometimes there were little paths off to a small beach that would have been nice to spend a few hours. Overall, very pleasant cycling with increasing costs the further south I went. Daily distances averaged out between 60 and 80 km. I learned to stop and smell the roses (well, the sea really), so distance was not the priority.
Navigation was mainly straightforward - keep the sea on the right! - perfect for someone as navigationally challenged as me!


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## HobbesOnTour (20 Apr 2020)

Nantes to Bayonne ctd….

*Adventures in Bayonne*

I was camped just north of Bayonne and my rough plan was to head to Bayonne and cheat a little by catching the train to St. Jean Pied de Port, one of the recognised starting points of the Camino Frances, the most popular route to Santiago.

I did feel a little guilty about cheating, but the alternative was pootling along some narrow roads with no maps and besides, I was in for some monster climbing the next day.





So I hit Bayonne, went to the train station and bought a ticket for me - one for the bike was not necessary. Then, they told me that the train was not running - there would be a bus instead!! You've got to love the French! 😀





Since that wasn’t for hours, I went off exploring Bayonne on the bike. Lovely city in the sunshine. It speaks volumes that I have practically no photos of Bayonne (and none with me) - I was charmed by the place and enjoyed cycling around and exploring. (Taking photos was something I actually had to teach myself to do!)

Back at the station, there was now a very large group of potential pilgrims, all with big, heavy backpacks, hungrily eyeing up four buses parked together.

When a fifth bus pulled up, the crowd surged towards it, pushing and shoving with even a little trampling. The only “Christian” analogy I could see was with those in the Coliseum - trying to evade the lions!

As the first bus was invaded the driver could be seen pointing to the second bus and as that filled up, that driver pointed to the third bus. Being a keen observer and unable to get close with a loaded bike, I approached the fourth bus driver, showed her my ticket, she nodded, so I loaded the bike in the luggage space underneath and hopped into the front seat. A few minutes later I was on my way!





I was enjoying the view along the coast very much, until I realised that I was seeing a little bit too much of the coast. Since this was a replacement service, there was no itinerary on display, at least none that I could see. But I knew where St. Jean was and I was going nowhere near it. At the next stop, I approached the driver, again with my ticket and she gesticulated wildly “Non! Non! Non!”. I was on the wrong bus!
*On the wrong road! *​





I hopped down to unload my bike and gear and as I scrabbled around in the underbelly of the bus I became aware of a pair of legs standing right behind me. When I was back out in the real world the legs had developed into a tall South African. He asked me where I was going. I told him I was trying to get to St. Jean but that I was on the wrong bus. He said “Me too!”. When I asked him why he was on the wrong bus, he gave an answer that anyone who knows me would never give - “You seemed to know where you were going so I followed you”!__

I had been planning on heading off on the bike, but felt a bit of responsibility for my new friend. We went into the bus station, explained the situation (to much amusement!) and were told what bus to take back to Bayonne, to catch a later bus to St. Jean. A scribbled message on our tickets (no doubt including derogatory references to silly foreigners) and we didn’t have to pay an extra cent! 

Later than planned we arrived in St. Jean, neither of us with a place to stay. I had hoped to stay in a particular Alberue (Hostel for pilgrims), sorry, Gite, in France, as I had had my Ortlieb panniers sent down, but they were full. I retrieved my panniers and we went looking for a place to stay. 

We found a charming little place on the edge of town and had a very tasty, simple meal. The Landlady, far too young to be so described, was like a strict matron, but with a twinkle in her eye. She warned us that 2 beers were our limit!





A trio of young English, I reckon gap year students, were heading out for a look around town as we finished our meals. She warned them in strangely accented French not to get drunk, but the poor kids had no idea what she was trying to say. When I translated for them, they were mortified at the suggestion. Nevertheless, it was an amusing scene.

(They were two guys and a girl, clearly a couple and the poor gooseberry. Later that night the girl crept out of her bed and into her boyfriend's where they snuggled and whispered to each other before falling asleep. The next morning, the friend woke early and seeing the situation, crept over to wake them up and have her return to her own bed, preserving her honour in a room of strangers. I thought it was a wonderfully innocent and sweet scene. I had several conversations with them over the course of the day but never mentioned that I had seen the midnight bedhopping!)

That night there were about 12 of us in one room. Apart from the two of us and the three young drunkards (they really weren't!), everybody else was already in bed. My new companion made himself really popular by facetiming his wife and moaning about how hard it all was, how far he was walking and how sore his feet were. He’d started in Lourdes, got lost in the city, so had caught a bus to Bayonne where he followed me. Honestly, he was like a little child - and everybody knew it because he was shouting in a room with 11 other people in it - all trying to sleep!

Next day the start of the Camino! 

This brings an end to the Velodyssey section of this trip. I'll start a new travelogue for the Camino itself. 

I thoroughly enjoyed it! I've read reports that people found some of the coastal and forestry sections to be boring - I certainly didn't but having a Kindle and an (overactive) imagination certainly helped. Having said that, I had no time limit - perhaps if I had a set deadline my attitude might have been different. 

I thought the route had a bit of everything, albeit in long sections. The northern section was certainly more diverse and anyone put off by some of the dodgy tracks should know that asphalt alternatives were available nearby.

Having had an unpleasant experience in France years ago, I had set off with the intention of grabbing a train to Spain if necessary. I'm happy to report that either France changed, or I did in the meantime! It was charming, friendly and very language tolerant. Perhaps it was the bike, perhaps not. On subsequent adventures in France this impression has only become stronger. France is a great place for a bike adventure!

*A teaser for the next day 😊*​


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## netman (20 Apr 2020)

Merci beaucoup - hasta mañana!


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## HobbesOnTour (21 Apr 2020)

The sequel can be found Here


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## Brads (21 Apr 2020)

My youngest is called Calvin , for reasons you can probably guess haha.


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## HobbesOnTour (21 Apr 2020)

Brads said:


> My youngest is called Calvin , for reasons you can probably guess haha.


If he's got a tiger tell him to be careful - they have a tendency to wander off


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## Brads (21 Apr 2020)

He does, more than one.

One is tattooed on his arse so it's going nowhere !


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## HobbesOnTour (21 Apr 2020)

Brads said:


> He does, more than one.
> 
> One is tattooed on his arse so it's going nowhere !


That's an image that won't disappear soon!


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## Brads (21 Apr 2020)

hahaha

Sorry


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## Nitram55 (21 Jun 2020)

Wonderful, I thoroughly enjoyed reading that.


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## HobbesOnTour (22 Jun 2020)

Nitram55 said:


> Wonderful, I thoroughly enjoyed reading that.


Thank you! 
The tale continues into Spain somewhere in this forum 😀


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