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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