events

The main road, the D951, was a little busy though not too bad, but I pulled into the town square to buy some breakfast, eat it and take my meds.  The shop keepers were all very friendly and everyone was out washing and brushing the pavement at the front of their shops.  Would that it were that way in Monkseaton.

Anyway, breakfast, they didn't have pain aux amandes, my absolute favourite, indeed, for some reason, I just didn't get any for the entire holiday, most disappointing, but they did have huge portions of flan.

Now flan in France is a large pastry base with about two inches of a thick custard type filling, slightly caramelised on top.  Delicious?  You bet ya.  So, breakfast was a huge portion of flan and the apple that I'd been given for breakfast in the B&B in England the night before taking the coach. 

At Léré, just after Belleville-sur-Loire, I turned off the D951 to follow signs for the Loire cycleway and once again I was on tiny quiet french back roads.  

This is the joy of cycling in France, that you can put together a long itinerary using only minor roads.  Yet french minor roads are wonderful, not the rutted, potholed things that we seem to take for granted in England.  

Then there are the drivers, again, by comparison to what I'm used to, they're fantastic, at least with regards to cyclists, they don't get impatient if they can't immediately overtake, and when they do overtake they do so giving me lots of room.

This is part of the cyleway, lovely riding, smooth tarmac, flat and the weather was good with not too much wind.  Was able to cruise along at about 25km/hr and there was virtually no one around.  I did see a few cyclists but all except for a family were going in the opposite direction.  The family, two adults and a couple of teenagers, with a guide, all on racing bikes, were going my way but were a little slower and I left them behind.

I stopped for water at one point near lunch time, near Couargues I think, and noticed I was shakey; I needed lunch.  The nice woman who refilled my water bag said that La Buddeaux did meais at the farm (a la ferme), this was about 6km further on.

I found the farm, the sign said down a track, and after 1km of a stony, rutted track I came to the Ferme.  A beautiful looking place, but on the gate to the delightful grassy courtyard garden was a large sign saying Fermé: Closed, and two noisy, barking spaniels reinforced that I wasn't welcome.

You'd have thought they might have put that sign at the start of the 1km long rutted, stony track and not at the bottom.  Bastards.

This was a difficult choice, there was a nice quiet towpath to follow, but gravel and hardwork, or a busier main road which would have been easier cycling.  I decided to go for slower and more peaceful in spite of my growing hunger.

I finally found a restaurant on my side of the river with my destination over a bridge on the other.  9€ for tomato tarte and lettuce, tagliatelle with cream and tuna followed by fromage frais, and to help it go down, yes a ppr, petit pichet de rosé.

Feeling a lot better I cycled over the bridge to the campsite, which was actually on an island in the middle of the Loire, and it was closed until 2.00 and it was ten to; waited in the hot sun wishing the minutes to pass.

I finally got in and paid and sat on a bench and watched the shadow of some trees move before deciding which was the best pitch.  I put the tent up but I was so, so tired; it was 35°C in the shade so I slept until 7.00pm when I went to retrieve my Powermonkey which was on charge.  Naturally.  

Charging stuff was proving an ongoing problem: my gps had run out of power just before I arrived here and my phone too, so no photos of lovely Sancerre and the Château on the hill.  No photos either of the lovely couple who'd showed me the cyclepath.  I'd asked a very attractive older woman cycling home with a bit of shopping in a straw basket about where the cyclepath went and she explained and cycled on.  When I got going and caught up with her it was just as she was getting off her bike to go into her house, one of those delightful, slightly delapidated affairs with wisteria or somesuch draped over a doorway and a garden bursting with flowers.  I heard her say something and so I circled, slowed and stopped.

She was interested in the bike and called her husband to come and have a look too.  He spotted my solar panel and so we all chatted for a little while about France, England, cycling in general, and recumbents in particular.  Very nice.  I love such chance meetings, and pleasant exchanges in foreign lands.