2013 Tour - The Routes

500 miles in total, split between Bretagne and the Charente/Limousin regions

Bretagne

Charente/Limousin

 

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2013 Tour - Jour 24 et Fin

Partir á Roscoff

The last day. Our journey nearly complete, we set off from Morlaix to Roscoff by an alternative route to normal. The previous evening S had been randomly gathering informational leaflets from the hotel reception and had discovered amongst these that a marked cycle route extended all the way to Roscoff. Against my better judgement we decided to give it a try on the basis that:

1. It could turn out to be a nice flat scenic alternative to our nice flat scenic regular route.

2. If it is crap then at least we would know never to go that way again

Initially it proved complex to get out of Morlaix, requiring that we first climb the big hill to the gare, and then the disappearance of the cycle route signs which necessitated a period of guessing until they appeared again. Not to be deterred we soldiered on, tacking back and forth across our required direction, sometimes going completely the opposite way, over a motorway footbridge, and eventually a relatively smooth but hilly route alongside an estuary. This terminated when the route took us through what was effectively a ploughed field, then over a beach, someone's back garden . . . you get the idea. Eventually we emerged on our regular route amongst the artichoke fields just outside St Pol de Leon, whereafter the cycling signs were firmly ignored. I leave it to you, the reader, to decide which of the two above outcomes I have decided upon.

So, arriving in Roscoff somewhat later than originally planned we made straight for the harbourside restaurant where S got her plateau de fruits der mer and I my moules et frites, and where we could while away most of the aftenoon before departing for the ferry.

And Home

 

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2013 Tour - Jour 22 & 23

Jour 22: Exploring the chaos

Having visited Huelgoat several times, I have never properly explored the forest walks and attendant attractions. Yesterday we visited the champignon and roche tremblant, so today we set off from the campsite to investigate the other 'novelty boulders'. There are a number of such scattered along a forest walk, such as the Le Gouffre and Grotte d'Artus. Let us first examine Le Gouffre: on previous occasions I have glimpsed this subterranean waterfall briefly but held off from a full exploration because of the presence on my feet of cycling shoes which do not make the best footwear for scrambling down wet granite. So imagine our surprise when we arrive to see a man lowering his 8-year old daughter over the edge of the railing and then watching as she rappelled down into the raging torrent; then, after lengthy instructions to his offspring below which probably went something like 'make sure you don't release the safety line from the carabiner . . . ' (which my kids would have done in a instant), over went Monsieur X accompanied by his 6-year old son . . . I can only imagine that they must have been related because I could not conceive of a risk assessment sufficient for the purpose of an organised activity.

After exploring the upper reaches we returned to find them still making their way through the subterranean passage.

Various other rocks awaited our inspection, including the Grotte d'Artemus, Grotte Diable, and the jumble of enormous granite boulders forming the Chaos, including a giant granite cleavage which I became jammed between, though S maintains that it is another part of the anatomy . . .

Eventually we emerged into the town centre where, not to spurn tradition, we had lunch in Le Brittany Pub. Immediately after this it started to rain in true Huelgoat fashion and continued to do so as we walked back to the campsite, where it then promptly started to rain even harder; but it is 'warm rain' I cajoled S . . .

Jour 23: Return to Morlaix

After surviving the downpour the sun actually came out. We could have been worse off, two English girls arrived by bike while it was hosing it down and then a French couple a bit older than us who pitched next door for the night. Despite being the first to rise we were the last to leave, '. . . because we had two cups of tea', according to S - well, you can't do anything without first having a cuppa. Once more onto the voie verte for the 25 km or so to Morlaix where we now reside at the Hotel du Port. It is market day today so S will be browsing the tat later on . . .

Later . . . we return from town with our purchases. Pretty good really, one half bottle of Sauternes (S) and a bottle of St Raphaël (H) to go with the cap . . .

One amusing discovery did come to light however, which requires a certain amount of back-story . . . In my planning phase for the trip I was exercised by the task of how to store essential condiments and spices in portable quantities for Le camping. Being a skinflint I didn't want to fork out top dollar for a bespoke 'multi spice and condiment set' from the camping emporium because I viewed these as, essentially, just small bottles. The solution . . . 50 mL polypropylene centrifuge tubes from the lab, the ones with the blue screw-on top. As a result I received much merry banter from S regarding my 'test tubes' and 'specimen bottles', but after a chance visit to a vendor of tourist tat in Morlaix I stand vindicated because, what do we see in front of our very eyes but Les Tubes á Epices . . .

Ca va . . .

 

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2013 Tour - Jour 21

Huelgoat

Today we set off for Huelgoat, much loved stamping ground of the SBCC. Luckily, Pete and Keith informed us that today was a public holiday in France, Assumption Day, and everything would be ferme, so we made sure that we had supplies for the evening meal and we were furnished with a packed lunch for the journey. After a mostly downhill run to Rostrenen on the canal we joined the voie verte, which is an off road cycle track on a disused railway line, which would take us all the way to Huelgoat. This is ideal when hauling camping gear because it does away with all the hills. En route, I got talking to a young man who was cycling along with a group of friends, doing a round trip circuit of Brittany on the voie verte from St Malo and back. He was living in Paris but was originally from Rennes, and had spent a year at Exeter University doing European Studies and History which he counted as the best time of his life - any time when you are a student is the best time I commented to general agreement. It was great to see a group of young people cycling around in the sunshine from place to place without a care and a map scribbled on the back of an envelope. When they broke off to go in a different direction they all stood by the side of the road and clapped myself and S on our way in Le Tour style - we were wearing our patriotic colours!

I have shown S the sights of Huelgoat: the champignon and the roche tremblant. I will have you know, witnessed by S, that I made the rock move . . . below you can see a series of pictures respectively of me offering coaching advice to S regarding rock rocking (so to speak) but she had no success despite all the training over the last few weeks - clearly a more stringent regime is in order.

 

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2013 Tour - Jour 19 to 20

Lescouet-Gouarec

Departure on day 19 from Lorient towards Lescouet-Gouarec for two nights at the Ancien Presbytere, where we have stayed on two previous occasions. It is a chambre d'hôte in a renovated vicarage owned by Peter and Keith who moved out from England a number of years back; it is a fabulous place run by two really nice people, so that is why we keep going back!

To start the journey I gave S a bit of a change by taking her up the dual carriageway towards Plouay to impress upon her the fact that I do not plot routes up and down gruesome hills on back roads to inflict maximum pain on her legs, but rather to spare her near death experience of four-axled, articulated lorries thundering past within an inch of her panniers.

As usual, on arrival, we were plied with tea and cake, and we also elected to have dinner with our hosts and two other guests, Phillipe and Patricia from Nantes, who were touring on a BMW motorbike. I tried out my best French but largely defaulted to their much better English.

Nantes-Brest canal

Today we cycled down to the Nantes-Brest canal. The sun was shining and the canal path was the busiest I have ever seen it. A stop at the boulangerie in Rostrenen furnished us with a lunch of baguette, quiche and tarte au pommes which we enjoyed canal-side in the sunshine - it doesn't get much better than that.

The more astute of you will have noticed that S has been wearing a pair of white sunglasses in preference to the normal £3.99 Lidl efforts. The sunglasses in question are in fact €15 LeClerc efforts, but that is not the point. I think that she looks suspiciously like Mark Cavendish in these shades, and today she surprised me by launching a sneaky attack of my back wheel as we approached the signpost to Glomel; I beat her hands down of course but clearly will have to watch her in future . . .

Tomorrow we are off to Huelgoat where, now that S has been pampered for two whole days, I have booked two nights camping. We shall see if she can move the rocking stone after all the leg training . . .

 

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2013 Tour - Jour 18

Retour á Bretagne

After a pleasant stay in sunny southern France, today we return to Brittany; who knows what the weather will hold for us there? Our return strategy consists of the TGV from Angouléme to Bordeaux, then Intercities train from Bordeaux to Lorient. The first leg is straightforward because bike reservations are compulsory on TGV trains, so you have a guaranteed place. On the Intercities there are bike spaces on a first come first served basis, so an unholy scrum will not doubt ensue and I will have to send S into battle with her foot in the door - we shall see.

Carnage of les velos

As suspected, the situation at Bordeaux was less smooth. We arrived and disembarked smoothly enough, then made our way to La Tupina for le dejeuner - OK, I lied, went to Café Tupina, the downmarket version around the corner, once again, not wanting to mark the polished teak floor with our cleats.

A sumptuous four-course lunch was had, the last course being a large portion of something similar to Breton Far flan. Those of you in the know will immediately recognise that we now no longer have to eat for a week because the aforementioned flan is a superheavy element which, when purchased at a patisserie in Brittany, is provided in a lead-lined box. So, having lingered slightly too long in an effort to digest the meal, and imbibed slightly too much, we hastily pushed our bikes back to la gare. Sure enough: the platform had steps up to it (first challenge); there were more people with bikes than bike spaces on the train (second challenge), but I adopted my usual ploy of stuffing them on to the first available carriage without regard to seating reservations; confusion about which carriage the seat reservations were in - probably my fault but this led right in to the third challenge . . .

H: (pushing trolley laden with panniers and camping equipment) excusez-moi (addressing SNCF official and pointing to reservation) quelle voiture est ce

Msr SNCF: (pointing to my luggage) a stream of French which I had no hope of understanding

H: Je ne comprends pas

Msr SNCF: (pointing at luggage) ditto

H: Je ne comprends pas

Msr SNCF: ditto

H: (realising it must be some problem to do with the amount/location of our clobber) Je ne comprends pas

Msr SNCF: ditto

H: (louder) Je ne comprends pas

Throughout this conversation, all around us folks are busily loading bikes, enormous rucksacks, IKEA flatpack furniture, portable nuclear reactors, etc. onto the train like a scene out of Ghandi . . .

Eventually SNCF gives up in frustration and I direct S to chuck the stuff on the train tout suite before he comes back. This done I then evict two nice young ladies from our seats based on my firm belief in gender equality and the prospect of a 6 hour train journey. Shortly thereafter, I see SNCF moving down the carriage in our direction, so I fain sleep. But I needn't have worried because his official ire has been redirected to the 27 bikes squashed into a place for 2 at the end of the carriage. At the next station there is a delay while some disembarkation (forced or otherwise I will never know) takes place; during this whole episode I fain sleep (S has already managed to fall into a deep slumber moments after sitting down).

The merits of the Dessert at lunch soon become apparent because the train does not have a buffet car - people are starving, small children are crying and having their sweets stolen, but we have our bidons and some choccy bicuits in the back pocket. Eventually we arrive at Lorient at 9.30 pm and are currently ensconced in the Ibis Gare which seems like a 5-star hotel, except that our clothes are soaking in the sink.

Bon soir

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2013 Tour - Jour 15 to 17

Difficulties

The last few days have been characterised by problems with technology and biological functions. To start with, my phone decided to stop 'roaming', thereby preventing me from not only uploading to the internet but also . . . well, using it as a phone. Calls to Virgin at £10,0000,0000 per millisecond have not resolved the issue as yet, and I shall look forward to chatting with Branstons [sic] minions to demand a refund for same, plus unused internet pass on my return if the situation remains unchanged.

Jour 16

Yesterday I came down with a touch of Delhi tummy which I put down to a dodgy moule prepared by S, though she tries to blame the duck paté - the remains of which were fed to the gîte cat as we departed today, but we are no longer there to see if it proved fatal. At any rate, under normal circumstances this would circumscribe one's holiday to a limited radius around 'facilities', so it is clear that the combination with cycling and camping is pure torture but I will not go into detail. We were on the road today, so I limited my nutrition to powerade, coca-cola and bits of bread. Ce soir I treated S to bangers, peas and mash, cooked up on the camp stove; I await developments. We are ensconced once more in the camping municipal in Chasseneuil as I write, but still without access to the aether, so who knows whether anyone will see this (or whether they do anyhow).

Jour 17 - Angoulême

It seems that I survived a night in the tent aprés the bangers and mash. Just to make a stern test I also washed it down with two beers and some red wine, without apparent ill effect, though I did manage to catch S's hair in the tent door zipper at 3 am in the morning on my way back from the facilities - 'the joys of a life under canvas' as I said later that morning at a more civilised hour. We broke camp as usual on a gloriously sunny morning and made for Angoulême, cycling through stereotypical French countryside.

We arrived in good time so I took myself off to find our lovely chambre d'hôte situated right in the middle of the town (booked randomly over the internet just prior to it going t*** up) while I left S in the park to attend to matters domestique.

Having roundly panned the delights of Limoges in a previous post, I can now report that Angoulême is well worth a visit, a bit like stepping back in time to an 18th century city on a hill, complete ramparts, cathedral and etc. It even offers floral arrangements to match your clothing, as modelled by S . . .

And opportunities for the 'Man at C& A' . . .

. . . and the guesthouse has WiFi, so here you are . . .

Bon soir

 

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