Tuesday 5 June
The paths north from Lacanau-Ocean were quiet, peaceful, woodland tracks, occasionally consisting of narrow concrete slabs, which were cracked and broken in places. There is no fancy suspension on this Ridgeback bike, but it is a fantastic piece of engineering. Its steel frame just seems to soak up the bumps before they can transfer painfully to my backside. Much appreciated.
Along one narrow part of the trail I spotted what seemed to a strange looking cycling set-up ahead. As I closed on the rider, I saw he was pulling pulling a covered trailer, of the kind used to transport little children, and just ahead of him was trotting a dog. The trailer was obviously for when Rover gets tired. I saw another chap with a smaller dog on top of his trailer heading in the other direction later that day at Montelivet. One man and his dog on a cycling tour, twice in the same day. The second chap stopped to chat with me. He was a Spaniard heading South and was hoping to get to Arcachon that day, the other side of Cap Ferret, where I had had lunch the previous day. I raised my eyebrows, and wished him luck.
After passing the first man and dog ,the pathway became blocked by sand and so I cut inland to a wide forestiere’s road that took me past a missile base. I hastened past, lest my mounted camera attract attention and have me arrested for spying.
At Montilivet, I pulled up at an Aldi for some supplies. The heavily tattooed young woman on the checkout seemed as high as a kite. The bloke in front of me had some groceries and six cans of beer. I swear the chemically enhanced check-out assistant passed the beer through without activating the bleeper, or doing that thing where they pass one over the bar-code reader and type in a number. I got no such largesse for my breakfast bars, sandwich, packet of beef, and water, but she did wish me “Bonne journee” with a big post-lunchtime-spliff smile and bright red eyes. Whatever gets you through the shift.
The cycle route became blocked again, and so I consulted Google Maps for the car route to Verdon sur le Mer, where I was to catch a ferry to Royan across the wide Gironde estuary. It was a few miles further by road than cycle path, but I did not want to risk a long delay over an impassable path and so I got my head down into the brisk northerly wind and made it to the port with sufficient time to spare to have a beer (ok – 2) at a cafe before embarkation. At the dock, I encountered Nigel and Nick, father and son, who had been on the same ferry I had taken from Portsmouth to Santander, and who had briefly passed me twice on my long ride from San Sebastián to Biscarrosse a few days ago. I also met Michael, a German guy cycling from Portugal back to his home in Hamburg. We shared some bike-touring talk, then bade each other farewell on the other side
My stop that night was essentially a guest room in a family home. The room was lovely, and the en suite bath was fantastic, but it did feel a little uncomfortable passing through their open plan living room and kitchen on my way in and out of the house. I ate at an Italian restaurant in the town then found a lively little bar round the corner serving an average German beer or a tasty, stronger, Belgian, IPA-influenced offering, namwd Kasteel. No contest, really. I’m afraid I had one too many before wandering back to my lodgings. I sneaked silently upstairs to my room, then blew it by falling over noisily as I put my shoes down beside the bed.
Wednesday 6 June
I woke a little the worse for wear and made my way down to the kitchen for breakfast. Anne, the hostess, was very cheerful and welcoming, but her daughter in the corner seemed a little grumpy. I guess I must have woken her the previous night. I filled my belly with bread, fruit, yoghurt and pain au chocolate, swallowed some coffee and juice, packed, paid and left at about 10.
The first half of the journey could not have been a greater contrast to the previous day. I had to ride along a busy road, with very few cycle lanes, that included a 5km section of dual carriageway where the speed limit was 110 km/hr. I felt very exposed and vulnerable at junctions, with accelerating traffic merging from my right and other vehicles passing me at speed on my left. At one junction, had I arrived 30 seconds earlier, I would have been a goner, as a large flat bed HGV joined the main carriageway as I was passing the junction. As it happened I spotted it in time to slow down and let it pass across me before darting right to the relative safety of the kerbside.
There was a cycle lane at the large bridge across the Charente outside Rochefort, and I stopped for a while to watch how well it was being observed by the cars, lorries and vans crossing the bridge (it wasn’t) before deciding to get off and push my bike on foot to the top of the bridge. I freewheeled down the other side and thereafter the going was much safer and easier through Rochefort and beyond to La Rochelle. I rode a little wearily along quiet country lanes and through sleepy little villages to my destination.
In La Rochelle, I found a very good little French restaurant on Trip Advisor and thought I had reserved a table using The Fork before it opened, but I hadn’t. The patron took pity on me and accommodated me on a small table by the door, from where I rather guiltily watched while he and his staff turned several hopeful couples away for the rest of the night, while I tucked into a really very nice dish of Iberian pork and mashed pommes de terre, followed by cheese and coffee, all washed down with half a litre of claret. The entree was the only miss. Labelled “L’inspiration du Chef” on the menu board, I am afraid it failed to do so: it sounded great when explained, and looked terrific when it arrived – egg topped with grated truffle on a cream sauce and peas – but there was no flavour from the truffle – probably grated and left too long before service – so, it turned out to be a 16 Euro poached egg and peas, which was probably a bit extravagant. The rest of the meal was terrific and is the first real taste of French food of the trip. I’m going back tonight to try the Magret.
Today is a rest day, so I’ve taken a little jaunt across the road bridge to Ile de Re, where I am presently sat overlooking the harbour tapping out this blog. I’m going to meander around the island, then back to the hotel before dinner.
Early start planned tomorrow as I head north towards the Loire, which I will cross at Nantes on Saturday.
Au revoir, mes amis.
The Trick Cyclist 