I left Amiens early to head for Lille. I felt optimistic as I set out: the journey was a similar distance to the previous day with fewer vertical meters. I was fairly sure I would find somewhere to grab some breakfast, however, out of Amiens, village after village were devoid of any kind of retail business. I encountered more problems when the route I was following deviated from the road onto paths and trails. I have found in the past few years that the maintenance of cycle tracks in France can be haphazard and I was to be bedevilled throughout the day by long grass, stony, bumpy surfaces and mud. One old Frenchman riding a horse and cart stopped to stare at me as I pushed my bike along. I told him I was going to Lille, “Bon chance”, he said, sarcastically, I think, but he was French, so it was hard to tell. Shortly after this, and about 15 miles and 2 hours into the journey, I emerged from one this impassable track into a small town where some kids were playing an odd game, which I discovered was called Ballon au Poing, not to be confused with “fistball”: a popular game in Picardy the looked a bit like volleyball, only without a net and where the ball is allowed to bounce. Surely, I thought, if there were kids, parents and a playing court, there there would be a boulangerie or small grocery shop? As I stopped to adjust my mudguards, which had become clogged again, something I ought to have done in Caen, I asked a passing Frenchman if there was somewhere to buy breakfast. “Pas ici”, he replied, suggesting I try about 3 km further on. He also signalled that the route was up and down, but I already knew that. The old bloke driving the horse and cart drove by again, and snorted some comment on my lack of progress. “Not yet”, was my reply.
Eventually, I found a supermarket on the edge of Lealvillers, and stopped to stock up with food and drink.
While the total amount of climbing on this journey was slightly less than the previous day, there were more ups and downs and more difficult surfaces to negotiate, and this took its toll on my muscles and morale. In truth, I had still not properly recovered from the century I had put in on the first day from North Yorkshire to Portsmouth. I had also been carrying a mild chest infection since about the first day in Caen, and was in need of a break. It took me 7 hours in total to cross the halfway mark at about 36 miles at Wailly. I rested for a while, ate by a statue of The Virgin, and pressed on. 
Eventually, the terrain levelled out, as I entered the flatlands of Flanders and my speed picked up a bit as I wearily pushed on the last few miles through Lens to my hotel in the centre of Lille, where, naturally, I was allocated a room on the third and top floor, with no lift. I gratefully accepted the receptionist’s kind offer of help with my bags.
Lille was much livelier than Amiens: more Flemish in appearance and atmosphere than French. I drank a beer in the old town, then ate at a chain steakhouse closer to the hotel. This had been the hardest day so far and I felt spent. I was anxious about the longer journey I was facing the following day to Antwerp, where I would hook up with The General, my co-rider for the rest of the trip, and enjoy a much-needed recovery day.
The Trick Cyclist 