There was a big storm last night with impressive lightning and heavy rain. It was a welcome relief from the oppressive heat in the un-insulated old attic space of my Halte Jacquaire. The extent of the storm becomes obvious the next morning as I ride in the parks through lots of fallen branches covering the paths.
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| Wild garden |
I've stopped because I am, in aviation parlance, uncertain of my location (pilots are never "lost", that would be bad form). Actually, I've stopped because I've ridden off the map and so need to plan a way back onto it. The area I've stopped in is rather dodgy, with obviously unkempt houses and plenty of rubbish around. Suddenly the door of the house I've stopped outside opens and a half-dressed and rather dodgy character pokes his head out to check me out. Clearly I am acting suspiciously. I'm across the road from the Fenwick factory and there's a steady stream of people converging from all directions, walking to work. Yet another moment where I realise how glad I am to not having to go to work every day anymore. Not that I disliked work, but I'm happy to longer have to.
Rain was threatening this morning although I thought I had escaped it. No such luck and about an hour into my day's ride it starts to drizzle and then steadily rain, although not heavily. I ride in the rain for hours, the sort of rain that's not really heavy enough to have your waterproof clothes on, but soaks you to the skin of you don't cover up.
After an hour or two of the rain I'm ready for a break and at Dissay I stop at a patisserie near the impressive chateau. There's a group of young people sitting there and they're impressed with my long ride. I order a quiche, decide to buy a sweet tart for the road and then spot a coffee machine. I order a coffee as well, and magically the price of my purchases drops. Questioning this I am told that since I've ordered a drink, a meal and a dessert I get the "menu" price. My coffee, which with no milk is actually not bad, is therefore costing me something like negative 50 cents.
I've decided that Wednesday must be learning to drive day. This morning when I set off in Châtellerault I ride past a couple of voiture école cars parked in a quiet street, probably waiting for their students. I'm riding along little back roads, ideal for learner drivers to keep them away from other cars I suppose. Later I notice a motorbike riding behind me. This is rather unexpected, since motorised vehicles, especially motorbikes, are normally quick to overtake. When the motorbike does finally, hesitantly, overtake I realise why he was being hesitant; he's a learner rider. Later, in a small town, four identical bikes with identically-dressed riders enter the roundabout I'm about to enter and do two circuits while their instructor in his car with bike trailer waits, holding the traffic back so his students have the roundabout to themselves. Here in France motorbike schools work by having the rider being followed by the instructor in a car, which when you think about it is not a bad concept. During my ride today I am passed by many learner drivers: it's definitely learn to drive day today.
There are blackberries everywhere along the route, often planted as fences along the paths. I finally stop to try some; they are good even if I don't know what they have been exposed to. I'll assume that since these are more or less wild, nobody has been spraying them with anything nasty. A bit later one of the villages has a sign proclaiming the area as pesticide free and bio; it's almost as if they had been reading my mind.
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| Only 1,372 km to Santiago |
Near Poitiers I pass a house with a shell and the distance to Santiago built into the stone wall. Probably a pilgrim who's completed the journey and quite possibly indicating that this house welcomes pilgrims.
Arriving in Poitiers I am following the route into town along a small back street. Ahead of me they are working on the road and up ahead there's a guy on a steamroller who starts waving at me, pointing to the footpath. At about the same time I realise he's trying to tell me to get off the road, I start to feel the heat radiating up from the ground: I am riding on freshly-laid hot tarmac! With visions of my tyres exploding from the heat I head straight for the gutter and on to the footpath. The roadway really is hot and I beat a hasty retreat back along the footpath, which at that point is only just wide enough for the bike. I guess I won't be following the chemin in this part.
At Poitiers I head for the Tourist Office, where I get the impression they are trying to hurry me along with my requests. Then as I leave the woman closes and locks the door behind me and the penny drops. This is France; the tourist offices - counter-intuitively - close, of course, for lunch. I had been delaying their lunch break!
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| Bike selfie with town hall - Poitiers |
Riding around the back streets in Poitiers, I am stopped outside Hotel Roynard (an old Hôtel Particulier) to read the explanatory sign about this historic building. Two small girls come out of the enormous doors with their kids' scooters. "Bonjour Monsieur. On va faire de la trottinette" by way of saying hello. So these old tourist attractions are in fact occupied. As if to make the point, there's an enormous pile of dog shit deposited right under the sign I'm reading. Poitiers is no better than Paris in this respect (worse even, if that's possible).
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| The statue of liberty (or at least one of them) |
Since there is no pilgrim hostel in Poitiers (odd, since it's an important pilgrimage destination) and it turns out that the Youth Hostel is 3km out of town, I decide on the relative luxury of a little hotel for tonight. The hotel is right on the Chemin, which will be convenient in the morning but is inconvenient now, since I've just ridden all the way up the hill into the centre of the town and the hotel is right at the bottom of the hill on the edge of the town. The group of musicians who had apparently booked all but one of the rooms at the hotel call to cancel and I end up being the only guest in the place. I decide to have dinner there as well - partly because after walking around the town for several hours my legs are no longer really up to going back up the hill to a restaurant, and partly because the hotel restaurant looks as good as any others I would have eaten at and I want to give the guy some more business. I'm the only diner for the night as well, which brings the benefit of a custom menu and some extra red wine on the house to keep the conversation going. And the food is actually pretty good.
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| Giraffes don't wear false collars and the cow jumps over the moon - Poitiers |
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