2019 Bike Ride - Day 8: Briare to St-Denis-de-l'Hôtel

Yesterday when I was repairing my second puncture I was a little less organised than I might normally have been, given that I was out in the open with rain threatening, and so under a little bit of time pressure. So despite arranging all the bits I was working with in as orderly a fashion as I could manage, I still managed to lose the little valve dust cap. No big deal, it's just a dust cap, but somehow it was annoying. I looked everywhere for it, but of course a little black cap on a wet black path with lots a bits of gravel and so forth is hard to see. So no more dust cap. This morning as I am packing my things in the B&B, suddenly, there on the table next to my handlebar bag is the dust cap. It's almost as if during the night the dust cap fairy has come and put it there for me to find.

I've seen quite a few squirrels running across my path in the last few days. Today there's one on the side of the path, complete with an acorn in its mouth, a bit like a caricature. Just how you'd imagine a squirrel if you were going to draw one. Very cute.

My route will take me past Gien and I decide to stop here to visit the Musée de la Faïencerie de Gien (Ceramic Museum - really a factory outlet). I want to do something a little unusual - for me - which is buy a souvenir to take home. And this place has a few memories as well. Not that something ceramic is really a very practical souvenir to be taking on a bike ride! I buy a couple of small decorative plates, which I carefully pack into the panier bags.

Bicycle Flowers

The route goes past a little village called Saint Gondon. I make a short detour into the village, passing a house with an obviously avid gardener. He has big pots of roses along the footpath in front of his house, each with a little name tag. His (or maybe it's her) garden is a mix of flowers and vegetables, of all sorts. He also has some old bikes, complete with baskets of flowers. In fact that's a bit of a thing I've noticed in various places; people seem to take their old bicycles and put them out on display with plants and other decorations. In this village it's definitely a theme because it turns out there are lots of decorative old bikes on display.

So I've stopped for a pee break. I put the bike on its stand as usual and am standing a little way away doing what I have to do. The wind is quite windy, and then it becomes very gusty. I have a passing thought that with this much wind my bike could be blown over and just as I'm thinking this I turn around to see my bike topple over into a ditch, rather ignominiously. Somehow I must have known this was going to happen. And you can guess that this wind is not a helpful tailwind today, so the ride is hard.

Speaking about being clairvoyant and seeing things happen before they actually happen, the night before last I had a dream about riding my bike, as you do when you're riding a bike I suppose. I dreamt I was riding down a really steep gravely path and my rear wheel kept sliding and skidding as I tried to brake and I couldn't slow myself down. I looked down and realised the rear tyre was flat so I had to use the front brakes to try to stop myself from losing control going down the steep hill. And the next day I get two punctures (both on the rear wheel). Very strange.

Forest chair

I pass a chair tried to a signpost at a small side road. A bit odd I think, maybe the person that lives up that path has put it there it as a marker? You know, along the lines of: 'Turn right at the sign with the chair tied to it, you can't miss it'. A little later I pass another one. Definitely odd. Then another. This is not a coincidental hanging of chairs. There's plastic chairs, metal chairs, and now I've stopped at a signpost with a wicker chair. What's going on here? In the next town there are more chairs, some decorated with all sorts of interesting things. One with carved cats, several with flowers, one with a dummy sitting in it, chairs that are painted in bright colours. There's even chairs attached to trees in the forest as I leave the town. Like the dust cap fairy and the tin of fish, this is probably a mystery that will never be solved. [edit] A bit of Internet research shows that the council of the village of Lion-en-Sullias has encouraged the residents to brighten up their street frontage with an imaginatively-decorated chair - apparently in order to promote tourism.

I'm riding on the dyke that goes along the Loire River. So I have lovely views and am also ideally positioned to catch the full impact of the wind. The crows (there are a lot of crows) are enjoying playing in the wind, gliding, hovering and swooping. I am not enjoying it quite so much.

I ride into Châteauneuf-sur-Loire and just as I arrive at the church, right on queue, the bells toll the hour. It's four o'clock. This is another one of those dust cap fairy mysteries; how is it that so often I arrive in a town or village just as the bells chime?

In a field off to my left there's a tractor towing a shit spreader. He's a long way away but since the wind is blowing from that direction, I get the full olfactory benefit of his labours as I ride past. Lovely! It reminds me of the first day's ride when I saw a shit spreader in the distance heading at an angle towards the road I was riding on. Clearly our paths were going to cross, depending on who got there first. I had no chance of course and so was preparing myself for the worst, but luckily before he reached the road he turned off the shit dispenser and turned around for a return run. That day the prevailing wind was in my favour, at least insofar as me being exposed to the shit spreader; it was most definitely not in my favour for my rate of progress.

Castell de Sully-sur-Loire

I ride into a village - more a collection of farm buildings than anything else really - with the interesting name 'Lazy'. Of course in French this word has no other meaning, it's just a place name, but if you look at the name with English eyes, so to speak, it does seem a bit odd. 'Messy' is another place like that I've ridden through, although in that case the name of the place was a pretty good reflection of the condition of the town. In Lazy there is a pervasive sweet smell of beetroots in the air, and I soon discover why: there's an enormous sugar beet factory here (most of the sugar in Europe comes from Sugar Beets and not sugar cane). This is the destination of those huge tractors towing huge trailers laden with piles of beets that I've seen negotiating impossibly small and narrow streets in little villages.

I arrive at my destination 15 minutes before the time I'd estimated to my host yesterday. Not bad, considering it's been a long day's ride with multiple stops and lots of wind and my departure time was dictated by the size of the breakfast I was served this morning (it was enormous). It's also the longest ride so far on this trip. My home for tonight is a lovely little studio apartment above the host's house. She is also lovely and clearly wants to make sure everything is just right, which it seems to be. On a table there's a jar with a handwritten label: "Petits gâteaux de bienvenue" (Little welcome cookies). It's that sort of place. There's a supermarket within walking distance and rain is threatening and the restaurant choices seem pretty sad. Since I have an apartment with a little kitchen at my disposal I decide to eat in tonight and cook my own dinner. I manage to make it to the shop and back with my groceries before the rains finally come, and I can smugly sit inside and cook my own dinner knowing I won't have to get wet today after all.

My apartment comes with a little courtyard garden, with lots of flowering plants and - of course - an old bicycle with a basket of flowers growing from it.

The Loire near Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire

Loire à Vélo - bed for the night

A few notes on the various types and styles of accommodation I encountered during my week cycling along the Loire River. Due to time constraints, and the fact that it was still a relatively busy time of year, I pre-booked every night. This has the big advantage that you are sure that you will have a bed for the night (and so I did not need to pack a tent or sleeping bag). But it also means you lose the flexibility to travel on a whim, diverting or delaying based on what you discover along the way.

Day 1: Bréhemont. Booked via Airbnb, 28 euros. A room in an old house that is part of a collection of farm buildings in a small village along the Loire. The hosts were a relaxed and easygoing couple who'd done their share of travelling. Parked in and around the farm were a campervan, a couple of motorbikes, several bicycles, and a kayak. The house had been restored by the host and was quirky with lots of random furniture and interesting home-built fittings and fixture such as the (frosted) glass wall in the shower leading in to the living room. Clearly not a successful feature, since a curtain had been placed over the window (otherwise you would probably have a nice "picture window" blurry view of whoever was taking a shower at the time. The bathroom was shared and the kitchen made freely available to guests. Not at all commercial, just a room in their house which they let out, which is what Airbnb should be all about. 

Breakfast laid out for me in the morning

Day 2: Les Rosiers-sur-Loire. Booked via Airbnb, 26 euros. Another room in someone's house, not at all commercial. The host was a widow living in the home she had shared with her husband for many many years until he unexpectedly died while on a trip to the UK. Now she's letting a room as a way to meet people and have some distraction. A really nice experience, feeling more like being invited into her house as a guest than as a customer. In the morning there was a surprisingly complete and carefully presented breakfast waiting for me; a very nice touch. The bathroom was upstairs with the bedroom and for the sole use of the guest.

Day 3: Montjean-Sur-Loire. Chambre d’Hôte, 50 euros. A commercial establishment, although on a reasonably small scale and run alone by a woman who has tried her hand at many things. She had two children in the house as well, which was their home.  The whole place had little touches of her everywhere and she was clearly passionate about what she was doing. Everything done by hand: from the decorations to the jams for breakfast. Early days for her, having just started. I stayed here because there were no Airbnb-style options in this area, and I did not want to stay in an anonymous hotel. A good choice.

One-star experience in Nantes

Day 4: Nantes. Hotel, 50 euros. A one star hotel in the main part of town. Tiny room and even tinier bathroom. Toilet was placed so you couldn't even sit straight on it, there's not enough room for your knees! You wonder how people can build stuff like that. Room looked into the courtyard space, a fairly standard arrangement in this style of city apartment. Advertised as "bike friendly" to attract the Loire à Vélo customers, the bike storage was in fact a store room reached by pushing the bike through the main front door, around some tight corridors and up and then down several stairs. Perfectly serviceable, but totally without any charm or other appeal. A bed for the night and not much more. Very well located right in the middle of Nantes, walking distance to some great restaurants and with a goor boulangerie right next door that also served coffee, and so was perfect fro breakfast. I stayed here because I wanted a central location, was too cheap to go to an expensive hotel, and the Airbnb options tended to be apartments with little or no (obvious) facilities for storing the bike.

Day 5: Chalonnes. Booked via Airbnb, 25 euros. A room in a large monopoly house in a lotissement (subdivision) on the hill above the old town. Artistic and musical couple, with three young kids. They made me feel welcome and were very relaxed and easygoing; I let myself out of the house in the morning. Clothes everywhere; spoiling out of the washing machine, hanging over the banisters to dry, in great piles on the couch waiting to be folded. Paintings (very good) on all the walls, done by the mother. Bathroom was shared with the children. Non-commercial and an interesting experience with a little glimpse of modern French family life.

Day 6: Saumur. Booked via Airbnb, 43 euros. A large 1970's house overlooking a golf course. The owners are recently retired dentists, and she is setting up for guests a few of the bedrooms once used by the children. Quality fittings and furnishings and an overall upmarket feel, matched by the price compared to other Airbnb offerings. Each room had its own little bathroom. No offer of breakfast, although I had a coffee and a chat with the host in the morning.

Day 7: Langeais. Chambre d’Hôtes. 65 euros. The most expensive night of the trip. A really lovely chambre d’hôtes run by a gay couple. The rooms are at the back of a fascinating shop selling all sorts of bric-a-brac and reproduction antiques; the type that makes you wonder how they can ever make any money. It's a shop full of all sorts of antiques and curiosities. The rooms are lovingly decorated and there a really comfortable feel to the place. Right next to the château and the best restaurant in town. In the morning there was an enormous breakfast feast of almost exclusively home-made produce. Very charming and welcoming host who clearly loved what he was doing. A nice place to stay for  my last night, and a good address for the future.

Breakfast feast in Langeais

Loire à Vélo - day 8: the return

Breakfast at Langeais

I come down to breakfast to find an enormous table, which seats ten comfortably, laden with food of all sorts: breads, croissants, fruits, yoghurts, juices, cakes, jams and on it goes. The host appears and explains that everything, except the croissants, is fait maison. Even the yoghurts in their little glass jars are homemade. "How do you find the time to do all that and also run a shop?" I ask him. "Well, when I'm alone it's pretty hectic," he admits, "but when my partner is here it's a little easier. He's a steward with Air France so he's gone for days at a time". I do my best to refrain from thinking too hard about the typecasting that's happening here; he's pretty camp in his mannerisms, his partner is an airline steward. From my experience to date, the places run by gay couples seem to invariably be beautifully done with care and attention to detail.This place is no exception.

I do my best to do justice to the breakfast spread, including the freshly-cooked paper thin crêpes which appear unasked for. The fresh bread - aux rasins today - is wonderful, the almond butter cake is delightful, the homemade yoghurt is perfect. But I can't fit in a piece of the lemon and poppy seed cake though and he notices. "Would you like me to wrap a couple of slices for you for a snack on your ride today? Then you won't have to miss out." Wonderful!

The ride today is more like 'Le Cher à Vélo' since it's actually following the river Cher for much of the route into Tours (the Cher joins the Loire west of Tours). The route passes by Villandry, with its château with its amazing gardens, which are colour coordinated and are changed with the seasons. Like many of the famous châteaux open to the public, it is actually privately owned. You may not agree with people having so much money that they can afford this sort of thing, but on the other hand, if it weren't for them, many of these places would be closed and in a state of disrepair.

The route following the river is very pleasant and it seems clear that the closer it gets to the city of Tours, the better maintained it is and the more facilities there are. There are even rest areas just for the bike path, complete with bicycle parking areas. It's not long before I come across another type of cyclist to add to my collection: an older couple, both riding electric bikes, both with pannier bags. But she has a basket on the back of her bike with their little dog in it, who is happily taking in the slowly passing scenery. Taking the dog on a bike trip? It reminds me of a garden sculpture I saw yesterday of a family on bikes, also with a dog in a basket.

Wallaby in Tours ignoring me

Near Tours I divert from the signposted route and navigate my way into the city. I'm going to make a little detour to catch up with some compatriots in the jardin botanique: right in the middle of Tours there's a botanical garden that also has some animals (and you thought that botanical gardens were for plants, right?) The collection even includes a couple of emus and a family of wallabies which I have come to see. They do not pay me the slightest attention, even though I've travelled all this way to see them.

From Tours I head up into the upmarket suburbs on the north bank of the Loire - which involves more climbing that I'd like - and finally I set the direction back to my starting point. There's one more little excursion to make though. I've seen a dolmen on the map, which I had no idea was there, so I plan my route to go and have a look. It is in the middle of what are now wheat fields, but there's a path to it. It is just unbelievable how 4,000 years ago people were able to manoeuvre such truly massive pieces of rock into position, placing some vertically and then others horizontally over the top. And how did they get those enormous pieces of rock there in the first place?

Dolmen de la Grotte aux Fées (with bike for scale)

A final hour's cycling and suddenly I'm pushing my bike back into the house again, almost like I never left. Tomorrow I'll be giving the bike a thorough service, ready for the next adventure.

Distance today: 68.4 km, riding time: 3:56

Loire à Vélo - day 7

Not all of Saumur is closed this Sunday morning - luckily

It's Sunday morning and Saumur is closed. There's a light drizzle to start the day as I ride back to the Place Saint Pierre to find it completely deserted; quite a contrast from last night. I explore the little alleys around the square and find, happily, that the one place that's open this morning is a boulangerie, so all is not lost. A bit later I notice another lone cyclist, a guy of a certain age. "British" I think to myself, although exactly on what I'm basing that I'm not sure. For the first part of today's ride I've decided to cross the river and see what the road on the other side is like. Just after crossing the bridge I spot the cyclist again. Later as I'm riding along the river I can see him following me some distance behind.

After a while I stop for a drink and he pulls up next to me. "Are you Deutsch?" are his first words; it seems he's been making assumptions like me, only he's wrong and I'm right. I wonder why he throws in the German word for German; maybe to show he speaks the language? We chat.

Morning on the Loire at Saumur

He's come over from the UK in his camper van and is making short rides on his bike using his van parked at a campsite as his base. I ask if he's traveling alone. He clearly wants to talk and my question triggers it. He explains that his wife died last year and that afterwards he couldn't sleep without pills; he couldn't stay in the house alone. So he's decided to head off and travel and start again. Now he sleeps.

I cross back to the south bank using the bridge at Turquant. It's an old narrow iron bridge only just wide enough for two lanes of traffic.  All along the bridge I spot fragments of mirror on the sides of the roadway, which at first puzzles me. Then I realise it's the result of vehicles that are too wide or poorly driven either hitting the metal bridge supports with their mirrors or hitting each other's mirrors when passing. Obviously it's a common occurrence; there's a lot of pieces of broken mirror.

Montsoreau is a very different place to what it was when I passed through here a few days earlier. Now it's a Sunday morning and the place is jam packed with cars and people, a real tourist mecca. It turns out that it's also the marché aux puces, held every second Sunday. The street is full of stalls selling everything from bric-a-brac and antiques to fruit and veg, meats and cheeses, and revolutionary new home insulation systems.

This is where the cheese comes from

I've stopped at the market to take a picture of a guy selling goat's cheese; he has a baby goat standing amongst the cheeses which is a pretty cute and innovative way of attracting customers. "Where are you heading?" asks a voice with a strong New Zealand accent suddenly. There's a woman standing next to me looking at my map. We chat; she's cycling some of the EV6, which the Loire à Vélo is part of. The whole EV6 route starts at the Black Sea and covers over 3,650 km; she's going to Basel, about halfway.

Further on, I see an older couple at a picnic table and I decide to stop to have my own morning snack  - I'm not bothering with the coffee today. I sit at the table next to theirs. The couple is French and their picnic lunch consists of a bottle of wine, bottles of both still and sparkling water, a baguette, and various pâtés, meats and cheeses. Very civilised; they are well prepared. When they've finished he takes out a crossword puzzle book and she takes out a large novel and they settle in for perhaps the afternoon.

A family that rides together

I ride on, past the place where days earlier the Dutch couple had been cycling in circles. After a little while I notice many of the bike riders coming the other way have rain jackets on and their waterproof covers over their luggage. 'A bit of an overkill', I think to myself. After all, we've just had a tiny bit of drizzle. Then I notice that the bike path is rather wet and a little later the real rain starts. Nothing dramatic luckily, but enough to soak me after ten minutes or so. I ride on and the showers pass, although it alternates between showers and sun for most of the rest of the day. Just as you've dried out, it rains again and the cycle (no pun intended) repeats.

I can't arrive at my B&B until 17:00 so I decide to make a detour to visit Chinon, home of one of the major Loire Valley châteaux. It's a pleasant ride there, although I know it will mean a little bit of hill work afterwards to get back to the Loire. I ride around the town, which is dominated by the castle high above. Just as I'm thinking about starting the climb I spot an elevator. It's been set up to make it easier for those on the low level to get up to the castle and it's big enough to take bikes! I don't hesitate nor do I let my pride stop me from taking advantage of this shortcut; there'll be more hills to climb after this.

Yes, I took the elevator up to the château at Chinon

The route back to the Loire cuts straight through the Chinon royal forests; it's a lovely ride except for the fact that the obvious downside of such a straight road is that it has to go over the hills and down through the valleys, so it's a little hard going at times. There's a reward at the end when I have a long high speed descent back down to the Loire, briefly exceeding the 50km/h speed limit as I enter Rivarennes.

At Langeais, my stop for today, my B&B is right next to the castle where Ann de Bretagne secretly married King Charles VIII in 1491 to secure the merger of Brittany and France. If she were still there she could be looking out of her room down at me. Such intimacy with history is something I love about Europe.

The restaurant for tonight is the best (and on a Sunday night, essentially the only) restaurant on town. It's also right next door, which is pretty convenient. Everyone is outside in the garden terrace; it's a lovely evening. I can hear more English than French being spoken it seems. All the tables are occupied by either French or British (plus a lone Australian).

There's a lot of material here for an entire blog entry: I could write about the woman with the dog, which she regularly puts on her lap and then occasionally kisses (all during dinner). I could write about the Irish couple (she with stereotypical red hair). I could note the guy who's so big I'm afraid the cane chair is not going to survive. I might wonder about the young English woman having dinner with a guy more than old enough to be her father (which he may well be, let's give them the benefit of the doubt). And more. But it's my last meal on this trip so maybe tonight I'll just enjoy my meal and take it all in without writing it all down.

As I leave the restaurant I notice that there are several British registered cars parked outside, which of course is hardly a surprise. Among them is an old Jaguar XJ140, which interestingly I met coming the other way this afternoon on my ride from Chinon. Small world.

View of Langeais Castle from my B&B

Distance today: 68 km. 4.2 hours ridden

Loire à Vélo - day 6

The house is quiet when I get up. I'd been warned last night by my hosts that they were late sleepers and that I might have to let myself out in the morning. I had been asked whether I wanted tea or coffee in the morning and given my experiences with hot beverages I hedged my bets: "Whatever you're having", I had answered vaguely. "We only have instant coffee", I was told, "but we have real tea." Tea it was then. Instant coffee? That said a lot. "We might not be up when you leave" they'd told me, "just help yourself, like it's your own place." I love the fact that it's still possible to find trust like this and be welcomed into someone's home.

Early morning at Chalonnes

 Today is going to a bit different; since I'm trying to avoid retracing my steps and since in this section there's really only one option for following the river, I've decided to head inland and have a little tour of the local vineyard country. I'll try to follow little tracks along a river (le Layon) with the idea of avoiding traffic and avoiding hills. It will be a navigational exercise as well, why not?

Cabernet d'Anjou in the making

It's coffee time and I arrive in Thouarcé, the biggest village in the area I've been cycling through this morning. Entering the town square, past the rather imposing church there's a welcome sight: right there on the main square is a boulangerie and right on the other side of the square is a café. The town square is bordered on each of the four sides by the church, the town hall, the café, and the boulangerie (and the coiffeur). All the essentials for daily life in country France: bread, coffee and alcohol, religion, public servants, and a place to get your hair done.

The café is obviously one of the standard French grim drinking and betting places, but it will serve coffee at least. There's some tables outside and a couple of local guys are already there with beers in hand. I enter the boulangerie, which looks like it belongs in a 1940's movie set, as do the customers. It's great. Everyone says "Bonjour" when I walk in, and "au revoir" when they leave, something I rather like about France. The back wall is covered with racks of fresh bread (of course, this is a boulangerie after all) and the display cases have small collections of various pastries: just simple country fare - apple tart, pear tart, mixed fruit tart, croissants and pains au chocolat. No fancy creamy confections here! There's another display case with an example of one of each of the canned drinks and packaged snacks they sell, neatly arranged in a row. The lady serving, and apart from me, the customers, look like they've been coming to this bakery since it opened in the 1940's.

I've been sitting at my table outside the café for half an hour (the church bells have chimed twice already) and the two guys drinking beer have gone and been replaced by three more tables of local workers. All of them have beers and I am definitely the odd man out with my coffee (apart from the fact that I'm sitting next to a bike and am wearing a bright yellow vest and cycling shorts, of course).

As I ride out of the square and around the corner onto the main street the first thing I see is another boulangerie: this one is much larger and more modern with a display case bursting will all sorts of fancy looking pastries. I'm glad I saw the old one first. The coffee, it must be said, was not all bad.

Riding through the forests near Louerre, I notice the old high stone wall along the road, marking an old wealthy property. Soon I can see the neatly maintained gardens, park-like. "Just another château" you could amongst be forgiven for thinking in France, where there seem to be regal old buildings everywhere, sometimes in the most unlikely places. A little further on I see a large beautifully built stone building; something you'd love to have as your house. 'Not  a very large château' I think to myself as I cycle past. But just as I'm thinking this, an enormous slate-roofed stone turreted edifice appears in the background. Of course; I'd mistaken the gatehouse for the main building! There was some serious money in the hands of a few back then. Not a lot has changed, you might justifiably say.

I decide to follow a few forest paths for the last section of my route today, planning to rejoin the Loire à Vélo route just before my final destination. As I'm speeding down a long hill to rejoin the path along the river (reversing all the climbing I've done today) I realise I may have made a tactical mistake. Sure enough, the B&B I am staying at turns out to be on a rise, forcing me to climb partly back up the hill I've just coasted down. Sigh.

The house I'm staying at overlooks a golf course and is set at the edge of a forest. Not a bad spot. I park my bike in the carport next to a large BMW motorbike. Also parked nearby are three cars, a quad bike and three lawn mowing ride-on type tractors. There's also several bicycles. Someone clearly likes their toys in this household.

For dinner I have to ride into town, which turns out to be further than I'd expected, adding another 10 km (there and back) to my ride for the day. A good excuse to have a nice meal I convince myself. Nearing the town, a group of cyclists laden with gear ask me for directions. It seems that without my bags I've been taken for a local cyclist. Luckily I can help them.

Dinner Menu

The restaurant I've chosen is right on Place Saint Pierre, the main square overlooked by the large Eglise Saint Pierre. I guess that the square was named after the church but it could always have been the other way around I suppose. I've already spotted a good table outside and I park my bike next to it. The table has a 'reserved' sign on it. I go in and ask for a table outside and explain that I want to keep an eye on my bike The waitress is lovely and she takes the reserved sign off 'my' table and puts it on another one. Although it's early, I've arrived just in time since after I sit down they begin turning people away; the restaurant is full for the evening.

Sitting here I have a wonderful position to observe the comings and goings of life in Saumur. There are so many little snapshots here it's difficult to know where to start:

Right next to restaurant I'm at there's a hole-in-the-wall kebab place, called, with impressive lack of imagination, 'Le Chawarma kebab' which loosely translates (correct me if I'm wrong) as 'the kebab kebab'. The contrast in the clientele between the two places couldn't be more obvious. It's a completely different demographic. People are standing around the kebab place waiting for their orders. A girl waiting there is wearing tight black jeans and seems oblivious of the fact that her fly is undone. Either the guy she's with hasn't noticed or he doesn't know her well enough yet and doesn't dare tell her.

An old white-haired lady is looking out over the square, taking on the goings-on from her roof level window in a building on the other side of the square; nobody seems to notice.

A dog cocks its leg on a chair at the next restaurant; nobody seems to notice.

There's a cat patiently waiting for scraps; it sits beside each table as food is served and looks up imploringly; nobody seems to notice.

A guy with an enormous beer belly hanging out below his T-shirt, wearing baggy shorts and what look like hotel or airline slippers is taking photos of the church with a large tablet. Only his improbably-dressed wife seems to notice. They walk away, both chewing their finger  nails with gusto.

An Indian woman struggles as she pushes a pram with two plump children (who look like they are much too old to be in the pram) uphill across the square; nobody seems to notice her.

A guy, who seems to mute, notices (as I do) a girl at a nearby table pat the balding head of her companion after taking his photo. With a big smile and using sign language he asks if they would like him to take a picture of the two of them, which the girl accepts.

The smell of marijuana wafts through the square; this is unexpected but nobody seems to notice.

There's a gorgeous sunset happening; the clouds are turning a gorgeous pink against the darkening blue sky. The cat takes up its position at the table next to mine. The couple on my right is reaching the end of their bottle of red and she is lighting up her post-main-course cigarette. On my left they are debating whether to have dessert. Behind me there's a loud American woman giving advice to table next to hers.

The sun sets over the Place St. Pierre, Saumur

The pink is gone from the sky and the lights come on in the square. An elderly couple walk through the square arm in arm, noticing only each other.

There's a lone diner having dinner accompanied only by his bicycle and the remains of half a bottle of red wine. He's furiously tapping away at his smartphone; every so often he looks up, seems to spot something interesting, and then he's back tapping away at his smartphone again. Nobody notices him (or so he thinks).

The girl at the next table (who has finished her cigarette) gets up to go to the toilet; her chair, weighed down by her heavy handbag, topples over and crashes to the ground. This is the second time this has happened and you can see in his look that her companion isn't impressed.

At the kebab place, a guy and a couple with two small children are sitting at a table. The guy produces a large tin and reaches into it, taking out something which he's putting into a contraption he's holding on his other hand. It looks like it might be tobacco, but... He closes the contraption, makes a few practised movements, and out pops a cigarette complete with filter. He repeats the process and this time, since I can observe the whole thing from the beginning, I notice that he seems to be starting the process with a normal cigarette. Curious. Their order of lamb burgers with chips arrives and the kids get fed chips with the occasional piece of bread. It's probably not a surprise that both little girls are already rather plump.

All three adults at the table with the two little girls are now engaged intently with their smartphones. The two little girls amuse themselves, ignoring both their parents and the smartphones.

There's a group at the bar across the square who are getting more and more boisterous. I get another waft of rather interesting side stream smoke. I sip my espresso (which, you will be reassured to note, is watery and dull). It's time to get in my bike and wobble home.

The ride home turns out to be interesting: it is pitch black, the clouds have covered the sky, there's no visible moon and the bike paths are unlit. I'm very glad I have a Dutch bike with a headlight, but the only drawback is I can't stop. Each time I stop to read a sign to help make a decision to turn left or right, the light goes out and of course I see nothing. I work from memory and good luck; there's a narrow bridge crossing the river and at the far end there's a choice between left or right: one is the continuation of the bike path, the other has steps leading down to the river. If I stop to see which is which my light will go off and I'll see nothing. If I keep pedaling and make a choice I have a 50℅ chance of unexpectedly riding down steps, but at least I'll see what I've chosen. Fortunately I choose the right one and eventually arrive back at the house.

Distance today: 68 km, 4 hours riding.

Loire à Vélo - day 5

Given that I am in Nantes, a large and rather pleasant city, a bit of tourism is called for. So I start the day with a little circuit touristique to take in the main sights: Hotel de Ville, Cathedral, Castle and so forth. Nantes Castle is imposing and impressive, in the middle of the city and surrounded by an enormous moat. And right outside the city's main tourist attraction is the city's main tourist office. Unsurprisingly, at 09:30 in the morning, it is closed. Just as well I don't actually need any information. I've come across this before in France; clearly they either don't expect tourists to be out and about in the morning, or more likely, the staff's quality breakfast time is more important than the tourists. It's all about maintaining the French reputation for customer service I suppose. To be fair, the number of tourists is bound to be less in the morning than later in the day. Still, I've come across towns where the tourist office is closed on Sundays, and you could hardly claim that Sunday was a quiet time for tourists.

Château de Nantes

Leaving Nantes, I pass through the same dodgy area I entered through yesterday and then on to the pleasant shaded path that follows. Coming the other way is a guy waking his dog. Or perhaps more correctly, a dog walking a guy.  Actually, it's better than that: the guy is on a skateboard and he's being towed by the dog. They're going pretty fast since the dog is running. Fast; clearly they've done this before.

For the return ride I'm trying to follow different routes to those I came on. That's not too difficult, since there's almost always the choice between the north bank or the south bank, and quite a few bridges to switch between the two. Every now and then however one of the two banks involves climbs up to the overlying hills (admittedly not very high hills) or significant detours away from the river and I decide to retrace my earlier route for that section. Which brings me back to Oudon, where I was only yesterday. It's been coffee time for quite a while but with no suitable places to get it along the way so far, I settle for a return to Oudon and the same café I had coffee at yesterday. It's a nice spot and although the coffee was pretty poor I'm beginning to reconcile myself with the fact that good coffee is just not going to happen.

There's a young girl at the bar today and not the two guys from yesterday. So maybe she can make better coffee I wishfully think. While I'm at the bar ordering, I notice the rather large guy next to me sitting at, or more accurately, bring supported by, the bar looking at me intently. You can see he has something on his mind, something he's trying to work out. Then I realise he's the same guy who was sitting at exactly the same spot yesterday. He's large with a big round red face and watery eyes. His nose has become a mass of alcoholic veins. But he's a happy drunk and now his face breaks into a Cheshire cat grin. "You were here yesterday" he says finally, and I think we are both impressed that he remembers. The coffee is not as hot as it was yesterday, but it's still pretty sad.

From Oudon I have little choice but to backtrack to Ancenis, the town which seemed so grim when I passed through it previously. This time I ride through some different parts of the town and to be fair on the town I see now that it's not all as bad as it looked before, although the construction work makes this difficult to visualise. Perhaps in a few years time it would merit a return visit.

Opening the bridge at Montjean-sur-Loire

I ride on, trying to take new routes as much as possible. Towards the end of the day, I'm forced to take the same route back to Montjean-sur-Loire as I took leaving it and so I get to ride past the 'Bel Air' farm again. Thankfully the air has cleared since yesterday. At Montjean I make a point to ride to the other side of the bridge to the Ile de Chalonnes which I had found closed two days ago, just so I could see what the other side actually looked like. Sure enough, it's still barricaded.  But as I'm standing there looking at it, a local council worker pulls up and approaches. "You want to cross?" he asks. I tell him that two days ago I had been on the other side and had to double back, forcing me to ride almost another 20 km. He listens sympathetically and a discussion ensures about how they'd tried to get the 'authorities' to properly signpost the closure but clearly they had not a good job. This is an advantage in France; there's always another layer of government or public service you can blame, even if you are the public service. Then he smiles: "You want to be the first to cross? I've just come here to open the bridge again. You're better off riding on the island - it's quiet countryside. Not like the highways here." As he says this he points to the road we're standing on. Anywhere else this road would be considered a minor country road; he's calling it a highway. It's all relative I suppose. He removes the barricades and so I get to ride over the bridge after all, making yet another trip on the island, which by now is becoming rather familiar.

My destination, Chalonnes-sur-Loire, is just near the other end of the island. After crossing the main bridge from the island to the mainland I arrive in the town at what must be the local peak half hour because there's actually a lot of traffic, something I haven't had to deal with much on this trip, even in Nantes. The final kilometre is a challenge; it's straight up a long hill which seemingly has no end. I'm greeted by my host for the evening and get a cold beer for my efforts; things are looking better already.

A Monopoly House (not the one I stayed in)

Tonight I'm staying in a Monopoly house. It's my first time. It's a contemporary house in a new lotissement (subdivision). You see these small subdivisions pop up on the outskirts of older villages and towns all over France and they are invariably all the same style of house: a cement block box with a simple gable roof. The simplest ones look a lot like the sort of thing a four-year-old would draw if you asked them to draw a house. The larger or more complex ones look pretty much the same, only larger with perhaps a former window instead of skylights for the rooms in the roof space. The subdivisions tend to look a little like a monopoly board towards the end of the game when most streets have multiple houses and perhaps a hotel or two on them; the pieces representing the houses in monopoly have exactly the same size and shape.

This household has three children, a cat and two kittens. It's a friendly chaotic sort of place and is very easy going. But it's going to another early night for me; another long ride tomorrow.

Distance today: 83 km, 5 hours riding

Cyclists and other wildlife

On the Loire à Vélo route you encounter, not surprisingly, rather a lot of cyclists. From all over the world and in all shapes and sizes. At the risk of being accused - justifiably - of stereotyping, I make few observations:

The Dutch don't say hello as you pass them, they just ride past you, sitting upright  (on their 'sit up and beg' bikes with enormously high handlebars) and barely, if at all, make eye contact. It gives then a haughty, 'Holier than thou' impression. I suppose that for them, passing other cyclists is something that happens regularly and often throughout the day back at home and you couldn't possibly say hello to every passing cyclist in Holland. When you see a couple riding well-equipped touring bikes, laden with both front and rear panniers and handlebar map bags, you can also be pretty sure that they will be Dutch.

Most French cyclists you encounter are the type dressed in full Lycra body suits, riding racing bikes, and riding fast. They are some of the few actually wearing helmets. For some reason, it seems to be accepted that when you're on a racing bike it's OK to wear a helmet, but on any other bike a helmet seems to be frowned upon as an unnecessary affectation. These guys come up from behind and rush past with purposeful pedaling; there's no hint of slowing down to say hello (they are on a mission, they aren't tourists). Coming the other way, they are often in pairs or small groups, invariably male and in midweek also middle-aged and older - the young male cyclists are at work earning the money to pay for their unbelievably expensive bikes. Very occasionally there is the slightest nod of recognition as they go past. There seem to be no female French racing cyclists. The other type of French riders are those on touring bikes with little or no luggage. The bikes are often electric. They have come by car, leaving the car and their luggage at the chambre d'hotes they are staying at, and they're just riding short day trips. Not necessarily a bad strategy come to think of it.

Then there are the adventurous young couples doing their European tour, often towing a trailer which sometimes contains one or more small children. Otherwise it contains a collection of everyday  possessions, presumably essential for a cycling trip. There's also the occasional older couple doing a similar European tour; the sort we would call grey nomads if they were driving a camping car. These are grey nomads on a budget.

Occasionally you meet the lone clochard (tramp) on a bike with all his worldly possessions piled high on the bike, and even sometimes towing a trailer. It's sort of the cyclist's equivalent of the shopping trolley I suppose. His (they are always male) bike is old, solid, and trustworthy.

In peak season you'll also encounter the family day trippers; mum and dad leading a line of little kids enthusiastically (or sometimes reluctantly, depending on how long they've been at it) pedaling their little bikes. The kids will be wearing helmets (safety first, after all) but mum and dad will not. Nothing like seeing a good example after all. Depending on how long they've been riding dad will have fallen back to the rear of the line to catch the stragglers.

Then there's the walkers. A relatively rare breed. But since the Loire à Vélo route is often following the same path as the GR (Grande randonnée) routes, you do encounter the occasional booted and rucksacked walker, often swinging waking poles along in stride. Also encountered on occasion is the group of (usually older, and usually female) walkers on an organised day walk. They're walking in pairs and you often hear them before you see them, since they are having multiple discussions while they walk; the walking is more like a byproduct; the main aim of the outing is social.

Finally, usually only near larger towns, there's the joggers, many with backpack-style water containers and determined looks on their faces.

Loire à Vélo - day 4

When I leave my room in the morning to go down to breakfast I notice that the room opposite mine is open and of course I can't help but look through the open door. It's a complete mess; clothes all over the floor, stuff scattered everywhere. At first it doesn't make sense (what sort of guest could do that to a room?), but then the penny drops: this must be the owner's teenage daughter's room. Teenagers all over the world clearly follow the same rules of housekeeping: maximum entropy - the floor is the best place to keep your stuff.

Over breakfast - homemade cakes, bread, jams (4 types) I chat with the owner. She's only recently started the B&B and is doing everything (cooking, cleaning, gardening, repairing...) by herself. On top of that she's running a cake decorating and catering business and she shows me some of her creations; chocolate artworks, vegetable platters that are sculptures, and so on. Maybe not all to my taste, but I am seriously impressed by how much she achieves, and all self-taught. No wonder she says she doesn't have enough hours in the day to do all her projects!

I'm riding along into a relatively strong wind when my olfactory senses are hit with the smell of a farm where, quite literally, the shit has hit the fan. Like most farm machinery, the fertiliser machine is impressive to see in action: imagine a large container of chicken shit, add an enormous fan, then connect both to a tractor that pumps the shit through the fan as it tows the machine behind. You get the idea. I cycle on, getting the full impact of the freshly fertilised field since I'm downwind from it. As I ride past the entrance to the property, the irony of the farm's name is impressive: "Bel Air" announces the signboard. Clearly whoever thought of the name 'beautiful air' for this place didn't do it in fertilising season.

At Ingrandes Sur Loire I spot a sign advertising the Hotel Restaurant 'Le Poisson d' Argent'. The joys of languages: let's hope they don't think of opening another restaurant of the same name in an English speaking country: I doubt that the 'Silverfish hotel restaurant' would get a lot of customers, at least not based on the name! Images of silverfish crawling out of the menu, or perhaps from under the bed-sheets come to mind.

The bridge at Ancenis - bikes on the footpath

At Ancenis there's an imposing suspension bridge to cross. According to one guide I've read, there's even a dedicated bike bridge, but when I get there it is a case of riding on the footpath to allow the trucks to squeeze past; there's no sign of any bike bridge. Perhaps the guide was written based on the plans for a bike bridge that hasn't been built yet? It's a bit like the street directory we once used in Kuala Lumpur; it showed streets that hasn't actually been constructed yet, something we only discovered the hard way by finding ourselves looking at the middle of an empty field instead of the road we'd planned to continue driving on.

Saved by the sign

It's coffee and patisserie du jour time, so I look for the local boulangerie-patisserie but the more I look around the more disheartened I get. This is a pretty dire sort of town: dry and dusty, lots of closed shops and several rather seedy looking bars. The fact that the town centre is essentially a construction zone doesn't help the impression. I ride out of the centre into the residential streets until I spot a sign to a boulangerie. Saved! There's no coffee though and I ride back to the Loire and have my apple tart with a nice view (but no coffee).

Later on, the route approaches the railway line and then a little further on turns to run parallel to it. The railway tracks are right next to the path and quite a bit higher so the trains rush by seemingly overhead. The way ahead is partially barricaded, with a small gap to allow walkers and riders to pass. But first there's a large sign full of fine print to digest. Unusually, it's in English as well as French and it states: "This path is on the property of the French government and has been developed to provide maintenance access for French railway employees who are to be given priority at all times. The path is subject to flooding, irregular surfaces, land slips, and unforeseen train derailments and the French government declines all responsibility for any accidents or delays that may occur." Or words to that effect. You're never far from the long arm of compensation lawyers.

The castle at Oudon

At Oudon, an attractive little place with an imposing castle right in the middle of the main road, there a nice-looking café with a shady outside area near the bridge over the river. I stop for my coffee and go inside to order. Like the nice place yesterday, it's run by two young guys who are probably a couple. The place has a pleasant, homely feeling about it, unlike most French bars which are pretty grim places to drink and place bets on the horses, but not places you'd actually want to spend much time in. The coffee, however, is still terrible. So hot it burns on first taste, all life has been burnt from the milk, it is flat, bitter and altogether rather sad, but not unexpected. Next to me there's a table with three local workers who are having their midday lunch break. Between them they've had a bottle of wine and four beers and they're discussing whether they have time for one more beer. I'm glad they're not doing the construction work on my house this afternoon!

It's turned out to be a rather hard day's cycling with almost the whole way being into the blustery wind. It reminds me of Holland; nice and flat so you expect an easy ride and then having a headwind that completely ruins the whole experience. At times I'm down to a low gear and making only 14 km/h. The last part into Nantes however is quite pleasant along a smooth path under the shade of trees (and somewhat sheltered from the wind). But it's through a pretty dodgy area, the sort where at regular intervals the asphalt has been melted from where a car has been torched. I pedal on and do not stop.

Nantes - Quai Ceineray

Now I'm in Nantes, I've checked in and done my laundry and I'm sitting by the water at the Quai Ceineray. Next to me is a guy playing jazz guitar accompanied by another guy on double bass. They are good. There's a pop up bar set up nearby serving drinks and there's lots of people sitting around on ad-hoc seats and platforms enjoying the evening. Many seem also to have brought their own drinks or snacks. It's a nice atmosphere; casual, relaxed and friendly. The swans are also joining in. First impressions of Nantes (at least after the dodgy area entry)  are good. My hotel is on a main street which seems to be a textbook example of good public transport management: in the middle of the street is a wide bike lane, on one side of the street there's a bus corridor And on the other side there's a tramway. And there's even two lanes left for the cars (it's a wide street). There are a lot of people riding bikes and there's a system of (free?) bikes available.

After sitting at the water's edge, listening to jazz guitar for a while, I finally get up to leave: it's time to find dinner.

There's a restaurant right near my hotel which is very highly rated on TripAdvisor. It's looks reasonable and I'm hungry. Although it's early and the restaurant has only just opened, there's already several tables occupied, which is not a bad sign. I go in and the waiter says "Table for three?" Of the many things he could have said, this is not what I expected and I have to regroup briefly before I reply. After all, I am traveling alone and there are no other people anywhere near me. Where did three come from? He realises his mistake (perhaps he had a booking for three at this time?) and I am shown a nice little table in the corner next to the window: a perfect strategic position from where I can observe all the other diners, both inside and outside.

Amuses Bouches, nice local wine - the start of a nice dinner

The table near me has three Dutch people, including a rather wild-haired guy who looks like a caricature of a university professor. I'm impressed that there are real people who actually look like that. Outside there's a table of four, all seriously smoking: one of the big disadvantages of the relatively recent no-smoking laws for restaurants is that outside dining areas have essentially become  smoking zones. And given the laws of physics as they apply to smoking; as a non smoker you will always be downwind from a smoker, so outside areas are now not very appealing for non-smokers.

The waiter is outside and intercepts a group of four young Chinese, proposing them a table outside. They opt for inside, and become my neighbours for the evening. This will be interesting. The waiter arrives to take the order of my Chinese neighbours. I have to give him credit for his patience, there is a lot of discussion and negotiation about the menu; one girl only wants a dessert, which to his credit the waiter deals with admirably. He suggests continuing in English (which he used with some success with the Dutch group) but the Chinese are not to be deflected from their attempts at French (which, to be fair, is not actually that bad). The lamb is ordered and the waiter suggests 'pink', which is the standard doneness for lamb in France. "Rare" the Chinese guy replies, to which the waiter replies, firmly, "no, lamb is pink, not rare". A very French response. Negotiations are finally completed and the waiter leaves. The Chinese subsequently have a long discussion, presumably about the order (I catch a few French food words in amongst the Mandarin). The food arrives at my neighbours' table and smartphones appear to record the dishes for later uploading to Facebook or its Chinese equivalent (since Facebook is blocked in China).

It's still relatively early and at least four of the tables are occupied by tourists - a consequence of a high TripAdvisor ranking I suppose: non-locals are going to be attracted to the restaurants with high TripAdvisor rankings (as I was). Good for the restaurant since they can manage two sittings an evening: the early sitting for the tourists and  the later one for the locals. Much better than a single sitting which the locals alone would generate. It's the American multiple bums-on-seats concept without the pressure on the customers to leave straight after they eat; this way it happens automatically and nobody feels like they have to leave against their will (as you sometimes do in the USA).

The first locals start arriving, including a young couple amoureux. They are holding hands across the table and looking longingly into each other's eyes. It's lovely to see and they are oblivious of everything around them. When the food arrives they feed each other little tastes of their dishes. Very sweet. Speaking of sweet, the Chinese girl next to me is now eating her dessert while her the companions are having their lamb. And the waiter takes it all in his stride.

Just before I leave, the young amorous couple get up to leave. "Can we thank the chef?" they ask the waiter. What a lovely idea and the chef is suitably impressed by the attention. The waiter announces to the kitchen that a group of eleven are arriving and the restaurant moves to the second sitting (the locals are now arriving in force).

Distance today: 70 km, 4.5 hours riding

Loire à Vélo - day 3

Bike riders' breakfast, courtesy of my host

A breakfast of champions (more or less) is waiting for me this morning. The table is set with a fresh croissant, a whole fresh bread, three little bowls of what looks like home-made jams, butter, juice, and shortly after I sit down, freshly brewed coffee appears. Marie-Thérèse, my host, is spoiling me! Maybe it's like this every morning, or maybe it's a little extra by way of thanks for helping her set up her WiFi and showing her how to find online English lessons, I don't know - but I appreciate it either way.

The ride out of Les Rosiers-sur-Loire is lovely; along the river, shady, a few curves and mostly flat. A nice way to start the day: a interesting ride with a view.

Early morning in Les Rosiers-sur-Loire

Later, I'm riding along a country road and pass a tractor coming from the opposite direction cutting the roadside grass. After I've passed it I get to enjoy riding through the sweet smell of freshly cut grass for a kilometre or so, which is quite pleasant. This is one of the advantages of riding: you get to be a part of the environment you're riding through, hearing the sounds and smelling the smells, unlike being in a car where you're sealed off from your environment. Being part of the environment is not always a good thing of course, as anyone who's ridden past fields freshly covered in chicken shit or who's been overtaken by a semi trailer full of pigs can tell you.

After having bought my pastry du jour at a nice looking little patisserie in little village called La Daguenière I ride on until I find the next place where I can get a coffee to go with it. But it transpires that the patisserie is the only shop in the village that's open (see earlier discussion about finding a shop that's actually open at this time of year) and I continue riding, looking in vain for a suitable café. Eventually I give up and stop at the next town at a nice spot by the river and have my flan with my water. At least I won't be disappointed by the coffee!

As I am sitting enjoying the setting, the local church bells chime midday and a minute later the air raid sirens go off, presumably for their weekly or perhaps monthly test. At least I hope it's a test; I haven't seen or read any news for a while, so who knows what's been happening while I've been riding. The siren is a stark reminder of Europe's history and brings home what all these bucolic little villages must have once gone through, and are still prepared for the possibility of going through again. A little later I see a local couple approaching the table near mine, obviously wanting to have their lunch. That table is in the sun (it's hot) and mine is in the shade and I notice them look over in my direction. I indicate that they're welcome to share my table and they come and join me. We talk about the Loire à Vélo (what else?) - they have ridden part of it too. And then I ask them about the siren. Is it a weekly or monthly test? I ask. "We don't know" they reply, "We've never heard it before."

Later in the afternoon it's getting quite hot. I start thinking about that beer (see yesterday's post) and when I pass through a little village with a cute square complete with a bar (which, contrary to my earlier notes, is open) I decided it might be time for a break. But there are no free seats or tables and so I ride on. That's the problem when so many places are closed; the ones that are open are packed.

Twice today I get sucked into following the signs (and not my common sense) and get taken up rather steep hills, once to the extent that for the first time this trip I'm down to my lowest gears. Going up the first hill I tell myself the view will be worth it, but although the vineyards the route passes through are pleasant I don't get to see the Loire from on high; no scenic river views here. The second time, in a little village called Savennières, there's a reward: a little village with a nice church and, much more importantly, a nice café that serves me a well-earned cold beer. Much better than a coffee!

Later on, I'm riding on one of the only inhabited islands on the Loire, the Ile de Chalonnes. I'm only about 1 km from my destination for the day and am already looking forward to stopping, when a guy on a tractor coming in the opposite direction waves me down: "You didn't see that the bridge is closed?" he asks accusingly. "You'll have to go back across the other bridge" he says with what looks like a hint of schadenfreude. The other bridge he's referring to is the one at the other end of the island that I've already come over to get onto the island in the first place. It means riding all the way back to the other end of the island, across the other bridge, and then back along the mainland bank of the Loire. I've just bought myself another 18km of riding, which I definitely didn't need right now. I feel a little better when, as I'm at the closed bridge - just to prove to myself that it's really closed (I can't somehow sneak by?) - another cyclist appears. This guy is a local (he lives on the other side of the bridge) and he didn't know either.

Almost there! But had to turn around and go back

I arrive at my B&B after a longer than planned 85 km ride; it's hot today, probably the hottest it will be all week. I certainly picked the day for what turns out to be the longest ride!

I accept the invitation to have dinner at the B&B (table d'hôte at the Chambre d'hôte) which means I won't have to ride back into the village to have a meal. I share the dinner with the other two guests - a retired couple from near Paris. He's a talker and she's a listener, so they are well matched. We go through the usual "Where are you from?" - "How long are you staying?" - "Where are you going?" question and answer sessions until the conversation moves on to children and grandchildren. We are all of a certain age I suppose, so this progression is inevitable. Then the conversation shifts, through several phases, to killing pigeons and kamikaze motorbike riders in Paris (the two subjects are unrelated, except that they both involve Paris). We pass through rabbits and Myxomatosis (Australia, and it was the French who invented the vaccine according to Alain, the talker*) ending up with chocolate cake decorating. An interesting evening.

*) Actually, according to Wikipedia the French only became involved in 1952 when a French bacteriologist was accidentally responsible for killing 90% of the rabbit population in France when he used a myxomatosis vaccine (which was already in existence, having been used in Australia in 1938) in an attempt to rid his private estate of rabbits. It's rather a shame I didn't know this when Alain made his claim!

Distance today: 85 km, 4.8 hours riding