Overnight to France

A relaxing day in Gosport with Stuart spent cycling along the coast stopping for ice cream. That means going to Iceland (the shop), purchasing a box of Magnums and scoffing the lot. Set out for ferry port stopping off at the Toby Cavery and took the Gosport ferry back to Portsmouth.

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To Lambelle (40km east St Malo)
Cycled off the ferry and picked my way out of St Malo to the quiet country lanes. How those old Edwardian cars managed on the roads of their day I’ll never know, not very well I guess. The boat have over 30 of them, real horseless carriages filling the surrounding countryside with chugging spluttering popping machines. Some even struggle to overtake me!
I’m not comfortable with my kit yet. I keep losing things in the bags, leaving things behind, the panniers don’t feel secure and there is no flow. Its normal I guess at this stage and with a bit of adjustment and reorganisation that can be fixed.
Arrived in Emilys local village. Given a rural address the only way to find it is to ask. The person I asked made a trip to the Mayors office to obtain a photocopied sheet with a map of the surround area showing the `residences`. La Richards was there. Street name, house number is not the French way. Emily passed me by chance on the way to the nursery and rescued me. Back at the ranch we settled in for kids feeding time bed time, a meal time, wine time and wind down time. Next day looks promising, buts Fred’s prediction of weather to come was ominous..

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Lambelle to Porcaro
The morning mist burnt off and soon I was wheeling along quiet country lanes through small villages where the only thing that dominates is the noise is the chirping starlings. Thats when the rumbling started. Then the wind. Then the rain. Its not a good time to realise my quality pair of waterproofs are boxed up in the roof space. Imagine my horror as I unfurled my Lidl Crivit waterproof trousers that are about as waterproof as net curtains. I pondered my options and stupidity.
Then there was a ‘donk’ and a ‘thud’. Then it started hailing. When I say hailstones, I mean marbles. Luckily being stood under a conifer tree I looked up to see them raining down through the dense nest of wooden branches. A very surreal experience. I carried on following a disused railway line with the sensation of cold water creeping into my shorts. Found a deserted campsite with no apparent owner, only the number to the local mayors office that was shut today and tomorrow. I adjusted kit and repacked bags.

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Categories: Europe, France | Leave a comment

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