Day 7: A hole in two

It was a soggy morning. I had washed my clothes in the shower and left them to dry on a fence the night before. They were even wetter. Well I wasn't going to pack them, so I donned them and they were actually refreshingly horrible. Then putting away my tent I found this little guy. Steve Irwin has always taught me to pick things up but crikey this was a jumpy bugger. I soon stopped annoying it.





Before leaving I went to fill up my water bottle and when replying 'bonjour' to a lady, she picked up on my atrocious pronunciation and started talking to me as a fellow Brit. Mindy and her Irish partner Seamus O'Shaughnessy (again I'm making these up, I never ask for names) gave me a few tips about shop opening times, e.g. that they shut for a few hours midday and one odd day in the week the don't open at all. They couldn't remember which, but they told me about the intermarché: the Nakumatt of France, which is the Tesco Extra of Africa. A 24/7 supermarket. We then realised we were standing by the cess pit for the motor homes and swiftly parted ways. I went and got me the days food supplies. Again bananas, some yogurt drinks, cheese and bread. Oh and oh man brie is cheap here, if only I wasn't trying to lose weight I'd have bought a wheel.




I left Carhaix-Plouger going south, and tried to find the canal between Brest and Nantes. Nice scenery so far, but I have been playing around with the photo touch-ups so these may look better than they were.



Here's me and a canal. It started beautifully, smooth dusty tracks, the sun gently highlighting the rippling water, green everywhere with dashes of colour. There was no traffic noise, and I could hear birdsong and the water passing through gaps in the locks. At one point it smelt of salad and at another, bread. You don't get these experiences in a car.



Each lock had a little house and I guess you have to get out of your boat and go knock on the door to pass through them. Must be annoying for the lock master who probably will have just sat down again after the boat before.






I tried to push the limits of photo editing on that last one. I had lunch and tried to make Matt Wardle jealous as he's an avid cyclist and great photographer, and would have been in his element here (give his name a google).

I had a couple of cheese sandwiches and made up the rest so they'd get wonderfully soggy in my bag. It was technically raining at this point but it was like someone spraying a fine mist over your head, I couldn't feel it and I never felt wet. I stopped to sort out my gears as they had never been quite right and they made noises which I didn't like. One of those noises was a sticker just brushing the teeth of the cog, check that off the list. The rest of the gearing problems was solved by realigning the front mech. Onward bound feeling proud of my mechanical skills and the bike was running more smoothly than ever...but not for long. Pssssssssssst.



It was going to happen and I was prepared with two spare inner tubes. Using my newly acquired spanner I made short work. I couldn't see anything stuck in the tyre but could see where it had gone in. Replaced the tube pumped it up and continued. All good until.... Pssssst.



Shitwaffles. Not 10 minutes later- stupid canal. The hole was in the same place but I still couldn't see anything. And that's because it was deeply embedded, and transparent. Had to carefully dig out a large glass fragment without causing more tyre damage. Forensic analysis shows the culprit was a Frenchman swilling wine with a baguette, stumbling over a string of onions and smashing the bottle by the canal.



My inner tube supply exhausted I nervously carried on but wasn't going to stay on that cursed canal track so I went back to the main track which happily went right past another intermarché. They had spare tubes so I restocked on them and a couple of Heinekens my trouble. It was actually difficult not finding a can of beer over seven percent.




More lovely views and the short, steep hill climbing playing of with long shallow down hill gradients. Whenever I'm in a forest area, Helen could tell you, I usually look up quite a lot instead of forward. Turns out I do the same on the bike following trees as they passed overhead - the path was virtually empty save a few old folk. Another habit I've picked up is making animal noises at animals. I honked at a goose in someone's garden, and neighed at a horse, before realising that he was a French horse and giving him a nei-hoheehoheehoh.

How many of you just tried saying that in a French accent?




I was so close to wild camping, but it was still too early, around 5 so I did find another campsite and they're all cheaper than the UK so far. Met another English chap who was called Bob, I actually introduced myself that time so that's a legitimate name, going to Nantes. May see him tomorrow on the trails. Took a foul sip of freshly squeezed tap water and pitched up. Celebrated with a cheese sandwich and a frothy beverage.



I also did some washing and hung a line my clothes kept falling so I invented this device that holds them on via pressurised friction. I'm practically Ray Mears.




Last thing I saw the sun set from my tent about 10:30pm.