Days 8, 9, and 10 2017

            Every day seems to end with a peculiar twist like an Alfred Hitchcock movie.  Today I had Port-Louis firmly in my sights, cycling beautifully and arriving well within the 4 o’clock deadline.  The Office de Tourisme, normally open every day of the week, has chosen to be closed on June12.   I found the campground in the shadow of the city's ancient ramparts with the help of a city worker trimming the grass.  It is ideal, small, clean, in the town, and inexpensive.  Sadly, it would not open until June 15.  Two young workers tried to convince their boss to let me stay to no avail.  They did find a campground 12 miles away.

            Disappointment rained down like an April shower.  The campground further soured my fast eroding day.  The four star affair with all the bells and whistles was staffed with rude and arrogant people.  I did not find a kind person until late the next morning.  And it was expensive.  And you had to pay for Internet.

            Fortunately, events earlier in the day still reverberated like an echo in a canyon.  Upon starting out I came upon a bike shop that was open but not open.  A carpenter was building new shelving.  While shooing away one customer the owner took the time to replace my front brakes.  Charging only for the product and his over all graciousness induced a nice tip for which he was grateful and impressed.  Isabelle had mentioned that this is a good idea when something nice occurs. 

            Up and early the next morning I sailed along until Lorient.  Bigger cities always present problems for the navigationally challenged.  The best suggestion is to follow the signs towards the village center.  Like spokes on a large wheel the roads arrive at the hub.  Unfortunately, there are not any directions for leaving the center.  This time I followed the flow keeping the sun over my left shoulder like Davey Crocket tracking the wilderness.  To my utter delight and amazement it worked and I found myself on the right road in the right direction.

            Remember that going in the right direction means cycling into the wind and uphill!

            Crossing the bridge into Lorient with traffic lapping at my heels, I was hailed by a wildly gesticulating young man tossing his long lanky arms in every direction.  Seriously questioning his sanity he mentioned parking his car around the corner.  No this could not be the familiar scam of extorting money to fix a failing car or to add petrol to the tank.  Give me a break!  I am on bicycle.  How much discretionary cash could I have available?

            No he was not insane.  He simply wanted to know about my trailer and my trip.  He had been a monk for 10 years and had travelled Lapland and the Sahara.  The encounter was immensely enjoyable!

            Planning a route along the southern coast of Brittany poses a unique set of problems.  The complex network of roads brings life to the countryside like arteries bringing blood to the body.  These roads often end at inlets of water dangling between strips of land like icicles hanging from eaves in the wintry morn.  Caught on one such road I hoped to be ferried across.  As I waited patiently on the dock I was informed that the ferry plied its trade only on the weekends.  This forced a long detour around the inlet.

            The campground in Belon was rural in the extreme with grass at ankle height.  The sanitary was clean with plenty of hot water. The flickering florescent light blubs barely dipped into the darkness casting long eerie shadows like a Vincent Price movie.

            A German couple biked in soon after my arrival.  Werner and Gisele are from the Frankfurt area.  He is a retired banker and in his early sixties.  She is a homemaker, mother of two, and looks years younger than 60.  They were very engaging and invited me to join them for dinner.  With dinner already on the table I graciously declined their offer.  Dinner for them turned out to be oysters and two bottles of wine.  The restaurant only served oysters being a specialty of the area.

            Two days before they had spent two days on Belle Ile en Mer.  After hearing Werner’s glowing review I decided that I would start my backtracking in the morning and head for this magical island.

            I retraced the route of the previous day.  This time I hiked down to see the Abbey of St. Maurice.  The notice claimed that it was open for tours but it was not.  A gentleman walking his little brown dog said that it would probably open in the afternoon.

            I made it through Lorient with half of the difficulty of the day before.  At Erdeven I checked at the Office de Tourisme.  The helpful attendant said that the ferry was leaving Quiberon in one hour.  One hour to do 13 miles.  Oops I need to put on my cape for this ride.  Off I charged riding jauntily until the thought smacked me in the forehead, “Why are you racing?’  So I pulled into the municipal campground in Kerhostin.  The best stop of my life.  From my site on the top of small rise I can view entire bay on one side of this isthmus.  I doubt that I have witnessed such beauty before.  I sat for hours just looking totally mesmerized by the view in front of me.

            I am a lucky man!

Much joy!!!

Hardy