The Second, Third, and Fourth Day of Biking

            Under gunmetal colored skies I headed out toward Saint Fulgent.  Is there an anthology that lists all of these saints or where they created so a town could have a name and a patron?  I was hoping to make up the lost distance from yesterday.  Marie-Line and Serge has set an ambitious menu of towns.  Once again I had overestimated my conditioning and I was hurting after three hours of biking.

            The electric wheel has been a tremendous help.  I hesitated using it on the steeper climbs questioning whether a 35 watts motor is strong enough to assist such a heavy load.  The fun is busting along the flat.  I actually toasted a bevy of cyclists much to their surprise and chagrin.  By the fourth day I started using the wheel on rises with me pedaling full tilt.

            This is farm country with fields of golden wheat and acres of luscious grape vines, the staple of French life, bread and wine.  Two telltale signs are the absence of camper vans and Office de Tourisme.  I sorely miss the help.

            You have the pardon the interruption.  Lightning and thunder gave a firm warning.  I tuck everything inside the tent including me just as the first drops began to fall.  I am continually amazed by the flash of lightning followed by the thunderous boom of thunder.  The speed of sound is a fraction of the speed of light.  Chuck Yeager would have a fat chance of breaking that barrier.

            The other major addition has been the tent.  On the first attempt, I was all-thumbs, trying to erect the silly thing.  By the fourth day I was a near expert.  I am learning about its advantages all the time.

            Three other smaller additions have had a positive impact.  Isabelle lent both a flashlight and an insulated food bag.  I brought along a small insulted thermos.  This keeps the water hot the entire day.

            As I said I tried to make St. Fulgent, the second town on the list.  By late afternoon this was growing more and more unlikely.  Camping was a must.  St. Hilaire-le-Vouhis did not have camping but the large green, well-manicured sports fields were out of field of the main road.  While I debated a helpful woman suggested Ste. Cecile up the road about 6 miles. 

            Bordering a swift flowing river, the sport fields of Ste. Cecile including a camp ground.  In town I bought aspirin at the pharmacy and food at the small market.  The Church was huge and on the national registry for historical landmarks.

            For the first time another traveller, a Brit form Bristol, engaged in conversation.  They too will be having elections to decide the direction England is to go.  Last year they voted out of the European Union. 

            In the morning I rode up to St. Fulgent.  Luckily I failed the night before because no camping.  The Marie was closed for the noon break and never did reopen.  Two young men checked on their smart phones and found camping in Lege.

            I plotted a route and off I went.  The biking roads have been superb.  They zigzagged through the farmland over slight rises with minimal traffic.  Once I was thrown onto a major road for less than one km. 

            In Les Lucs-Boulogne was of those odd events occurred.  There was a speed bump at the dip of a valley into town.  The steep rise forced a walk.  Passing by a bevy of men exiting a construction site I bumped into Patrick, a Frenchman who had lived in Redondo Beach for several years.  He had returned to France to help with his mother who had brain cancer.  He graciously offered me a room for the night.  He had recently been released from prison.  His girlfriend had left him taking their ten year old daughter.  He cares for her every other week. I declined his offer. 

            A block later, in the center of the village, there was a sign indicating camping.  Since a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush I went looking.  Down a steep grade the campground was closed. 

            D 39 was a straight flat shot into Lege where sadly there was not any camping.  A man suggested St. Philbert but it was 15 miles away.  He thought that I could rough camp in Rocheserviere only 5 miles away.  I decided on the latter.  So much for the first bird in the bush.

            Down another steep grade a young man gave the bad news but also suggested St. Philbert now 10 miles.  As I was making my way out of town I noticed the area that the man in Lege had mentioned.  With barely a second thought I found a secluded area and set up camp on a knoll overlooking the town.  There is a marvelous chateau that should be visited.  The second bird was literally in the bush

            The next morning I rode into St. Philbert.  The campground is faux Hawaiian with Kon Kiki like structures throughout.  The ruins of a 9^th century Benedictine abbey are worth seeing as is the magnificent church.  After showering off two days of much I decided on a day trip into Nantes, 15 miles in and 15 miles back.  Without the trailer it should be doable. 

Two miles from the center of Nantes there was a clash of ecosystems.  Like crossing the Rubicon, I crossed a bridge into a different world.  Traffic increased one hundred fold.  Suddenly, trucks, buses, and cars were elbowing me rudely aside.  No longer enjoyable I did a one-eighty.   What ecosystem will win the battle?  Only time will tell!

On the way back I stopped twice, once at Inter Sports and once at Super U, trying to find a camping gas cylinder.  Neither place had them.  My current cylinder is nearly out.

Dinner was at MacDonald’s.  The food was delicious!

            Today I try for St. Etienne de Montluc.  There will be a ferry ride on the agenda.

Much joy!!!
Hardy