In search of Brittany !

I was talking about the shop? That was getting silly, not on the grand scale of things it wasn’t, it was nothing like witnessing one of my hosts hollering at an apparition of a French peasant who was refusing to budge from a doorway, “he’s always there, pisses me off, it’s not his house it’s mine !” No, this was just silly, with a feeling once again of having a country to myself … Eying up the fruit, but worried it may have come into contact with the virus, the virus that’s wiped out the nation, in my over active imagination it has anyway. No, I’ll just stick to packaged and ideally non perishables, taking another glug of Coke and thinking how wonderfully refreshing it was, there’s really nothing quite like it to quench a thirst. Neck it, scrunch it, burp and bin it, lovely…

I was pondering whether to empty the Till or tuck into a packet of Iced Gems when, to my surprise, the shop keeper showed up. No apology or excuse, just a smile, a lovely smile, post orgasmic for sure, she was light on her toes, delightfully dishevelled and high on endorphins. Passing no comment, she takes for my opened biscuits, spent can of Coke and other bits, as I’m thinking what a curious place France is… Her smile was utterly contagious, and I found myself briefly wearing it as I left the shop, where it was swiftly wiped off again by an inebriated Frenchman pulling up in his ludicrous little car! I reckon France could be about the only country where you’d see one of these. It’s a car, in every sense of the word, only it’s tiny, and made of plastic, and powered by some kind of diesel motor, which is loud and knocks and is obviously no bigger than a lawnmower engine! There must be an exacting definition that separates these from other small cars, but these tiny, erratic things are defined as voiture sans permit, which, hard as it is to believe, especially in our western world of tickets of competence and licenses requisite for everything from climbing a step ladder to folding a map, can actually be driven without any licence at all! These vehicles have zero street cred, so young people aren’t interested in driving them and anyone with a license wouldn’t be seen dead in one, which leaves the majority of people that do drive them as being those without licenses! The old, the infirm and the alcoholics… This particular one, who’d nearly just mowed me down outside the shop was a lethal combination of all three!

I fill up my water bottles; pack my remaining biscuits and head off, thinking what a wonderful country this is. A country that takes itself so seriously on the one hand and yet is so very lapse on the other? How can a member of the European community have a car that can be driven drunk without fear of losing your license, because you don’t have one anyway!?

I’m shaking my head and heading away into the hills. Passing through a village called Villemoisan, noticing that the dogs really have got smaller compared to the south and wondering how far the border into Brittany is, when the skies went really dark, really quickly and the heavens opened! A total deluge of rain… I’m soaked now but enjoying the smell, that amazing smell of rain, it sort of amplifies the aroma of every tree, flower or plant around you, I love that smell.

It’s a love that soon gives way to everything slowing down, getting heavier and getting colder and a sense of just wanting to get to where you’re going and get changed and warm…

Eventually that evening, wet and tired, I made it to Vini’s house, Vini’s a lovely Labrador and he and his keepers Gordon and Glenis made me very welcome. Thank you.
Yesterday morning I set off north west again, through Chateaubriant and beyond, not too hilly but very busy, a popular lorry route and they were coming thick and fast, whistling past all too close but speeding my progress as I get sucked into the trailing turbulence of each and every truck!

I found the ultimate road kill too, pretty fresh, early that morning I’d say, and a clean kill too, probably put a dent in the car I shouldn’t wonder? A wild boar! A male, not fully grown but about the size of a domestic pig. Although very rarely seen these beasts are pretty widespread in the forests and woodlands across France. I’ve no idea where they hide because they’re huge, but you could walk in the same forest every day for years and never see one.

Like any road kill, it was a very sorry sight, laying there in the ditch.
Cycling through the next hamlet I stopped and told a farmer, who seemed pretty keen to go and fetch it for his freezer, so at least his very expensive meat would be enjoyed…

The last few hours of my ride today were once again spoiled by heavy rain, buckets of it pouring down on me. At one point it was so heavy I thought it too dangerous to carry on, worried the truck drivers may not see me in such poor visibility, so I took shelter under some trees (see photo). They didn’t actually offer any shelter at all; I just sat there thinking I really should have packed my wet suit!

After about an hour it slowed and stopped, giving way to bright skies from the west and dark rain clouds left behind me as backdrops to magnificent rainbows which you can see in the photograph of the wind turbine. These turbines were quite spectacular, it’s hard to appreciate just how big they are, but the trees dwarfed below them are massive and you should be able to make a white van a the base of one of them ?

Eventually, tired out and still soaking wet I saw and followed the signs to a small hotel, The Chalet … A hot shower, clothes drying on the radiator, a great meal and a comfy bed …. zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

It’s Thursday now and I’m feeling like I’ve really broken the back of this extended cycle ride of blood, sweat and tears! What an amazing trip it’s been…

The north of the Loire Atlantic is a confused place indeed, desperate to cling onto and regain its Breton roots and status. I’ve had mixed reactions from everyone I’ve asked along my way across department 44, which seems to be a huge department, or maybe it’s just because the rain has really slowed me down ? Most insist that I’m already in Brittany, but some concede and advise me that Brittany starts at Redon. There are Breton transfers on cars, a very Breton feeling (maybe that’s just the rain) and even some road signs with the place names written in Breton underneath the French. I’m also noticing lots of thick set Breton looking people about too.

But right now I’m most definitely and finally in Brittany, I’ve just pedalled into the outskirts of the town of Redon, also known as the “Venice of the west”, another beautiful town situated on the banks of the river Vilaine. A huge navigable river with 238 locks on it stretching right across Brittany to the city of Brest on the far north western peninsular.

Once again I find myself in McDonalds, who’d have thought it, I’ve cycled nearly a thousand miles now across a country renowned for its cuisine and my eyes light up every time I see those Golden arches! In my defence it’s got more to do with WiFi access than culinary delights … I swept into the outside seating area, my huge yellow rain cape tangled around me, dripping wet and all set to start the daily routine of disrobing, chaining up the bike, digging out my lap top, grabbing my essentials and valuables and heading in to place my order, whilst spying around the restaurant for a likely nook to set myself down with a tray of nasty food, fire up the computer and log on…

I found that nook and all that’s left to say as my battery fades to nothing, is thank you all so much for continuing to read and continuing to donate … Now the £2000 mark has been reached there’s only £500 to go! So, if you’ve not yet donated then please do and help me reach that target!!

Cheers, Justin