Mushrooms, Mike and missing mates

Pedaling into Brittany through heavy mizzle, spotting familiar place names and smelling that air, Breton air, there’s nothing quite like it, especially in the autumn. Leaves are starting to fall in earnest and the colours all around me are beautiful today.

Having cycled through many regions and departments of France now, this area here is definitely the one that really does it for me. It doesn’t have the wine, the mountains, the red roofs or the relentless sunshine but it does have an almost tangible soul that’s hard to define (and Cider and Eau de Vie!). Cycling into St. Barthelemy where I once lived was quite emotional, almost like I’d finished the trip and arrived home. With rain running off my face and the chill of cooling sweat down my back I trundled through the village taking in every unchanged detail of the place I know so well.

I’d posted on the internet that I’d be in the Steren Roz Pub last night to give fans a chance to meet and greet, photo opportunities to the Press and folk could even pay a fee for a go on my bike, the mighty Diamond back that broke the back of France! I’d even considered auctioning some of my T-shirts and underwear too, all for the good of the BHF!

I braced myself and walked into the Bar, with my friend Mike, bloody lovely bloke, and no stranger to fund raising himself, having once raised a small fortune by wind surfing out into the north sea in a fresh force 8 breeze across lumpy seas, day and night to a distant oil platform! He’s had a full and varied life, from top secret security missions to landing private aircraft inebriated and having to keep one eye shut to narrow down the amount of runways before him! He never fails to make me laugh or pour a glass of wine upon entry to his mad house of dogs, cats, ferrets, sheep and noisy parrot! Linda, his wife is lovely too, and made me a great meal before we went to the Pub…

Oh yeah, the Pub. It very quickly became obvious to me that I must have posted the wrong details on the Internet! Somewhere in France there were hoards of supporters and press waiting for me … but they definitely weren’t in St Barthelemy! My brother Dan was there and my friend Laurence…. And the owner Cappi bought me a beer, but there was no great celebration. Just lots of drinking and laughing and out of focus photos. I had a great night and part of me was relieved the paparazzi and fans had gone to the wrong place…

Climbing the creaking stairs to my bedroom up in the attic I reflected on what a great it day it had been. Using the dim light from my phone I made my way across the bedroom, completely forgetting the very low head height beam I’d been warned about earlier, it caught me square on the forehead! Ouch … I swore quietly, chuckled to myself and passed out on the bed!

This morning I knew I’d not be making a 50 mile cycle ride, it simply wasn’t an option! But a lazy day here where I used to live was just the ticket. Time to rest up, visit my two nieces, Kensa and Nessa (which I think means first & second in Cornish?) and to get my blog up to date and sort out some photos too…

Now it’s Saturday evening, the 24^th of October, I may not have made it to the finish line, some 100 miles north of here but I have made it to my sleepy and very rustic Breton cottage and more importantly, to my 12yr old bottle of Brandy which I’ve just polished off! The grass is really overgrown, and the whole place was a little musty on entry, but it didn’t take long to throw open the windows and light the wood burner… All fresh and glowing warm now.

This has got to be one of the most relaxing places I know … But it’s just a fleeting moment, my challenge isn’t complete until I reach Roscoff, and so I keep pedaling first thing in the morning.

I’ve put up some more photographs too… The voiture sans permit! There you go, that’s what I was talking about the other day, what do think to that beast then? Note the performance exhaust dangling beneath, the tinted rear windows and the go faster stripes… That’s a serious vehicle!

Mushrooms and fungi too, they’re all over the place at the moment, they just love the dark, damp and atmospheric climate here and grow in abundance. All shapes, sizes and colours, edible and poisonous alike. It’s said that you can pick a bag of wild mushrooms and take them to any French pharmacy to be sorted into edible and non edible. In fact that’s one of those tedious facts that any self respecting expat files in their tedious facts file to be gushed out verbatim around the same time as singing the virtues and wonder that their children are now totally bilingual! What’s so great about that? I just don’t get it? They can now grow up and become unemployed in two languages!?

Fungi …. The most favoured and sort after of these mushrooms for it’s refined flavour is the elusive Cep, a fleshy mushroom that’s highly prized and frequently hunted. Once a location has been found it’s a highly guarded secret, only to be shared with very close and trusted friends and family. It’s now nearly November so that means Cep season is upon us and secret welly wearing parties will be slipping quietly into remote countryside locations with sharp knives, plastic bags and mouths watering …

I didn’t see any Ceps by the road, but I did see several Fly Argaric, the classic mushroom, or is it a toad stall, I never know? Big and round and red with white spots on top, said to be highly hallucinogenic, though I have to say I’ve tried one and it had no effect at all?

Oh, and what about that horse? That’s a Breton heavy horse, they’re absolutely beautiful! I adore them. I don’t much care for horses, big dangerous things, scared of their own shadows with no brakes … But, having said that I’d love to have a Breton heavy horse, I’d think of a suitably chunky name for it and ride it around, maybe have a suit of armour made up, and one of those Jousting poles too, but a spongy one for randomly poking the poor with? Bloody love those horses …

And last but not least, that’s obviously me, just a little while before, bottle of Brandy on the go, fire blazing and my Breton Clogs on! They may look rather big and clumsy …. In fact they are ! But round this neck of the woods they’re about as common as a pair of Hunters, trust me, anybody whose anybody around this here hamlet is wearing them this season! They’re coupled, as you can see in my picture, with a pair of tartan slippers… So outside the clogs go on and inside they’re kicked off leaving just the comfy slippers, pure genius! I tend to wear mine inside too, just because I can ….

Thank you for reading my blog and following my progress. It looks like I’ll have to stay somewhere in Roscoff on Monday night so I’ll try and find somewhere with WiFi and update before I get on the ferry and back to Cornwall and home fires….

I have to keep pedalling so please keep donating … And a massive thanks to each and everyone who has thus far donated!!