Wet and windy Cornwall !

Well, I'm home ... to a dark, wet and windy Autumn here in Cornwall. The bikes back in the shed and I've been in the same place for what must be three days now ? It feels so strange not moving, not pedalling and not seeing something new around each and every corner, or meeting new faces at the end of every long day of cycling. I was just settling into that fleeting exposure of peoples lives, it was interesting, annoying too sometimes, but on the whole, interesting. So many different people with different stories, leaving me with all sorts of great memories that I'm determined not to forget.
France is a fantastic country and I think I quite envy those that can live there, those that can afford to be there anyway, it's an expensive country now, not only since the pound plummeted in value but since the franc was replaced by the Euro and all the prices seemed to be rounded up rather than down.
I'm tired now, really tired, I've had little energy since I got home, but it was a pretty full on month I suppose. However, the statistics are looking great, over £3000 raised for the British heart foundation, over 1000 miles covered on my bike and what's more there's been nearly 10,000 hits on my blog site ! 10,000, I cant believe that ? Amazing ...
I thought the bike would be straight on ebay as soon as I got home but within 24 hours I wanted to get on it again ! What's happened to me ? I resisted for a few days but this afternoon I found myself jumping back into my funny cycling clobber and heading off along the road on the trusty Diamondback ! I had to keep reminding myself which side of the road to ride on ! Cycling without 20kgs of luggage was a real treat, so light and fast and easy to pedal ! I'm sure I took too much stuff with me. Next time I'll have a much smaller computer for sure... Next time !? I'm not sure I'll be doing it by bike again but I do like the idea of crossing a country by kayak, and what's more, my brother pointed out one to me that's sort of pedalled ! How about that ? Now that really appeals to me. Maybe France, maybe another country ? Any ideas welcomed, or sponsors for that matter, I can see the next challenge costing rather a lot more than the first one !
I'm not sure how I'd keep everything charged up on a Kayak either ? Photovoltaic cells or something like that I suppose ?
Time's a funny old thing isn't it, several of my friends have said "you're back already? Seems like you only just left." Whereas I feel like I've been away for ages and lived a whole lifetime of mini adventures in just four weeks !? Loads of little chapters, varied and quite different linked together by hours of pedalling. It's really had it's highs and lows, which have just served to make the whole thing all the more memorable. I've met people that I'd like to have somehow surgically removed from the hard drive of my brain and others that I feel delighted to have etched firmly into my memory banks. The world really is full of friends you've not met yet and doing a trip like that has really given me the opportunity to find a few of them.
The donations over the last few days have really escalated ! The generosity has been overwhelming and has taken the grand total including gift aid to a staggering £3074 !!
That's quite something !? Thanks so much for your interest and support .... Jus

Sailing home....

I’m in my cabin, on the boat home, with a bald patch ! There’s a mirror on the bathroom door behind me and mirror in front of me.. They’re set off at such an angle to each other that I can quite clearly see a bald patch on the crown of my head ! Just as I was in the mood for celebrating the completion of my epic cycle ride, so I find myself staring right at my own mortality … And with such thoughts return the tick tick ticking of my Carbon Aortic valve … Bloody thing drives me nuts sometimes. However, full credit to my surgeon, he certainly made a good job of it, if pedalling over a thousand miles across France is any measure of his fine craftsmanship ?
Morlaix was a real treat this morning, a hearty hand shake from the L’Hotel du port manager and I was off. I took a spin around the town centre, taking in the atmosphere, architecture and that thumping great viaduct ! I found a café for a final Grand Café creme, pulling up a chair outside in the warm October sunshine and filling my lungs with fresh French air I noticed the couple at the next table opening pouches of Golden Virginia, taking pinches of hand rolling tobacco in unison and laying it out expertly along cigarette papers, rolling, creasing, rolling, licking and completing… Any time served rolly smoker can do this with such precision and skill, probably and unwittingly better than anything else they routinely do. A perfectly relaxing little ritual to tease the emotions and wet the whistle prior to sparking up the fatal weed … Sadly, it does of course lead to an untimely death and many other nasty complications far worse than dying … Though still strangely evocative to observe in such situations. Exhaled smoke against low morning sunlight with fresh ground coffee and a busy waiter tinkering with tables, taking orders and money.
The smokers are British, he’s a biker, motor biker that is, not an athletic type biker like me. but your more traditional, middle aged, hairy arse type. The girlfriend was younger, bit of a Goth sort, fake black hair, too much black make up, tight black Jeans and overweight. She didn’t have the right gear, so was obviously a brand new girlfriend. Cheap pointy heel Goth boots with badly cast metal skulls and too many buckles, a warm coat and dated crash helmet. She asked if she’d been leaning properly on the corners and how fast they’d been going into them ? He replied in a broad Bristolian accent “I’ve bin holding the horses this morning, keeping down to about 95, normally I’d be going about 135 plus, yeah, course me arms is hurting a bit, always the same for a day or two, Ewan Mc Gregor gets it too.” I was trying not to laugh out loud as I chortled into my coffee and she seemed remarkably unimpressed, adding, “oh, it seemed much slower than that to me?” Looking across at his ropey old 1980’s GPZ I recon she could have been right too…
I pedalled out of town, under the viaduct and along the west side of the estuary, past all the moored up yachts and boats, and on towards Roscoff along the D73 which hugs the water line, it’s a delight to cycle along being that it’s slightly down hill and what’s more there was by now a pretty stiff Sou’westerly breeze nudging me along. Better late than never I thought to myself. It was lovely, I barely had to pedal as it pushed gently on my back easing me towards the north coast. Taking in the view, I wondered when the sea would come into view and watched leaves tumbling down the road and overtaking me, wishing I’d had this wind for all those hundreds of miles across the lowlands of France ! Oh well… I felt motorised and enjoyed the moment being swept along by mother nature… I sailed past Locquenole and on towards Carantec. Past fast boats, slow boats, new boats and dead boats… In fact there were several dead boats strewn along the shoreline. The wooden ones being reclaimed rather picturesquely with some degree of grace by nature whilst the plastic ones were reduced to sorry looking mouldy green hulks, warping, slumping, filling with water and refusing to decompose !
Then I spotted the end of the estuary where it opened out to the English Channel. I couldn’t help but smile to myself, with a huge sense of achievement that I’d actually done it, coast to coast across a massive country on a push bike !
My thoughts soon returned to Pirates as I looked across at the heavily fortified and rocky entrance to the Morlaix estuary to the open sea. Once those greedy Privateers had ducked in through there with holds full of plundered booty it would have been absolutely impossible to give chase without being blown out of the water !
I cycled on through Carantec and on to St. Pol de Leon, where I took some photographs of the Church with the pigeons flying high around it, then on towards Roscoff, stopping to take a picture of the old London double decker bus. This to me was my goal, I’d been looking forward to it coming into view ever since I’d left the Mediterranean coast. It’s the entrance to a huge wine and beer shop, a place I always stop off to buy my booze en route to Cornwall whenever I’m over there, and it always signals the journeys end to the ferry… Naturally I had to have a picture of my faithful Diamondback parked up with it !?
So… I’ve done it … And all I can think now is … What next ?

The last leg....

Look at those lovely cows, I passed them down by the misty Blavet River leaving St. Barthelemy on my way North through Melrand and Guemene up to Gourin. Unlike most of my journey, I knew this section like the back of my hand and had a mental picture in my head of the miles of hills ahead, which was a bit depressing, nothing for it though, so I stuck on my headphones and laughed out loud to Ricky Gervais & Karl Pilkington, if you've not listened to those Pod casts you really should! I must have looked insane to passers by (both of them!). Eventually, after about 7 hours pedalling I made it up to Spezet where I stayed with Geoff, a very keen cyclist. I was warmly welcomed by him and some of his friends to drinks, nibbles and cheer. A fine topping off to another long day. Friends left and we tucked into our dinner chatting about prostates and definitely not being gay...

Next morning Geoff was up sorting out the bikes and checking my tyre pressures for me, something I probably should have done a thousand miles earlier ! They were both low, so he topped them up for me. After breakfast and a flick through photo albums of Lycra clad loonies and relentless references to "the Tour", it became apparent that having Geoff riding with me for the morning was going to be hard work, even though he insisted he'd go slow! The thing is, his whole bike weighed about as much as my front wheel, and he was dressed like a 67 year old Power Ranger! Yes, 67! Fit as a flea and could easily out pedal your average 20 year old, let alone a 42 year old top athlete, with a heavy bike, luggage, knackered knee and clanking heart!!

I felt rather embarrassed pedalling my heart out to keep up when it was obvious to me that he was actually struggling to go slow enough !!

Bloody lovely bloke though, and by the time we'd parted after a bite to eat in Huelgoat, a beautiful old town in the heart of Brittany, I'd learnt about slip streams, puncture repair, which side he dressed (it actually effects pedal set ups!) and the importance of bananas, not only for slow release energy but also using its skin for emergency relief on delicate or chaffed areas below! "Oh yeah, just slip it down ya pants, works a treat?"

I'll stick to the cream thanks Geoff, but thanks anyway...

I sort of enjoyed my few hours with Geoff though, and we did stop to look at some huge wind turbines and an interesting Crucifix. I've been getting a bit obsessed with them during my big ride. In Brittany you see far more much older ones than the rest of France, carved in granite. I've no idea how old but many hundreds of years anyway. Lots of them have the carved Scallop shells depicted too, which I think has something to do with Pilgrims way back in the 9th century, who'd traipse across Europe for months or years, making for Santiago de Compostela in Spain. I hope they found what they were looking for. The significance of the Scallop shell is that they'd carry one during their great walk or pilgrimage, which would identify them to villagers and country folk along the way and also act as a saucer for meagre but kindly gifted sustenance too.

The one photographed above is in Melrand and clearly shows the Scallops beyond the hands of Christ. All very interesting stuff, stuff you don’t normally think about unless you have 7 or 8 hours a day with nothing more to do.

The last half of my journey yesterday was pedalling alone again ... I was struggling a bit, having gone too fast all morning with Carlos Fandango AKA Geoff. Having said that, it was a lovely ride. Some massive hills north of Huelgoat but they eventually gave way to a long flat winding valley road all the way to Morlaix.

This is an amazing old town which prospered hugely from Piracy or Privateering, depending on which side of the fence you were sat?! Perfectly situated up wide but rocky estuary, sheltered and guarded from the North coast and the English Channel where the pillaging took place. It's most remarkable architectural feature is it's 19th century stone built viaduct, which is vast, and spans the valley across whole town, towering above and dwarfing all there is below, it's really quite staggering how those Victorian engineers put such things together ?!

This morning I start out on my last section, just 17 miles from here, along the estuary to Roscoff... It's going to be a strange one I'm sure, mixed feelings. I've kind of got used to this love hate relationship with pedalling now and life on the road....

The donations have really been pouring in the last couple of days for which I'm hugely grateful, thank you, each and every person whose taken the time and made the effort to give to the fund. I'm so close now to my target of £2500. So, if you've still not dug deep into your pocket then please do and help me smash that target! Come on, I've all but done it now, I've nearly reached Roscoff, well over a thousand miles (up hill !) with far too much luggage on a wing and a prayer, and still only 10 months out of major open heart surgery! Thanks for reading..... Jus.

1000 Miles !!

Sunday 25th the October, four weeks to the day that I started pedalling from the south coast, on the sunny Med, to the north coast of france. It's 4.15 here in Brittany, I've just cycled into the small town of Gourin, fifty miles south of Roscoff, which will be my final destination and the tacho on my handlebars is showing exactly 1000 miles ! Yeay !!
What's more I've found a Bar that's not only open, which makes a change, but it also has Wi Fi !!
So, it's a quick cold beer and a quick post on my Blog too !
One thousand miles, that's got to worth a donation hasn't it !?
Cheers, Jus.

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!!

Redon... The beginning of the end ...

I really enjoyed getting to Redon today, there were boats to look at and I'm never happier than when I'm looking at boats ! I know I dont look very happy in the photo but I've just got one of those faces that wont smile on command ! So, the beginnig of the end... I'm so close now, well about 140 miles to be precise, but it feels pretty close. I've not even worked out where to stay tomorrow or which direction to go in (apart from it having more than a little north in it of course !) My milage counter is showing nearly one thousand miles, which is pretty amazing I think ? Mind you it certainly feels like a thousand miles ! The bike's done really well, everything still works as it should and nothing's shaken loose .. Only wish the same could be said about me !
The fund is now standing at over £2000 and growing, so lets hope just a few more people dig into their pockets, donate and help me reach my goal ?!

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

Wow, £2000 !

I'm using a french computer! The keys are all over the place so I cant write on it ! Why can't they just use querty like the rest of us !
Just wanted to say good morning and thank you for all the lovely emails and comments and most of all for getting my fund to 2000 pounds ! Will try and write later... Well I've written already but it's on my memory stick and this ancient computer has no usb port ! It's poring with rain so time to dig out the big yellow cape !! Super cape !!! Thanks for looking in on me... Jus

Heading out of Angers.....

Angers is a beautiful old city, well worth a visit, boasting the most amazing, totally uncompromising Medieval castle or Keep or something, it's absolutely vast, built between the 9th & 12th century. I'm sure I've got a photo of it somewhere but I'm racing against my battery like usual here ! Masses of Barges and livaboard boats too, all gaggled and rafted together along the Loire river. A wonderful sight to any boat nut, such as myself, imagining how cosy and boaty they'd be below, with gently swinging brass oil lamps, creaking hulls and crackling woodburners....

Angers is totally geared up for cycling around, special cycle routes everywhere, until that is you want to cycle north west of the city, then you just find yourself as I did, dumped onto a very busy and fast moving motorway ! Three lanes of cars, belting along and parping their horns at mad cyclist wobbling along the hard shoulder. It's actually not too bad once you're on that hard shoulder but the trouble is, there are loads of roads joining and leaving the motorway, at these junctures, the hard shoulder dissolves and you're just left peddling along with very fast vehicles on both sides of you, willing none of them to strike or clip you on passing ! After about ten really freaky miles I managed to find an a exit to a country road that went off in the right direction. With it came hills but I was beyond caring and just happy to have the road to myself again !

Still not in Brittany but there's now a distinct Breton feel all around me, and judging by the slogans on the road signs there must be an underlying feeling that this part of the Loire Atlantic should be, as it once was, part of Bittany.

After a few hills I'm dying for a beer, daydreaming ... Villages come and go with the usual closed down Bars (see photo). There's nothing worse than wanting a cold glass of 1664 lager and being taunted by signs promoting it dangling from walls of long since dried up establishments !

Hungry and thirsty now, I had to resort to my emergency tin of Tuna in some kind of sauce with other bits n' bobs in it that I'd had in my bar bag for weeks ! Sat by the road, I tucked into it with my trusty Leatherman. Smelling rain in the air and thinking about how much peoples' dogs seem to have shrunk since I'd left the south I set off again ...

A few miles later, like a mirage before me, dying for anything to snack on and a soft drink too, I found a shop, a shop called Sap ! It naturally looked shut, but it had the tell tell advertising boards outside, which to the trained eye, suggested it was open ! It was the usual shabby looking place, with all the trinkets in the window faded to blue and gathering dust, but beyond that were goodies galore waiting to be bought !

It was like a scene from 28 days later or the "The Survivors", nobody in there, but my eyes darted from shelf to shelf deciding what to grab first ! I settled on a can of Coke, carton of Apple juice, bottle of water and a packet of chocolate chip cookies ! Waiting at the counter for what seemed like an age, I called out, but there was no reply ! Now sat on the counter I'm wondering whether to just leave with the stuff .... Glugging the Coke and tucking into a biscuit I'm beginning find myself in yet another weird situation, one of a catalogue of such situations I've found myself in over the last few weeks !

Battery is running out now, so I have to saddle up and get pedalling ...

Knee rested in Angers...

After a 24hr rest and a visit to monsieur doctor I'm about to head north-west ish into the Loire Atlantic. Not quite Brittany but in the right direction.
I think my plan is to slow down a little and maybe have one more stop over between here and Roscoff. Doctor didn't help too much, just said there's something wrong with it, it needs an Xray when I get home, preferably by plane ! The swelling has gone down loads this morning though, so I'll carry on. Would be a shame to get this far and not make it to Roscoff.
Bye for now.

Tiny road signs & Chocolate Religieuse !

Here I am ... Holed up in Angers, waiting to see a doctor about my swollen knee. I've no idea what he'll say or do ? Probably want me to have an Xray but I dont really have time for that, also, I noticed that now I've been stopped and bike parked up for 15 hrs or so the knee has gone down again, so surely it's not that bad ? It still hurts when I crouch though... I'll try not to crouch today then !? I really need to get to a Decathlon shop today somehow, to get me a new fleece, it's getting colder, all my clothes stink and there's no laundry service here ! I did manage to wash a few bits in the bath by hand but they're not drying very well, and I need to leave soon ! I hung a few bits out on the window ledge which was working pretty well until one of my T shirts got knocked off by the breeze and floated heavily down to the street 3 story's below !

Cycling along yesterday I couldn't help but wonder about Napoleon and his trees. If it really was down to him, as countless people have told me, planting them along the roads as he and his army marched across france ? That's one hell of a carbon off setting plan he had going there ! But since Caroline pointed out, way back down in the south, which seems like weeks ago now, they must have been some bloody fast growing trees. Either that or he had another army thirty odd years ahead of him sowing the seeds of shelter for his troops and animals !? Somebody did point out to me the other day that trees grew a lot quicker then. Which just reminded me of a religious friend who once told me, when I dared question it, that Noah could easily fit all the animals in the Ark because there were far less species then !? Luckily he also pointed out to me that the Ark was nothing like the one in picture books but was infact the size of several football pitches and it took Noah and his brothers over a hundred years to build ! Of course, it all makes perfect sense now...

So, Napoleon had special trees, of the super fast growing variety ? Didn't the Romans build the straight roads anyway ? I'm just getting confused again now and that's not good for my knee.

I cycled up miles of these tree lined roads yesterday in this strange post apocalyptic country along the road to Angers. I weaved in and out of the white lines singing my heart out, along with Angus Young to his highway to hell ... It came onto my random selection quite by accident but was most welcome and timely. A main road, straight as a Dye, Roman engineering coupled with Napoleons green fingers, a delight to cycle along .. Mile upon mile all to myself... it was sunday, between 12 and 2pm, a time when the quiet streets of France become baron, devoid of all human life and internal combustion. Villages of closed shutters, empty Bars and A Vendre signs (For Sale). Passing through one such place an old lady hobbled in the road waving me down with a broom. Was I breaking the speed limit or had my cycling helmet once again been mistaken for German troopers head gear ? I've learnt not to trust anyone out there and just keep pedalling. I wonder if I could get a job with the French tourist board, I think not. Dont get me wrong, for cycling, this country has got to be as good as it gets. But if you're not born and bred here, the culture is a tough one to get your head around. The french are sociable creatures, lovely people, family orientated and very set in there ways. Really generous and warm hearted, infact they run rings around us Brits. They're confident and proud, something we seem to have lost along the way. They fly their colours proudly, where we dont even know what ours is called anymore, is it the Union Jack or the Union Flag, who knows, but it seems to be more synonymous with the extreme right wing than anything to be celebrated ! They tend to say a hearty hello to all and not a soggy half hearted acknowledgement. I've often sat outside Boulangeries against a wall, scruffy and tired, tucking into a Baguette sandwich and just about every passer by leaving with their lunchtime loaf has wished me a Bon appetite. It's welcoming, and I like that ... Can't imagine any such good will were I sat outside a Spar shop in England ?

However, to the untrained eye, all this family living and day to day french life must go on in secret places or underground or maybe everybody just lives in the cities ? Not seeing anybody out and about is a weird one to get your head around.

I'll soon be in Brittany though and that's a whole new kettle o' fish altogether, still French, but dont tell a Breton that ! Different accent, micro climate (at least that's what the estate agents say!), their own language (though all but dead now), coastline on three sides and amazing scenery. I'm very much looking forward to getting into Brittany. It has it's own light and it's own smell .. As do I, which is why nobody sat anywhere near me at breakfast !

Turned out not to be the Highway to hell at all, but infact the highway to Angers, a beautiful City of character and charm. It even had a special little road (see photo) just for bikes and scooters and tractors running alongside the dual carriageway with it's own little road signs too !

Back streets for miles leading to the old town and centre, which I've yet to explore. Along one such street I spotted the taxidermiste, which I've made a mental note of for the future when Alfies chased his last rabbit...

Off to the doc now to get a magic fix for my crook knee... Please remember, lest you forgot I'm trying to raise as much money as I can for the British Heart Foundation, with your help i'd very much like to reach my target of £2500 which is still a way off yet so please click the "donate" button on the right somewhere and dig deep ! I'll actually be passing the one thousand miles of aching legs mark in a couple days so that's got to worth a few quid !?

Keep watching ..... Jus

Ps. The chocolate Religieuse was my sunday treat ... And what a treat it was too !

Into northern france....

I'm losing count of how many days I've been pedalling now, they seem to be merging together a bit, as do the countless regions and departments. I may only be travelling at about 8mph but it's surprising how the miles add up. That's about the speed of a small yacht actually, and they'll sail around the world at that speed, so it's all just relative I suppose ? I'm perpetually tired now and aching. If somebody had invited me to do a 50 mile bike ride for charity before this hair brain idea I'd have wondered if I could do it. But to do one every day for a few weeks is a whole different beast altogether. The first 5 miles are the hardest, then I seem to free up a little, but the first 30 take the longest mentally. Mile 26 of 50 is where I start to smile a bit and relax a little, that's maybe why the sun is usually in the west for most of my photographs, it's the afternoon and I'm relaxing, looking around and looking forward to arriving somewhere new for a beer and bath !

I've cycled through the Languedon Roussillon, west to the Pyrenees, north through the Aquitaine, up through the Poitou Charente, touched on the Limousin and now futher north into the Pays du Loir, which is exciting because in my dog eared, spiral bound map book of France I can see Brittany on the same page ! Mind you I think it's a bit like driving to Cornwall and crossing the Tamar thinking you're home when you've still got miles and miles of windy roads ahead of you ! It's an adventure for sure. And the last 24 hours have really been testimony to that... But I wont go there right now...

France looks pretty similar so far, just slight changes in architecture, live stock and landscape. Sometimes mile after mile of vines and sometimes, like this area, far more hedges and small fields with cows and sheep and streams and mills. I prefer these bits. Having said that I did actually see some more vin yards yesterday as I got into the Maine et Loire region, and some beautiful towns too. I was really surprised to see how quickly in the last ten miles or so, the roofs changed from the typical red clay Roman tiles to dark thin slates held on with shiny steel hooks (or crochets). These transitions are amazing, number plates too, the last two numbers of the car plates change with each new department. I've been through so many now and noticed that the number changes so quickly that I dont even need to see the welcome sign by the road to know I have left, for example the Girande and entered the Dordogne. In this case it would be number 32 changing to 24. You only see both numbers for a few short miles either side of any given border. Does that say something about French or modern life in general or nothing at all, you decide, but I find it happens strangely quickly !

I saw McDonalds packaging over 2o miles from a McDonalds yesterday too, which has blown my 15 mile rule out the window and I got a tiny splash from a lizard that was blindly whizzing across a road towards me as I sat on a pavement eating my sandwich. He was coming straight at me as fast as his little legs would carry him when Monsieur Blanc van man came charging past and splatted him mid stride ! He popped and with it a bit of him hit my top lip ! As if I'd not been through enough, I couldn't take much more of this, I'd already been sick into a hedge that morning ! I was now struggling to enjoy the sandwich and focus my mind on all things good and wholesome when all of a sudden I've got a drop of lizard gut on my lip and twitching tail on the road just a few feet from me. Whilst wondering whether or not to finish him off, I decided it must just be nerves, being as his head was now no thicker than a Rizla ! I had to leave my sandwich.

I'm in 49 now and tomorrow could be in 44, the Loire Atlantic ... I enjoy number plate spotting but I understand Sarkozy, in his wisdom is getting rid of them, replacing them with a more uniform number, one which gives no clue as to which department the vehicle hails from ? This of course is so a car can be bought and sold between departments and maintain the same plates... Naturally this goes against the grain of all things french, the home of over complicated paper pushing and bureaucracy, so the more cynical out there would suggest it's sole purpose is to prevent Parisians, who would seem to be universally hated across the country, from being abused whilst out of town ! So the days of hurling rotten fruit and veg, gobbing or worse on a 75 or even a 93 plated car could be numbered ! I've even heard many French people say they'd rather have English neighbours than Parisians !?

Time to pack up, saddle up and head further north ... The usual routine of downing a couple of pain killers and soaking my knee (now swollen like a tennis ball!) in Arnica before I head off...

Thank you for reading ... There's so much more to write ... Things I dare not even think about just yet ... Without feeling a bit queazy !

Bye for now, Jus.

Long cold road...

A long cold, windy ride across the Charente ! What a soul destroying day yesterday was .. Worse than any mountain. Long long bitterly cold head winds, mile after mile of relentless battering, crawling along at just 7 mph through bland, open countryside, the wind so loud I could hardly hear my ipod !

I hadn’t considered that there would be a whole different wind system here, my thinking was that it would be just like home, with a prevailing Sou’westerly to nudge me along ? Not at all, something to do with the massif central or lowlands or something, anyway around here the prevailing is Nor’easerly and trying it’s best to push me backwards all the time.

A couple of weeks ago I was not able to cycle at noon because it was too hot and drinking a litre an hour of water to stay hydrated and yesterday I had both my light weight fleeces on, two pairs of socks, leggings, shorts and a scarf and I was still cold !

Passing through the occasional village was a blessing, taking a few moments of shelter from high hedges, trees and houses and the dream of maybe finding a café for a nice hot milky coffee. Sadly I didn’t find a single café, not in 40 odd miles pedalling !

I did however pass through one typically sleepy place that naturally had no shop or café but did have a coifures. I pedalled by thinking to myself, “if I were to go in and get a hair cut, they might make me a coffee?” I could get warm too, and of course get a hair cut ! I turned around and headed back, excited by the thought of getting out of the wind I drew up to the door, it looked closed, but I’m used to that in France now, places have a knack of looking closed when they’re actually open. Oh… It WAS closed ! A small yellow post it note on the door explained it would remain that way for another week !

Now laughing out loud, I tucked into another sugar lump and swig of water, adjusted my scarf and headphones and headed out onto more emptiness….

Eventually I spied some more hedges and high trees about a mile or so ahead where I stopped and sat and found to my delight, fresh fallen Walnuts all about the ground ! I dug out my Leatherman to crack the shells and gorged on them, delicious soft nuts, nothing like the ones you get in a bowl at Christmas, all old and dry, these are a whole different taste and texture experience, what a treat… I dropped off to sleep… Until I woke again, so cold that more pedalling seemed the only thing to do.

As darkness fell I made it to Lezay, another typical small French town. Not knowing where to find my hosts house I called into a Tabac for directions. It was also an excuse to buy the bar of chocolate I was craving ! I looked around to see they didn’t seem to sell chocolate at all ? So, politely I ask if they sell it ? The aging proprietor looks at me and replies with the strangest accent in real old school English, “I’m sensing your first language is English, and I understand you’re wishing to procure some chocolate ? For obvious reasons we don’t sell chocolate in the summer and sadly we can’t afford it the shelf space come winter, so I can only apologise on this occasion that we’ll sadly not be able to sell you any chocolate.” This chap was too much, I felt like I’d gone back in time about a hundred years ! I had to ask where he came from, and he replied “Well my friend, that is indeed an interesting and not at all easy question to answer.” He then launched into the explanation of having an Italian mother, French father and being bought up before the war in Canada with English as his formative language … An intriguing tale it was too, especially as I sounded like it was being regaled by Charles Dickens with some kind of French Canadian accent ! It was getting really dark now and I was still lost … Dickens couldn’t help with directions, and I didn’t bother asking what the “obvious” reasons for not selling chocolate were !?

Finally I made it to my destination, and once again was made really welcome and fed a great meal… Thanks to Tricia and Peter Scanlon.

Looking through the window now, the wind seems to have dropped and I’ve just had a massive full English breakfast to see me on my way so today I hope will be better than yesterday ?

Thanks for reading and please stay with me as I inch my way up this huge map joining up the dots !