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!!

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

Rested and ready to go.......

After a very welcome 24 hr rest in Lot et Garonne with Ray & Evelyne I'm feeling ready to get going, though all I can see, looking out with some anxiety across the terrace here are hills and more hills... My knee is rested too, and yesterday we visited a special shop for wheelchairs, human hoists and walking sticks... Stuff like that, the sort of place extreme athletes probably don't frequent on their day off ! Nestled in by the incontinent pads where some new springy knee supports, at least I think that's what they were... So, that should help with the pain for a few miles at least. Also I visited the blood testing clinic, where the nurse thought it hilarious to call me Justin Timberlake! I managed a chuckle the first time but not by the third! She took my blood pretty well though and to my delight the results were bang on!

The temperature here this morning is a cool 20 degrees but warming up fast and skies clearing back to blue... I see from my Desktop that back home it's just 8 degrees. That's cold! I can only imagine how crowded Cornwall would be if it had the same temperate climate as central France... So, maybe it's a blessing that our summers only last about a week!?

I don't know quite how I managed to plan this part of my trip so badly but looking at the now rather dog eared map I'll actually be cycling for several hours today only to wind up even further from home! A town called Fumel east of here and slightly south !

I've now, by my reckoning got about 15 nights to go and have 10 nights behind me... That's 15 more days at least pedalling and I really don't seem to be finding it any easier, harder if anything. There is of course a chance that the hills could flatten a bit and the going get better ? Mind you I can remember some pretty nasty ones in Brittany, so the last hundred miles or so will be tough going ! I'll have a lovely rest to look forward to on the ferry though ! I've just realised I don't have a ticket ! That's neither here nor there but I'd not thought about it till now...

Right, time to pack and to be ruthless too, some things are definitely being dumped today ! My panniers have to get lighter, I've dragged them up far too many hills to be carrying non essentials !

So, bye for now... Until I get a chance to write again... Please keep reading and checking in daily... There's talk of a radio interview today, I've had a couple of calls from the station trying to set something up! All very exciting stuff so stay tuned... To my Blog at least!

If you're thinking about donating... It's really easy, so please do!