I’ve clearly over-estimated my fitness, and under-estimated the distances, but I have managed to complete my planned average distance, albeit slowly and with some difficulty.
I thought Northern France was all flat, but the climb out of Morlaix to Huelgoat on the D769 was never-ending, and took a lot out of me.
Takes you up through some beautiful moorland though, and the country is lovely, with beautiful villages.
Struggled to find a hotel, but have found a B&B run by a mildly eccentric Englishman hankering after moving to Cannes with his girlfriend.
I’d hoped to get as far as Mûr de Bretagne today, but can’t turn the pedals any more. I’m assured there are no hotels there anyway.
Update: The ‘mildly eccentric Englishman’
Spent last night at a dreadful B&B run by an embittered old Englishman straight out of Somerset Maugham. He put a roast chicken in for dinner which we didn’t eat until 11pm, with roast potatoes and marrow fat peas. While it was cooking he got progressively more drunk on whisky and coke, chain-smoking and ranting not only about the state of England (he didn’t say Britain), but about ‘all you English, you believe all the propaganda’. I wasn’t bothered about his diagnosis of Britain, but I do like to believe we don’t all swallow the propaganda. However I was too tired and too hungry to argue the toss with a lush.
Nevertheless, the chicken was nice – local, and the breakfast eggs were from his own chickens that morning.
Road movies are as much about the encounters en route as anything else. This was one.