Day 22, the 9th of May
My Day begins at six thrity in the morning. Sound of motors, arriving, stopping, slam of doors. Fishermen. I poke my head out of the tent, expecting reprimands for my camping in such a prime spot. Instead I am greeted with an invitation to “cafe”.
They are friendly, maybe even sorry for haven woken me.
I pack up slowly and move off, not before being given some juice as it will me make strong, so say the charades of one french man. As it is still early I stop at Villandry, and am having second coffee when the rain begins. I cycle into it. and aside from the cold, it is pleasant. I race along slick paths, for all the rain there is no wind. All the clicks of my bike are silenced by the wet, or drowned by the drumming of droplets on my jacket.
I meet other english speakers, cyclists, who keep a good pace and make better companty. For alomsot an hour we share the path until I take my lunch. It is unusual for me to cook at lunch, but today I use the stove to grill cheese onto my pickle stuffed baguette..
Rain lifts, sun emerges. Houses in caves, vineyards and castlee. A brefi and steep hill climb beats me, and I walk Rose a little. There are parades through Samurs main street when I reach it. Not for me, but I like to imagine.
Decathalon is a dangerous place for a camping cyclist. I buy enough propane to last me till next month so that I don’t have to face temptation again any time soon. There is too much stuff to buy. I still treat myself to water purification tablets, and a map of France, so that when the apocalypse comes, me and my son, have enough clean water to drink and a meansa of finding our way.
the afternoon is fine, but spend a portion of it in the supermarket, amongst vast aisle of everything that IU could want.
I leave with too much, I have food for days, and an exotic menu.
Pausing, kilometers later, I am approached by the nicest french people yet, who show me a nearby bar, where a regiional game is played.. Its indoor bowls on a a surface that simutlates the curve of aships hull. Weirdest thing is that the looser has to kiass a stuatuett of a womans ass. Only gay french sailors would come up with such a penalty.
Only a short distance later, my day is tuncated by an enchanting lake encircled by camp sites. Only the swans see me arrive and set up my tent for the night. 75km
