sunday the 17th. It is a violent wind, pushing down hard upon my tent. All I can do is try to go back to sleep, and hope that the pegs are driven in harder than the wind can blow. Hours later, the wind has abated a little as I wake from restless, fabric flapping next to my ear dreams. I lie awake watching my tent compress and release with the gusts, like being in a lung. I think about how bad the weather has to be before I am justified in staying in my tent all day. As it is sunday I have skillet eggs and baguette for breakfast. Done in the style of the Polish general store cafe in Shoreditch, they are delicious. I take them with a red wine honey coffee, I really need to rinse my mug. caffeine and tanins. My hair smells of wood smoke from last nights fire. The sun came out as I ate. It didn’t get better than that. From the outset the wind assailed me. brought to a stop by some gusts, I made slow progress all day. it howled in my ears, like static, it gave me no peace. It blew so hard, it would follow me around corners, into whatever cover I had found. I traveled along cliff top paths and saw the sea below was all white horses. A man stops me and gives me the name of a town in the Pyrenees I must go to. today I doubt I can get there.
Crossing the Bridge at Saint Nazaire a second time, I thought that I would have been blown away if not anchored down by Rose. My poor bike is sick. I knew that there was a little play in the rear wheel, probably some damage done to the hub when the axel broke, but when I went to adjust it, I noticed, to my horror that one of the dropouts, that hold the wheel, had a crack. THIS explained why my indexing had been screwed up, and why, the back wheel skewed to touch the frame every now and then. Its a type of repair I can’t perform, requiring the steel to be re-welded. A little upset that my girl was lame, I continued on, having adjusted the wheel and bent the dropout back into place. and the wind kicked me while I was down.
I resorted to listening to the Beatles to cheer me up, when coming around a bend I was greeted by the terrific site of several dozen huge kites and sails soaring up and down the beach. I watched for some time, the kite surfers and the land yachts, and my spirits were breifly lifted. At least someone was enjoying themselves.
Now I camp behind a low stone and ivy wall, on a cliff, that plunges to the sea. I have hobbled here on my broken bike, early in the day, after only 86km, to tend to her, and hopefully find some respite, from the dreadful wind that has hounded me since I woke to find the sides of my tent pressing against me. I have a great view at least along the coast, a little south of Pornic.
