Day 6
Our last day
It was a moist misty morning.
Frogs from the coypu pond had been squawking during the night. Presumably last orders had been called somewhere around the 5am mark and they settled down with the sunrise.
Though bright, the sun was scattered and the air was cooler than normal. The ground, our bikes, and the tents were very much wetter than normal. Being men of wilderness we endured the short walk to the shower block and, being men of hygiene, brushed our teeth.
We planned on joining an old train line at a town called Scaer but we had an eight mile cycle on roads before we got there. Though misty the road may as well have been illegally clad and placed next to a faulty fridge freezer (humour is a coping mechanism). It was a long and sweaty climb.
We stopped for breakfast at the local supermarché. We topped up the supplies for lunch and dinner which after six days actually included some vegetables even if they were smothered in creamy fromage.. Chris managed to unintentionally steal a bag4life by leaving his luggage on the checkout and distracting the cashier who tried to scan it anyway. I distracted her in a different way but didn't get any freebies, though I'm sure if I'd stuck around I'd have got something.
In the least shady way possible, a man approached us in the car park and asked us about our trip. We get a fair bit of interest, it seems everybody loves a cycle journey in these parts.
Sated and not feeling malnourished anymore we hit the path. Whenever we get back on our bikes after a period of rest, the thigh muscles ache brilliantly. I usually verbalise this and made no exception. The beginning of the trail was normalish. It had a tunnel which was nice. Then after a little uphill, it became amazing. It didn't look much different but the slight decline and hard flat ground made so much difference. Top gear, long bends, the ground fell away either side so we rode along a spine above the roads and amongst the treetops. It was such a pleasure and fun and there was no way I was stopping to take a photo. Then we were called upon by the god of physics to repay the favour with a lengthy climb.
The path varied from double track to a wheel's width. After a break Chris noticed a sharp s-bend in the route ahead. Though we took it slowly, the gap in hedgerow would suggest someone had not been so careful. My brakes couldn't even stop me fully going down, but Chris' bike did so no worries there.
There was a brief canal section before we hit the town and some hench looking heifers. We took a little shortcut coming to the campsite, the same place in Carhaix-plouger as the first night of the tour. Though the shortcut actually took us through a mountain bike trail which was an assault of large stones and a gauntlet of flies. Actually better than cycling through town though.
The campsite was unmanned when we arrived. We had bought a rag and a can of degreaser to give the bikes a wash. Before that, we cleaned the frames with baby wipes which is known, Chris tells me, as a whore's bath. My bike is not a whore though it was for sale and loves to be ridden.
The chain was black, now silver with black bits.
We met an English couple. Steve was definitely the guys name and we're 90% sure the lady was called Pam. They showed us a book of cycle routes and we both have new ideas of where to go next.
Steve offered to let us keep it for the tour and post it back to them which was ultra kind, but I declined as I'd already taken a picture of the good bit. See below.
Tomorrow we part ways, reaching the Nantes canal, Chris going West and I'm heading East. It will be a sad but monumental day which we will immortalise with matching tattoos.
P.S. I asked and Chris said no to tattoos.
Our last day
It was a moist misty morning.
Frogs from the coypu pond had been squawking during the night. Presumably last orders had been called somewhere around the 5am mark and they settled down with the sunrise.
Though bright, the sun was scattered and the air was cooler than normal. The ground, our bikes, and the tents were very much wetter than normal. Being men of wilderness we endured the short walk to the shower block and, being men of hygiene, brushed our teeth.
We planned on joining an old train line at a town called Scaer but we had an eight mile cycle on roads before we got there. Though misty the road may as well have been illegally clad and placed next to a faulty fridge freezer (humour is a coping mechanism). It was a long and sweaty climb.
We stopped for breakfast at the local supermarché. We topped up the supplies for lunch and dinner which after six days actually included some vegetables even if they were smothered in creamy fromage.. Chris managed to unintentionally steal a bag4life by leaving his luggage on the checkout and distracting the cashier who tried to scan it anyway. I distracted her in a different way but didn't get any freebies, though I'm sure if I'd stuck around I'd have got something.
In the least shady way possible, a man approached us in the car park and asked us about our trip. We get a fair bit of interest, it seems everybody loves a cycle journey in these parts.
Sated and not feeling malnourished anymore we hit the path. Whenever we get back on our bikes after a period of rest, the thigh muscles ache brilliantly. I usually verbalise this and made no exception. The beginning of the trail was normalish. It had a tunnel which was nice. Then after a little uphill, it became amazing. It didn't look much different but the slight decline and hard flat ground made so much difference. Top gear, long bends, the ground fell away either side so we rode along a spine above the roads and amongst the treetops. It was such a pleasure and fun and there was no way I was stopping to take a photo. Then we were called upon by the god of physics to repay the favour with a lengthy climb.
The path varied from double track to a wheel's width. After a break Chris noticed a sharp s-bend in the route ahead. Though we took it slowly, the gap in hedgerow would suggest someone had not been so careful. My brakes couldn't even stop me fully going down, but Chris' bike did so no worries there.
There was a brief canal section before we hit the town and some hench looking heifers. We took a little shortcut coming to the campsite, the same place in Carhaix-plouger as the first night of the tour. Though the shortcut actually took us through a mountain bike trail which was an assault of large stones and a gauntlet of flies. Actually better than cycling through town though.
The campsite was unmanned when we arrived. We had bought a rag and a can of degreaser to give the bikes a wash. Before that, we cleaned the frames with baby wipes which is known, Chris tells me, as a whore's bath. My bike is not a whore though it was for sale and loves to be ridden.
The chain was black, now silver with black bits.
We met an English couple. Steve was definitely the guys name and we're 90% sure the lady was called Pam. They showed us a book of cycle routes and we both have new ideas of where to go next.
Steve offered to let us keep it for the tour and post it back to them which was ultra kind, but I declined as I'd already taken a picture of the good bit. See below.
Tomorrow we part ways, reaching the Nantes canal, Chris going West and I'm heading East. It will be a sad but monumental day which we will immortalise with matching tattoos.
P.S. I asked and Chris said no to tattoos.
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