Tuesday: 27. 09.
2016 Chatelaillon Plage – Palmyre (83kms)
I had left my very gentile hotel by 08.30 having consumed
what passes for a normal breakfast of croissants, bread , juice and coffee: all
very delicious but this morning,
unusually, I would have preferred an English breakfast of bacon, eggs and fried
bread! I collected my bike from the laundry room (it does reside in some very
inappropriate places) and set off along a sea front no longer populated by
seething sun worshippers, but by bins! Just another hazard for the unsuspecting
cyclist on bin collection day.
I retained a fairly good recollection of the route to
Rochefort having explored it on our previous holiday. Much of it followed
alongside a busy and noisy main road which, while unpleasant, serves as a
reminder of just how intrusive the motor vehicle really is. Yes. I know we
cannot manage without it and it has clear advantages over bike travel (like going
a long way in a short time) but it does smell and make a racket. I did
eventually leave all the bustle behind
and, determined not to take a 20 kilometre detour, took a turning to the right
instead of left on the assumption that I could only get lost if I fell in the
river. Thus, I followed it (the river) diligently until the only way forward
was to cross it. According to my information, there existed a transbourder (transporter) bridge, and indeed I could see
it from some three kms away. At a point just short of the bridge, my route
veered towards the river! No one had thought to mention that it was under
repair and to access the opposite bank via said bridge would require a wait of
three years! The temporary alternative was a small ferry presently grounded at
low tide! Apparently, already waiting was a French cyclist (a very nice man) who
informed me that the tide would rise sufficiently to float the boat, by 11.30.
Yipee, that just meant a wait of at least an hour and a half. In between
communing with his two ‘phones, my French (very nice) companion chatted about
his ride and his intention of reaching Bayonne.( It was during one such
conversation that I felt an unwanted lump on the base of my shoe – a fish hook
had pierced the sole. How lucky that it had avoided embedding itself into bike
or trailer tyre!)
We were joined later,
by a large group of Germans on electric bikes who seemed content to enjoy the
enforced rest. Not the case for a second group of three. The gentleman of the
trio clocked my Welsh flag and came over and proceeded to complain vociferously
about this unexpected delay to his journey. “It was vital that they reached
their destination on time; their hired bikes were rubbish and they had only two
gears!” Phew! I pointed out that our ferry was presently resting on bottom of
the river and we would have to allow nature to take its course in the form of a
rising tide. Sure enough, at 11.30 the boat was afloat and le capitaine
commenced loading. This was far from simply plonking bikes aboard as there had
to be a balanced weight. Nonetheless, after much gesticulating and arguing in
German, French and English, we floated across. Docking went without a hitch but
I eyed the gang plank with alarm. Angle between boat and bank was around 30
percent and I had Sherman to haul up to terra firma! Thank goodness I had
foregone the camping gear. My thanks to the diminutive female guide of the
German group who gallantly assisted my climb. (No chaps in sight!)
Pedalling along canals is not the most exciting or
exhilarating activity but it can be exacerbated by the poor quality of the
track. In fact, this particular 650 metres of track was unridable. It was
preceded by a notice which apologised for its unsuitablilty as a cycle track
promising reparation very soon. The worst yet.
This difficulty was very soon followed by yet another sign
indicating a ‘route barre’. In fairness, I was already misplaced in Marennes
but a road under serious repair did nothing to help. However, the usual
practice of stopping and head scratching produced the usual helpful response
from a group of the workmen. I produced my map and explained my predicament.
There ensued an animated conversation between colleagues until finally the
dilemma was resolved and the onward route explained. My rescuers kindly removed
sufficient barriers for me to pass and even lifted and carried my trailer until
we both reached the tarmac. A few kilometres later I was on the approach to the
Le Pont de Marennes and imposing bridge spanning the river Seudre. Alas, it was impossible to experience the
undoubtedly spectacular view as the cycle lane, as is ever the case, was just
wide enough to incorporate a bicycle and trailer and /or panniers with less
than a hairs breadth separating cyclist from motorised traffic much of which
was quite large! Having survived the dice with death or serious injury, the canal
path took on a whole new persona and, tranquillity restored, I took a drinks
and nibbles stop. Who should come by but my nice Frenchman. How I had
transpired to get ahead of him remains a mystery but his assurance that the
next thirty kilometres of track was of good surface was indeed, welcome news and true. It also provided my first
ever sighting of genuine wild boar, three of which tripped across the road not
20 metres in front of me.
Making the decision that Royan might be a step too far, I
finished the day in Palmyre. Not a very beautiful place and the hotel was the
most expensive yet and staffed by yet another indifferent concierge but, in its
defence, the food both at dinner and breakfast was excellent. A balcony off my
room was transformed into a makeshift drying room for the smellier bits of my
clothing. Yah boo to indifferent receptionists!
Tomorrow will take in the ferry from Royan across the
Gironde estuary tides permitting!
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