Word Of Mouse

To start with- apologies for any typos in the following: not very used to using a French keyboard...

We are now in an internet cafe in Redon, about 60km short of Nantes. We have had some more adventures.... to start with, there was leaving Plymouth in a week which had seen storms in the Channel sufficient to cause the pride of the Brittany Ferries fleet to need to put into Roscoff for repairs following a freak wave that knocked out the front windows. Consequently when we showed up at the ferry port after a tough day's cycling from St Gabriel the ferry we were planning to take was absolutely crammed: no chance of a cabin. "I'm not setting foot on that thing unless we have a cabin" declared Ali firmly. I was more than happy to concur, being of an age where I am more inclined than I used to be to invest in comfort. So we eventually found ourselves a bed and breakfast in the West Hoe region, rejoicing in the name "The Rusty Anchor" (which we soon decided was Cockney rhyming slang) and run by a sad-looking woman with a streaming cold. She let us store Bramble round the back of the house while we spent a day browsing the delights of Plymouth in the rain. Best bargain was the swimming pool: two hours of fun and a jacuzzi (ideal for tired muscles) for two pounds fifty.

By six in the evening we had a last meal, made a few phone calls and returned to the Crusty W. to pick up the bike. (Breakfast there incidentally had been a sorry affair: Ali noticed that the orange juice was fermenting, and the baked beans in the apology for a cooked breakfast were also strangely served full of bubbles, as well as luke warm. We joked nervously that having just both recovered from our own colds, we might both come down with violent food poisoning on top of catching the landlady's cold, and monitored ourselves closely throughout the day for the onset of symptoms. However in the event, happily to say we survived both catastrophes).

We cycled round to the ferryport in atrocious conditions, freezing cold and pouring with rain. We rapidly abandoned the idea of waiting in queue and opted to strip the baggage from the bike and wait the remaining two hours in the terminal. Aside from thus avoiding death by exposure, this had the happy consequence of allowing us to meet an English ex-pat now living in Carhaix who put us on to the idea of cycling the miles from Carhaix to Brest along the Canal Nantes/Brest (which turned out very well indeed, of which more anon).

The crossing was rough. Little more needs to be said. We were both grateful for our cabin. We cycled out of the maw of the ferry around 7am on a damp morning, headed straight for the centre of Roscoff to find a little boulangerie on the seafront where we stuffed our faces with croissants and pains au chocolat. Bramble drew her first admirer, an amiable and fit-looking Frenchman who told us of his previous tandemming trips. We discussed the pros and cons of trailers vs. panniers for a while like old tandem club members, then it was off along the low-lying Route de Corniche to Morlaix, following the course of the estuary past mudflats.

Morlaix is spanned by spectacular viaducts crossing high over the gorge in which it lies; we were convinced a nasty climb lay ahead but in fact the route we had been recommended to take followed the course of a quiet river valley with easy gradients and very little traffic. Nevertheless we were relieved to find a campsite near the pretty village of Huelgoat. We took a short stroll in the quiet evening light around some abandoned mine workings. (These impressed me greatly. In the mid 1830s the mine had installed a special water pump, the Colonne d'Eau, capable of pumping 220 tonnes of water per hour up a 250 m shaft, driven only by the power of a stream of water descending from above. The capital cost of this engineering marvel came to the current-day equivalent of some 1 million euros).

The campsite provided a welcome chance to clean our limited supply of cycling clothes. The following morning promised well: sunshine and a light breeze dried the dew from the tent and we left in good shape and feeling fine for the undulating ride to Carhaix. We reached Carhaix by lunchtime, and found a small cafe for lunch. Despite being almost so full of smoke that it was a challenge to see across the room, they served us a truly delicious dish of galettes (small Breton pancakes made with locally grown buckwheat and filled with roasted vegetables). We took advantage of a Casino supermarket to restock our panniers, and set forth again, finding the Canal Nantes-Brest without too much difficulty. This turned out to be of truly heroic size, wide and with well-maintained edges and surprisingly few people using it in any way. Ali takes up the story from here on...