Pontivy to Malestroit

September 26, 2021

This morning the inevitable happened: I started singing "Low Bridge, Everybody Down" while riding the canal. We finally got to a section that looks and feels just like the Erie Canal. All that's missing are the fantastic eggplant parm heroes, the Yuengling beer, and Billy Joel playing on the jukebox. Instead we have crepes, delicious Breton ales, and me singing that silly song I sang 10 years ago all day every day for almost two weeks.

Plenty of lightning overnight, but far enough away that no thunder could be heard. A little rain, but the fly was drier this morning than yesterday. Last journal entry I praised this campground. I have to add that the fellow who single-handedly runs this place is super friendly and works very hard to keep it clean. We thanked him as best we could before leaving.

Saying goodbye to the Pontivy municipal campground

We started with a series of closely-strung locks gaining elevation. A few kilometers later, another series brought us back down. From there on, the locks were more evenly spaced, all downhill.

We soon spotted our first pleasure craft on the water:

Soon after, our prayers were answered when we were able to witness the locks in action:

I arrived to late to snap a good photo of the boats being lowered...

...but there was plenty of time to catch the lower gate being cranked open by hand.

...followed by the second. A mini-flotilla!

Now, this shouldn't excite me. I've seen this process hundreds of times. It is the first time I've witnessed the gates being operated manually. The big mystery for us was: if these locks are functional, who does the work? It turns out that these waterway employees drive vans on the towpath, working in pairs. There was an additional duo of workers starting to open the upper gate of the next lock just downstream. Considering how many locks these boats have to navigate, time is of the essence!

We often joke that riding on a flat smooth path next to water quickly gets boring. It does, kind of, but it really doesn't. It's the kind of cycling we all dream of. You can go as slow or as fast as you want, on any kind of bike you want. Regardless, the communities around the canal recognize that it can get repetitive, so they set up some public art:

Let's say this is inspired by Georges Seurat's "Un dimanche après-midi à l'Île de la Grande Jatte" and not by Mary Poppins

Not to be outdone, a series of historic photographs of life on the canal soon followed:

The boats, the art, the history, and the hundreds of locals out for a ride or a stroll, all kept things interesting as we racked up the kilometers.

We made a little (uphill) side trip to the Abbaye de Timadeuc. There were a lot of cars in the parking lot, so we knew we had come to the right place. As soon as we locked up our bikes, put on our masks, and approached the front entrance, people started spilling out. They were all dressed fairly decently, too. We figured we lucked out with the timing, that the morning service had just ended, and that we could enjoy the sanctity of the chapel as ordinary visitors. However, a nun stopped us short, simply exclaiming "C'est finit!" Even I know what that means.

Later, as we approached Josselyn, our gaze fixed upon the château:

We came very close to going in, but the logistics were tricky. There was no place to park our behemoth bikes. That was our excuse, anyway. We moved on and promised one another that we would take the time to visit two or three on the next stage of our tour.

The day's final journal-worthy moment came when we arrived at the municipal campground in Malestroit. Their web site had advertised an open season of April-September, which I took to mean September 30, but which they decided meant September 25, aka yesterday! Based on our previous experience of a municipal campground being available with limited services during the off-season, we decided to look around a bit. A gate was open. Not big enough for cars to enter, but just right for us. One bathroom was open and functional. The showers were closed, but the sinks were working and even had hot water. However, this huge place was completely empty. We had the entire grounds to ourselves. It felt eerie. (no canal jokes, please)

We debated what to do, and we came to the following conclusions: the campground appears to be left in minimal mode, for people like us who are camping without a motor vehicle. If we're wrong, we still need a place to sleep, and it's better to ask forgiveness than permission in this situation. If someone comes by and locks the gate, there's another gate next to it that is secured only by a block of concrete that we can easily move. And last but not least, given today's easy riding, a hobo shower would be more than sufficient.

I know, we put more thought into this decision than we should have, but we are visitors. We're trying to be good visitors. People have treated us better than we probably deserve. Anyway, we'll pack up early tomorrow and no one will know we were even here. Except you, dear reader!

Any nautical-minded folk know what these are? Our best guess is that it's a speed limit, let's say in knots per hour.

Our new joke is that the landscape looks like the Windows XP wallpaper

Whoever lives at the lockkeeper's house really gussied up these gates

Not really my style, but it's bike-related!

Today's ride: 78 km (48 miles)
Total: 1,185 km (736 miles)

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