Supper and another day over.

September 5, 2011

A clear starry night led to a sharp cold dawn. In the early light, I packed away the tent wet with condensation. The tea had brewed then, so I sat down at the picnic table to watch the sun come up. The grass had a wet gloss of dew and a mist rose from the canal. Looking east at the flushed red sky, I shivered and rapped my fingers for warmth around the hot alloy bottle I use for a tea mug. The first rays of light then flooded across the land and like a faraway molten planet, the sun hurled it's way out from behind the horizon. There was a instant glow of warmth, but then, the sun moved behind a bank of cloud, leaving me to a nip in the air.

I pedaled to warm up, which felt even colder until the blood circulation kicked in, warming the extremities, a discomfort that had to be got over. A gentle westerly wind had picked up and already clouds were moving in. It was soon looking like rain. If it did rain, it would have been a hard day with no stops, not even for lunch, unless I came upon a bus shelter, were I would huddle wet and cold while drawing some morsel of joy from eating. Nor would there have been any photos, or anything pleasant to remember the day by, just a long day's slog until evening. However, anxieties of impending rain were premature, as soon the foreboding cloud began subsiding and it turned out a pleasant sunny day.

I cycled onwards, alongside the canal, through many small villages. Around ten o'clock, feeling hungry and looking out for a boulangerie, I saw one but on coming level with the door, I saw that the blinds were drawn. What a bummer to find it shut.

The road crossed over the canal and meandered onwards, eventually, I cycled over a bridge across the Loire into a large town, where at a supermarche, I bough all the food for the day. All that was lacking in the shopping basket was water which although inexpensive, I reckoned on saving on weight and filling up at a water tap later. There were no morning fresh baked pastries, which I missed, having dreamt of the smell and taste while cycling, but beer is cheap and the only other thing I dream of while hungrily or thirstily cycling, so I made do with crisps and a can of beer for my eleven o'clock sit on a bench as I looked on upon the hustle and bustle of the town's main thoroughfare.

If only shopping was simpler. All This searching around for a shop everyday. The constant need for food, love it as I do, is a distraction from carefree cycling. And repairs which necessitates finding a bike shop in a strange town is another thing that could be done without.

I was thinking of the road ahead, would my single-speed be up to the serious climbing just down the road in the Massif Central. Perhaps now was the time if any to fix the gears. I was hoping therefore to find a bike shop in the city of Nevers, twenty kilometres further on on the busy N7 highway. Cycling in to town was a long affair on ever busier highway lined by big out of town superstores, across multiple rail lines, eventually, I cycled across an old stone bridge which spanned the Loire toward a medieval citadel on a hill. From the riverbank, there was a steep climb up narrow cobbled streets to the cathedral and centre, whereupon I inquired at the tourist office the whereabouts of a bike shop, but was told today was Monday and the only shop likely to be open was a superstore, six kilometres north, or back the way I'd came.

Using the city-plan provided from the tourist office, I navigated my way around the old town and back down toward the river, back across the bridge and onto a quiet riverside street. I stopped and sat on a riverbank stone bollard to lunch. While eating, I watched a man fishing then had to jump up suddenly and stamp on food rapping which a sudden wisp of wind tried to blow away.

It was a warm still afternoon cycling south through pleasant countryside of pastureland and plots of ancient woodland. Around five o'clock, feeling thirsty and not having any water, I left the bike at the road and walked into a farmyard to get water. There was nobody about to ask and looking around, I found a water tap, but on turning it, nothing came out, seemingly, the water had been turned off. Cycling on, I passed a long way through woodland where there were lots of opportune places for camping, if only I had water.

Back amid open pasture, a collie dog barked at the next house when I stopped to ask for water. The householder that was cutting a hedge, called out and the dog cowered away, hiding as it was a timid dog. I held up the water bottle which helped get across my request. The dog reappeared when the man was in the house getting the water, growled, before sneaking back behind a wall, reappearing again when the man came back out of the house, slouching low behind the man.

I cycled a few kilometres further and soon the road was enclosed by more woodland. There was a grassy lane turnoff where I pushed the bike around the chain barrier at the entrance, ignoring a sign which I suspect may have read NO ENTRY, but who was to see me. I cycled far in a long the lane, into the heart of the forest, where the occasional car on the quiet road I'd left was barely audible any longer. There was impenetrable undergrowth on either side, but eventually, there was a hardcore turning place where I pitched the tent, letting it dry, while boiling water for pasta. Supper and another day over, no one would fine me here where I'd camped.

Nine o'clock: village junction and time to decide which way.

The superstore lined highway into the city of Nevers.

I rode up this no-bother with the single speed.

A memorial I think to an atrocity carried out under German occupation in the Second World War.

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