They can't make it here any more.

August 25, 2011

Photo taken at a roundabout before I reached the canal towpath showing roadsigns for all types of road users.

The rain drummed hard on the tent all night and although it had stopped by dawn, on looking out foreboding rain cloud still darken the sky. It was to remain an optimistic morning nevertheless, with breaks of sunshine through overcast skies.

I ate muesli for breakfast, the last food I had which was worrying as yesterday I tried to drawn cash at an ATM unsuccessfully, but I put the anxiety of being unable to withdrawn cash to the back of my mind for the moment as I had to continue riding. With camp and all packed ready for the road, I pushed the bike across the narrow weir above the water cascading out of the lock down a shoot into the canal, and set off on the towpath alongside where in the coarse of the following hour, I met with many touring cyclists; the majority being the summer holiday travel-light variety. Cyclists of all ages and shapes, some with stern faces which ignored my greeting bonjour, but predominantly I met with happy faces that called out a jovial bonjour.

I stopped to urinate leaning close into the hedge when the bike fell over with a thud on the ground. It didn't worry me as it's always falling over when left unattended. There were hazel nut trees growing by the towpath where I'd stopped, so I plucked some nuts and proceeded to crack the shells between my teeth and eat. Looking down the Merida bike and Bob-trailer looked fine lying where they did on their side.

I picked up the bike and started to ride but something immediately felt wrong. Looking down, I saw the chain flapping lose across the chain-stay and it wasn't engaging the the sprocket; then I saw why, the rear-derailleur was folded in against the cassette. I first thought the hanger in which it screws into had somehow been bent but, then I saw the hanger was broken clean off revealing a rough edge showing cheap grey aluminium and looking closer it looked like pinheads of glass crystal in dull broken rock. I thought why did it break so easily. Cheap Chinese rubbish. The anxiety builds inside. My heart is in my mouth as I try to work out how I'm going to fix this. I hate everything Chinese everything, everything. Most things which they can't make here any more that they make there now. Simple things which shouldn't break or wear out do because they're made in China.

I remain calm, no point in panicking, even though it wasn't looking good. I didn't want to resort to finding someone whom would give me a lift to the next town. I could after all convert the bike to a single-speed if it would work.

I wheeled the bike forward a short distance to where there was a wide muster-point around an information board by a lock. A place where I'd have space to work. I uncoupled the trailer from the bike, turned and set the bike upside-down then set to work. With my chain-breaker I broke the chain and threaded it free of the rear-derailleur. I put the chain around the middle chain-ring and around the sprocket at the rear which was in-line with it, and then brough the two chain ends together between chain-ring and sprocket to see how many sets of chain-links I'd have to remove in order to have a chain-ring single sprocket drive-train. I proceeded to remove the said chain-links and rejoin the chain up again. When I'd finished it was a little tight when I dropped the wheel back in place in the vertical dropouts, but it would have to do. I gave it a short test-ride, riding a couple of times around in a circle on the wide area by the lock. It worked.

The chain when I rejoined it running on the middle chain-ring and a sprocket at the rear.

Leaned outside the shop now with it's new single-speed configuration.

I coupled up the trailer again, packed away the derailleur and put everything back on the bike and trailer ready to go. There was a short steep ramp up from the lock onwards and I thought that here the chain would break and I'd be back to scratching my head but it didn't break. On the flat towpath onwards which was soft grit the single speed was working fine, I would have to wait and see though how it would cope with other surfaces and hills.

Around about noon I reached a village where I bough groceries and on seeing a pizza place around the corner from the shop decided to treat myself to lunch.

The village with the pizza place on the right.

I entered, said Bonjour awkwardly, asked for a menu si vous pait, and then order una Pizza Provencale et Vin Rouge to drink. The woman looks serious in her white apron complete with white bonnet on a head of blond hair up in a neat bun at the back. It was clear by her confused expression that she didn't quite know what language Is speaking. Lets try again I thought. This time I used the menu itself pointing at the line which read Pizza Provencial, and then turning to the page with the drinks, ran my forefinger along the line Vin Rouge. She smiled and uttered something as I handed her the menu back. I then took a seat outside underneath the tarpaulin covered veranda.

Most times I've found in the short communications I've had so far in France that, I open my mouth meaning to say bonjour and say buenos dias, merci but say gracias, even whole sentences in Spanish have come uncontrollably out of my mouth to a look of total bewilderment.

The pizza at last comes out along with the wine and as I eat the rain comes on humming on the tarpaulin and bouncing off a car parked in the street.

Eating out was costly as the bill when it came was thirteen Euros and the shopping too came to seven Euros. Is fast learning that France is an expensive country and what is more, I'd soon have to find a bank machine from which I could withdrawn cash. When the rain was over I cycled around the village and found a Credit Agricole bank but, when I put my card in the machine a negative message n pas.... or whatever came up on the screen and I could just about work out that it meant the machine only excepted local cards.

Riding onwards alongside the canal between showers, I reached a ruinous chateau about three o'clock where I paused briefly looking up at the roofless stone facades with empty rectangular void windows, before riding on. I came to a split in the path and somehow decide to take the left split which led away from the canal and turning a bend I faced a short switchback climb. I was about to find-out how the single-speed would fair as the slope slowed me and the pedals became hard to turn. Is forced to stand to keep the pedals turning. The thought of turning around and returning back to the canal had crossed my mind but I kept on pressing down on the pedals and staggering from side to side on the gravel path making it up to the first bend where I managed to turn sharply across the steep curve. The stretch up to the next bend wasn't quite as steep and Is able to ride it more comfortably sitting in the saddle. There was one more switchback to the top where I sheltered underneath a tree to wait out another heavy shower.

After the rain was over Is glad to descend because another characteristic with the single-speed was having to pedal rapidly to ride moderately fast, much faster than normal which would soon become tiresome and I'd have to pause and cruise a bit.

So as I rode the day out it was reassuring that the repair had worked. Is lucky that the chain lined up near perfectly and although a little on the tight side, the chain ran smoothly. The single-speed also had an uncomplicated simplicity which was appealing, at that moment anyway.

A bar with Tour de France memorabilia, framed by the grey rainy day.

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