Getting Lost then Getting Lucky
The bike shop turned out to be a sports club and there was no sign of another bike shop in town, so off I went, with 122km ahead of me, towards Gacé.
Getting into towns is usually very easy. Finding the correct route out again is usually less so. So, after breaking camp in good time and fine weather, and checking out the 'bike shop' I meandered around the local lanes for a while, trying to find the route I had planned using Google maps. I probably wasted no more than half an hour, climbing a few minor hills I didn't need to and straying onto a much busier road than I wanted to spend any time on, before I took a chance on a minor road to the right and stumbled upon an almost perfect cycle path (not a road at all) that Google had intended me to be on all along.
One thing about the rhythm of cycling is that it's a perfect way to sooth frayed nerves, so my early navigation-based anxiety soon passed. My legs felt really good, although I hadn't really tested them yet, and I hardly needed my brakes at all. From time to time, a handy rest stop appeared, with a map so I could assess my progress.
This almost perfectly smooth gravel surface (obviously an old railway line) went on for mile after mile, occasionally named as per the map but more often just straight on, across a series of minor roads and farm tracks. Often, there were barriers to stop motor vehicles accessing the track, and squeezing past these was about the only thing to break the endless rhythm of my pedalling. There was some lovely countryside, too, of course, and a few people walking, with and without dogs. The path was mostly dry and often dusty, so my bike gradually changed from deep maroon in colour to a kind of mid-grey.
By late morning, I started seeing a few groups of cyclists coming the other way from what was obviously a significant town. This must be Domfront and it seemed like a good idea to leave the cycle path here to find some handy shops and maybe a restaurant for early lunch. In fact, Domfront was the only town the route would pass anywhere near for some time, so there wasn't really a choice and I was starting to think about food quite a lot, which is a good indicator to a cyclist that he or she needs to eat soon!
Domfront is a hilltop town, as I soon realised, and even though I had had a fairly easy morning so far, the climb up to the town centre reminded me how much weight I was carrying as I worked my way steadily down through the gears. I made it to the top, without pushing, but it was hard work and the road was busy and noisy, with a large number of lorries working nearly as hard as I was to make the ascent. They were big lorries and they were mostly passing straight through the town. Domfront could do with a bypass, I thought, although it might kill the town, as bypasses elsewhere have done.
I didn't see a restaurant or café at the top to tempt me but I did find a big supermarket. I bought more water than I could possibly carry and more food than I could sensibly eat, so I allowed myself a few minutes' rest while I drank what I could, including a pint of 'proper' milk, ate a little and stowed the rest of the food for when I reached a more pleasant picnic spot.
After a hairy descent out of the town, including hitting a broken drain cover at a speed that would have burst a lesser tyre and buckled a lesser wheel (did I mention my brakes?), I rejoined the cycle route heading northeast. At an open spot where the path crossed a farmer's track, I stopped for lunch. It was very nice and very welcome, and a family cycling past wished me bonne appetite as I dined on fine cheese, smoked salmon and olives. This was fun!
Setting off again in a contented state of mind, I missed the right turn that should have taken me back onto 'proper' roads and found myself further north than I wanted to be. No problem, as I had maps, and I quickly worked out where I was and how to best rejoin the route. Uphill, of course, but otherwise easy enough. Except that there were two places nearby with similar names, and I followed the road signs to the wrong one before I realised. That meant another few extra kilometres and another hill or two before I finally got back on track. A bit more time was lost, too. Thank goodness I'd allowed enough daylight hours, and I reckoned I was probably riding faster than my worst-case scenario had allowed for. I calculated I would still have about two hours' daylight in hand when I reached my second camp site at Gacé.
Back on course, on a pleasant enough road, and back into a rhythm, I let the anxiety and self-criticism slip away again. This was what I came for - overcoming challenges and being self-reliant - or where is the achievement when we reach our goals?
The rest of the day was spent on well-signposted roads and, although I still had over eighty kilometres to ride, it mostly passed without incident, even though there was a thirty kilometres stretch of quite major dual carriageway towards the end. Before then, the road meandered through lovely open countryside, with very little traffic, a good surface and only gentle undulations as far as Briouze. I ate some of my food and had a drink here while I checked the map but I didn't linger.
From Briouze, the more major road was wide and straight, with a cycle lane or hard shoulder along much of it, and smooth. It was busy enough but there was plenty of room. It just meant I could keep up a good pace. I counted down the kilometres to Argentan, then Le Pin-au-Haras, before the final run downhill towards Gacé. A left turn at a major new roundabout took me up the main road into the town. Despite being near the town centre, the municipal site was once again quiet, beautifully kept and very cheap. It was also nearly empty, and there was no one on site to take my money.
I set up camp, showered and went to find food. Having shopped, eaten and shopped and eaten some more, I settled down in my tent for the night, only to be distubed by the site-keeper's young daughter calling out "Bonjour monseur". I took the hint, put my shorts back on and visited the office to pay my four and a half euros for the night.
With the 'diversions', I had probably cycled about 140km (I had planned 122km) on day two and I was tired but not in any pain. My legs still felt like they'd probably be okay after a night's rest, although I knew they would have to wake up quickly next morning for the climb out of Gacé. I'd certainly taken on all the fuel I could, in preparation for the longest ride of the whole trip on day three.
Getting into towns is usually very easy. Finding the correct route out again is usually less so. So, after breaking camp in good time and fine weather, and checking out the 'bike shop' I meandered around the local lanes for a while, trying to find the route I had planned using Google maps. I probably wasted no more than half an hour, climbing a few minor hills I didn't need to and straying onto a much busier road than I wanted to spend any time on, before I took a chance on a minor road to the right and stumbled upon an almost perfect cycle path (not a road at all) that Google had intended me to be on all along.
One thing about the rhythm of cycling is that it's a perfect way to sooth frayed nerves, so my early navigation-based anxiety soon passed. My legs felt really good, although I hadn't really tested them yet, and I hardly needed my brakes at all. From time to time, a handy rest stop appeared, with a map so I could assess my progress.
This almost perfectly smooth gravel surface (obviously an old railway line) went on for mile after mile, occasionally named as per the map but more often just straight on, across a series of minor roads and farm tracks. Often, there were barriers to stop motor vehicles accessing the track, and squeezing past these was about the only thing to break the endless rhythm of my pedalling. There was some lovely countryside, too, of course, and a few people walking, with and without dogs. The path was mostly dry and often dusty, so my bike gradually changed from deep maroon in colour to a kind of mid-grey.
By late morning, I started seeing a few groups of cyclists coming the other way from what was obviously a significant town. This must be Domfront and it seemed like a good idea to leave the cycle path here to find some handy shops and maybe a restaurant for early lunch. In fact, Domfront was the only town the route would pass anywhere near for some time, so there wasn't really a choice and I was starting to think about food quite a lot, which is a good indicator to a cyclist that he or she needs to eat soon!
Domfront is a hilltop town, as I soon realised, and even though I had had a fairly easy morning so far, the climb up to the town centre reminded me how much weight I was carrying as I worked my way steadily down through the gears. I made it to the top, without pushing, but it was hard work and the road was busy and noisy, with a large number of lorries working nearly as hard as I was to make the ascent. They were big lorries and they were mostly passing straight through the town. Domfront could do with a bypass, I thought, although it might kill the town, as bypasses elsewhere have done.
I didn't see a restaurant or café at the top to tempt me but I did find a big supermarket. I bought more water than I could possibly carry and more food than I could sensibly eat, so I allowed myself a few minutes' rest while I drank what I could, including a pint of 'proper' milk, ate a little and stowed the rest of the food for when I reached a more pleasant picnic spot.
After a hairy descent out of the town, including hitting a broken drain cover at a speed that would have burst a lesser tyre and buckled a lesser wheel (did I mention my brakes?), I rejoined the cycle route heading northeast. At an open spot where the path crossed a farmer's track, I stopped for lunch. It was very nice and very welcome, and a family cycling past wished me bonne appetite as I dined on fine cheese, smoked salmon and olives. This was fun!
Setting off again in a contented state of mind, I missed the right turn that should have taken me back onto 'proper' roads and found myself further north than I wanted to be. No problem, as I had maps, and I quickly worked out where I was and how to best rejoin the route. Uphill, of course, but otherwise easy enough. Except that there were two places nearby with similar names, and I followed the road signs to the wrong one before I realised. That meant another few extra kilometres and another hill or two before I finally got back on track. A bit more time was lost, too. Thank goodness I'd allowed enough daylight hours, and I reckoned I was probably riding faster than my worst-case scenario had allowed for. I calculated I would still have about two hours' daylight in hand when I reached my second camp site at Gacé.
Back on course, on a pleasant enough road, and back into a rhythm, I let the anxiety and self-criticism slip away again. This was what I came for - overcoming challenges and being self-reliant - or where is the achievement when we reach our goals?
The rest of the day was spent on well-signposted roads and, although I still had over eighty kilometres to ride, it mostly passed without incident, even though there was a thirty kilometres stretch of quite major dual carriageway towards the end. Before then, the road meandered through lovely open countryside, with very little traffic, a good surface and only gentle undulations as far as Briouze. I ate some of my food and had a drink here while I checked the map but I didn't linger.
From Briouze, the more major road was wide and straight, with a cycle lane or hard shoulder along much of it, and smooth. It was busy enough but there was plenty of room. It just meant I could keep up a good pace. I counted down the kilometres to Argentan, then Le Pin-au-Haras, before the final run downhill towards Gacé. A left turn at a major new roundabout took me up the main road into the town. Despite being near the town centre, the municipal site was once again quiet, beautifully kept and very cheap. It was also nearly empty, and there was no one on site to take my money.
I set up camp, showered and went to find food. Having shopped, eaten and shopped and eaten some more, I settled down in my tent for the night, only to be distubed by the site-keeper's young daughter calling out "Bonjour monseur". I took the hint, put my shorts back on and visited the office to pay my four and a half euros for the night.
With the 'diversions', I had probably cycled about 140km (I had planned 122km) on day two and I was tired but not in any pain. My legs still felt like they'd probably be okay after a night's rest, although I knew they would have to wake up quickly next morning for the climb out of Gacé. I'd certainly taken on all the fuel I could, in preparation for the longest ride of the whole trip on day three.
posted by Roy Everitt at
18:16
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