So Far So Brilliant

I've hardly mentioned the weather in the first two days because there really wasn't any. That is to say it was dry and bright, not too hot and with hardly any wind. Perfect cycling weather, in other words.

But rain was forecast for Friday night, possibly with thunder, and I heard a rumble or two as I drifted off to sleep. There wasn't much rain overnight but I awoke to damp and misty morning, with fog shrouding the hill I expected to climb on my way out of Gacé.

I took my time packing up my slightly soggy tent, ate and drank some more and eventually headed out, using my new lights for the first time. Once again, escaping the town proved harder than I expected and it was only after I'd climbed most of the way up the nearest hill that I saw a sign that told me I was on the wrong road again. It was a good 'leg-warmer' (and I had felt okay climbing it) so I didn't let it bother me too much as I headed back to my starting point to find the right way out.

This time, I tried to follow the Google Maps directions to the letter and was doing very well until the little lane, heading in roughly the right direction, turned first into a semi-surfaced road, then a rocky track and finally a muddy path up through the woods. At this point I did have to get off and push, and I just about managed the slippery climb. I trusted my instincts enough to keep going, rather than retrace my steps and tyre tracks, and at the top of the climb, wonder of wonders, I emerged onto the road I wanted to be on. It was still misty at times but the sun was starting to break through, and soon I didn't need my lights at all, as I bowled along on a nicely undulating road past forests, farms and villages.

Americans, Canadians and Australians may not agree, but France is a big country, especially if you live in a small island like Jersey. What struck me, more than once, was that the vista in front of me, looking across a modest river valley perhaps, was often bigger than the whole of Jersey. I was cycling, in one day, over ten times the distance across the island. But I was making good progress now, and the distance didn't seem intimidating, even if the navigational challenges to come possibly did.

I seem to remember the day stayed mainly cloudy, but still very pleasant, and my only issue at this point was a decision whether to take a slightly longer but probably quieter northern route or one of two southern options that diverged at the town of Dreux. I spotted the start of the northern option as I passed Les Bards, but opted to stay on the more straightforward route towards Dreux, via Verneuil Sur Avre, which is twinned, weirdly, with Stowmarket in Suffolk. Stowmarket is where I lived when I met Jacqui, and has almost nothing in common with Verneuil, apart from a few timber-framed buildings.

Verneuil Sr Avre is a much prettier town than this sign would suggest

Verneuil is a very pretty town and the Italian restaurant where I had lunch made for a suitably relaxing break after about 50km.

The next stop was to be Dreux, via Brezolles. I don't remember much about Brezolles but Dreux is hard to forget, as I spent much more time there than I intended to as I once again couldn't find the correct road out of the town. It wasn't possible to follow the Google directions without knowing which roundabout was supposed to be the first one (there were several on the approach to the town, so 'turn right at roundabout' didn't help) and with a lot of the roads apparently unnamed. Dreux is a busy place with complicated one way systems and I faffed around for a while before I happily stumbled out the other side of it.

Anyway, I eventually found my way to the east of the town (city?), where I stopped to read my map once again. At this point, a helpful French gentleman stopped his car and offered to help me find my way. The first step was establishing exactly where I was. He couldn't help me find the minor road I wanted to take but once I'd got my bearings, and he pointed out the main road and river I had to cross, I could probably find a way. And so it proved, although not without a couple of wrong turns and another rest and refreshment stop. I never did find the road I'd planned to take but, amazingly, I had stopped at the junction for an even better alternative,  quiet and easy to navigate (yes!) that would take me almost due east until the point where I needed to cross the autoroute to access Plaisir, my destination for tonight.

This was beautiful and unspoilt countryside, and even these minor roads had excellent surfaces. The weather was still obliging and I soon left the angst of Dreux behind me as I revelled in the peace and quiet and generally perfect conditions, making very good progress. This was a long day, though, and Dreux was only just past halfway, so there was quite a distance still to do.

Fatigue caught up with me as I turned north before I probably needed to and struggled up a nasty climb towards the autoroute crossing. I have no idea what the gradient actually was, but I was suddenly feeling it. Having made it up the hill I recovered as the road ran parallel to the autoroute before a junction took me under the main road and then parallel to it again, but on the northern side, through La Queue les Yvelines. It got much busier here but there was now a cycle path alongside the road, so it was less pleasant but not dangerous. Finally, I saw a sign for Plaisir, but only after I had diverted north to avoid the autoroute, into a scruffy-looking and forgettable village, then headed southeast along a road officially closed by roadworks, up a steep little climb and eventually was heading east again, on a road that would take me past the north of  Plaisir.

An unpleasant few kilometres along what was probably the Plaisir bypass and then I was able to turn right towards the town. At this point the F1 hotel (much cheaper than any nearby campsites) wasn't far away. I even saw a sign for it. I couldn't see the hotel itself, though, and I was soon completely disorientated. I hadn't realised Plaisir was quite so big. In fact, it has two centres (at least) and I made my way to the wrong one along a road I would much rather have avoided.

Even on a late Saturday afternoon the traffic was scary, and roadworks didn't help, with an uneven surface, some sliproads closed and the road not corresponding to my map. I eventually escaped up a sliproad to what I thought was near the centre of Plaisir. I rode around for a while, hoping to see a sign or someone I could ask, but time was getting on and I was starting to worry. I considered checking into the first hotel I could find, not that I had seen one for a while.

Eventually, I spotted a sign for a district that sounded familiar - ZI les Gâtines. In fact, it was part of the hotel's address, and of course French addresses are written differently to British (and Jersey) ones so I hadn't realised the significance of it. It meant I had to go back along the busy road that had scared me and which I was trying to avoid but it was a little quieter now. As long as I avoided the worst of the exposed drain covers and ramps it was doable. It had to be.

Having survived (again) I very carefully followed the Google directions this time, even though they seemed to be taking me the wrong way. I was wrong, though, and they were right. The area the hotel was in looked nothing like I expected and the little bit of old Plaisir I passed through now was really quite nice although the hotel itself was nothing special. I'd lost another hour, at least, looking for it, and added quite a few kilometres and a few grey hairs, but it all added up to a more interesting story, and I had survived.

I probably did at least 160km to Plaisir on day three, maybe a little more, instead of the planned 138km. 

And if twinning Verneuil ser Avre with Stowmarket was a bit odd, Plaisir is twinned with the Suffolk coastal town of Lowestoft, which seems even more bizarre.

There was nowhere under cover to store my bike at the hotel but I locked it to a bench out of sight and hoped for the best, taking all my luggage to my room. It rained hard overnight so, despite my problems finding it, and my reservations about security, a hotel was definitely the best place to be that night. The evening was fine, though, and there was one restaurant open in the village - Italian again - so I ate very well that evening, as well as having a celebratory beer (or maybe two). I checked my bike before going back to my room and slept reasonably well, with my tent and a few clothes draped around the room to dry.

There would be no great rush next morning as I was quite close to Paris, giving me plenty of time to re-pack. The dust would be throroughly washed from my bike, too.