13th September (drizzly morning, cloudy afternoon, mild) 50 km

There are good and bad sides to being a light sleeper. The bad side is that almost anything can wake you from a restful sleep and leave you laying there for hours thinking about how you might get back to sleep. Last night was one such occasion. At 2am, I thought I heard Dad undoing his tent to go for the obligatory loo stop. That’s a lot of zipping I thought, what’s going on there? Turns out it wasn’t Dad at all, it was someone in a campsite in the next township 3km away. So, now wide awake, I lay listening for new sounds. At 2.30am a bunch of hoons mucking around with their car outside the camp, began doing doughnuts and generally slamming car doors. Not long after a few guys wandered through the camp, as though it were the middle of the day, talking loudly. The camp owner told Julia this morning that one of the guys wanted to play Petanque and was getting a bit loud, so he had to get out of bed to speak to him. At 3am, according to the local church bells which chime every hour, letting you know exactly what time it is, a guy comes wandering through the camp down to the river, where he begins screaming at the top of his voice. Nice…..!! Julia and my Dad heard none of this. Ju in her death sleep and Dad, now used to life on the hard ground, snoring like a trooper….yet another thing that wakes me up.

The good side to being a light sleeper is that I am more than prepared. If anyone should think about creeping into our tent in the night to nick a pair of my freshly washed undies, or steal my cereal [ which is the highlight of my morning ritual ] they will receive a crank spanner around the back of the neck. For anyone attempting to infiltrate our little abode to inflict injury, upon myself, or even worse, Julia, they will be met with a knife to the throat and those immortal words from Clint Eastwood …..”Do ya feel lucky punk”

At 7am the church bells reminded me that it was an hour later than the previous chimes…. Gee, thanks for that..!  So, the day began with a little light drizzle, which apparently, according to the weather forecast, we had a forty percent chance of receiving this morning. Ju posted yesterday’s blog, I went on Facebook to answer some stuff, then whilst I ranted on, Ju shot to the supermarche to get breakfast.

Ju here – well when I got back from the supermarket (which incidentally was on top of the the only hill in town), all hell had broken loose…….Pete couldn’t find his spork. (For the uninitiated, that’s a spoon one end and a fork the other).  He came to the conclusion, that one of those rowdy sods last night had nicked it.  It seems that Mr Light Sleeper had in fact slept through the crime of the century.  You wouldn’t think it would be such a big deal, but as Pete has admitted, his breakfast is the highlight of his morning.  In fact, any meal is the highlight of Pete’s day.  While Jimmy and I tucked into our weetbix and muesli, watching us was torture for Pete, so he stomped back over to the tent to have yet another look.  Jimmy felt sorry for him so went and had a look as well – I knew it was pointless – that spork was blue, obviously a rare and highly sought after piece. 

Pete had to wait for me to finish before he could tuck into his cereal and we all lingered over breakfast as for the first time since Jimmy joined us, it rained.  Only a drizzle really, but persistent.  It went on all morning so we all took our time packing up our panniers and I went did some yoga stretches on the kitchen balcony.  The last two campgrounds we’ve stayed at have had their ablutions on two metre high pillars – I would assume for when the river floods.  It’s hard to imagine at the moment as the water is very low, but there are evacuation signs all over the campgrounds and arrows showing the direction you should run if the camp starts flooding.

Of course, when I started packing my panniers, I came upon the blue spork, as I knew I would.  The kids don’t call me the hufflepuff for nothing (one of the school houses in Harry Potter – all hufflepuffs are good at finding things). 

The raincoats get an airing

We eventually set off in light drizzle about 11.30am, but because we only planned to go 25 kms today, we weren’t bothered about the late start.  Our first stop wasn’t too far down the road when we pulled over so Jimmy could put his jacket on – I already had mine on.  I asked Pete if he maybe wanted to put his jacket on but he insisted he was alright.  Just before we set off again, I asked him if he was sure he didn’t want to put his coat on.  “No, no” he says, insisting he is fine with the light drizzle coming down on his merino.  “I hope Georgie’s words don’t come back to haunt you” I couldn’t resist adding. (See her comment on 11^th Sept blog).  Of course things worked out exactly as Georgina had prophesised and soon we were stopping again so Pete could put his jacket on.

Leaving our lunch stop at St Remy la Varenne

At the picturesque village of St Remy la Varenne we spied an awesome little shelter with picnic bench, a place to stand our bikes and a toilet.  That’s the great thing about cycling this route – it is set up for cyclists.  By now it was nearly 1pm so we decided to break out the gas stove and make a coffee and some cheese sandwiches for lunch.  A lone French cyclist going the other way joined us and we had a bit of a chat as we ate.

A pungent aroma filled the air and an easy calm descended
on Pete......one of the crops grown round here was hemp.
Smelled a lot like Womad!

From here we only had 10 kms to go to our chosen campground but this next section was quite boring.  Very agricultural with frequent whiffs of sewerage – which I have to say is quite commonplace in France in general.  When we finally got to Le Dagueniere, the campsite we were directed to was a gypsy camp (so we weren’t going to stay there), and the one that was marked on our map was only a carpark for campervans.  Seriously, stop using a tent sign on maps if there is no tent site!   This town had an unwelcoming feel anyway, so we were glad to push on.

Pete here - So now we had to aim for a campground on the far side of Angers – probably about 20 km away. Dad reckoned he was up for it, but what other option did we have. Crossed over to the other side of a Loire tributary and this was mixed riding. Some lovely lanes with great surface and cycle tracks varying from good, to bloody average at best.  

Loading the bikes on the ingenious little self-operated
ferry.  Jimmy steadies the boat with the chain.

Came upon a little ferry to cross a small smelly river. This was one that had a chain attached at both ends. Once we had loaded the bikes on, we pulled ourselves to the other side using the chain. As we finished, another cyclist was doing the same. It was a bit hairy as you had to walk up steps pushing your fully laden bike off the vessel and up a ramp. I can imagine a few have gone in for an unintentional swim.

Ju tries to  pretend she's on a cruise while Pete pulls them across to the other side

On the outskirts of Angers, we passed through an old slate quarry which they have turned into a parklike area, quite a size at that. Some fantastic pieces of slate. This track was gravel and Dad, who had done really well today, was having difficulty with the gravel chips and keeping the bike on track. You could see it was frustrating and scaring him and he was beginning to tire. By now, for what should have been an easier day, we’d done 40km. Coming out of the quarry we lost the Loire a velo cycle signs and now we were in trouble. Stuck in Angers, coming up to rush hour, with the traffic already horrendous. Julia was doing her very best to pick the best route to the campground, but we were still on roads that were busy. At one point Dad was riding down a one way street, the wrong way (this is okay for cyclists) into oncoming traffic travelling at speed. Must have had his heart in his mouth, riding behind him trying to provide info, I know I did.

The effort it took him to get to the campsite was huge and it was only the final 3kms in a central city park, that he could relax. 

The sky threatened in the slate park

The old quarry had beautiful clear pools, which you were forbidden to swim in (of course!)

These cobbles weren't so great, but the trees were amazing!

A lovely riverside vista to end our day's riding

Angers looks impressive on the other side of the river

Pulled into the Park du Lac at 6pm, all very relieved. Dad had done 50kms, a sterling effort. Although definitely not planned, his stamina and endurance over the past few days has been great compared with when we kicked off. Rode through the camp looking for a pitch. Big camp, bloody horrible pitches, not a bit of grass on any of them. Found one next to a couple of Dutch women who were very nice and gave us their hammer to use as the surface was rock hard. Tents up then into the showers, where I forgot my flannel to dry myself with, so had to use my shirt, waste of space. For dinner we munched out on Chilli Con Carne, with bread, followed by jam butties and orange cake, with tea or coffee. After the dishes were done, it was ablutions, before the last of the light finally faded on a very hectic afternoon.