We’re tired. We have made a pact not be grumpy. We’re grumpy. He says he’s carrying more weight (he is), I say I’m doing more packing (I am). It’s hot, we’re moving fast – averaging 20km an hour and by lunchtime we’ve covered 60km and are knackered. I’ve been bitten on my eyelid. I had always though there was some kind of treaty between us and bitey bugs involving eyelids and genitals. Seems this has been broken. Let the revolution begin.
Then we predictably do what every other English person does when travelling through this village:
And out the other side:
Sportracker (Keith’s new favourite toy) tells us we are burning around 3500 calories during the cycling bit of each day. We’re drinking probably 5+ litres each per day. We’re eating a lot (yippee) and shovelling down every meal.
Today we made an correct assumption about the ease of finding accommodation in rural France in peak summer. Hotels booked and no campsites nearby. Spent two hours sat in supermarket car park searching on phone for somewhere to stay. We ended up here:
Our plan was to have tomorrow as a day off but we decided to just stay here on the side of a dual carriageway for the one night and move on. It was clean, had a bed but the one star was frankly generous.