Arrive in Brittany after a not very eventful drive from the ferry terminal. It is weird being up so early and seeing early morning France waking up and starting to go about its business. Geoff, of Breton Bikes, one of the organisers, whizzes us down to our hotel and we check in for our first night before setting off on our epic (for me, anyway !) journey...Geoff issues us with our bikes - and I can't help wondering whether or not I will be able to cope with even the "very gentle" route Breton Bikes have suggested. I've never used a bike with more than 3 gears before ...yikes ! It is also very hot and we soon realise we will have to dump more than we had planned in the car, so that we will be less burdened when cycling.
We decide to go for a short spin along the canal towpath, just to see what it will all be like, and I am immediately hooked: sun-dappled towpath or welcome, delicious deep shade, water running softly past. But where are all the water birds - the swans, geese, ducks and water hens we normally see all over British canals ? Meet many French couples cycling down the towpath: it is obviously something the French are much more into than the Brits. These tow paths are lovely - wide, tree-lined and well-maintained and with run-offs, so that they are not the narrow, muddy tracks we have in Britain. And there seems to be a notable shortage of that other classic obstacle course feature of all the English towpaths I have ever been on - anglers !
That evening we read through the route again, and I gulp again at each mention of hills...oh dear !
I'm absolutely terrified as we set off, but as soon as we are on the towpath, my fears disappear and I realise I'm actually enjoying myself ! It is so lovely and I can't possibly think about work, hassles with the kids or problems at home. We are at our first suggested stop, the aptly named Bon Repos, before I've quite realised it and we wander about the Abbey a bit, but I am anxious to set off again. I am worried that I won't be able to cope/might get too tired/fall off the bike or something else silly and I'll be the cause of our not making it to the hotel. I'm so sure that I won't be able to manage the "only serious hill of the day" as described in our route plan, that I set off at a rush, completely screw up the gears and end up pushing. It is also very, very hot...But, the viaduct at the top is lovely, the woods are cool, the trees sway luxuriously in the gentle breeze and we stop for blackberry-picking. My rear end is now protesting at too much contact with the saddle, so we soon have another blackberry picnic stop. It's only when we get back onto the track that we realise we are already almost in Mûr, the little village where we are due to stay the night. Even the sneaky little hill just before our hotel Aux Chantes Des Oiseaux doesn't faze me ! We've arrived in such good time that we go off into Mûr for an afternoon walk and end up in a lazy swim to cool off in the deep, dark blue waters of Lac Guerledan. I keep asking myself whether this is paradise. I know it is after we have dined on Madame du Tutour's superb and sumptuous home-cuisine, washed down with generous quantities of excellent wine, and laced with Madame's insights into interesting features of the local countryside.
We sweep down the hill and away into more pretty countryside and we are back on the canal towpath before I have had time to worry about how my bottom has once again started to complain. We have lunch by the towpath - crêpes, cheese, apples and fruit juice - and of course, more blackberries ! As we cycle along we marvel at the constantly changing displays,at many of the lock gates we pass, of tubs, planters and hanging baskets bursting with gaudy bright red, pink and orange geraniums, purple, lilac, blue or pink petunias, yellow hypericum and roses of every colour, lovingly tended by the lock-keepers. And then, a whole stretch of locks, with each basin between the locks thronged with hundreds of white or yellow water lilies - Monet come to life !
Our route description tells us that we have to keep on for another 16 kilometres before we get to Rohan. My bottom sets up an instant complaint at this prospect, but there is so much to see as we cycle along, and - whoopee - these towpaths, unlike English ones, are wide enough for us to cycle abreast, which means we can chat together as we go. Sometimes we see a kingfisher, often a heron; but still no waterbirds and almost no-one fishing (apart from the herons.) It's fun, as we come into Rohan, to see the backs of people's gardens coming down to the canal, and to wonder why we see so few moorings. Do the French really not enjoy messing about in boats like the Brits ?
I can't believe we have covered the distance, but this is undeniably Rohan, and we find our hotel easily and once we have unloaded our cyclebags and showered and changed, we are ready to step out and explore the town. We meet an Irish couple on their boat in the Marina, who tell us lots about boating adventures on French canals, including how you have to wave a metal frying pan at the sensor for the automatic lock-opening machinery when approaching a lock, to ensure it picks up your boat and opens the lock for you ! It seems clear, from what they say, that the canals are only now starting to be re-developed, and much of this new interest is due to British enthusiasts. The Nantes - Brest Canal, along which we have been cycling, was largely built by convict labour at Napoleon's instruction, to move arms, weaponry and heavy cargo about in-country since the British were blockading the ports. Since it was not built by private canal companies, and was for moving goods about across large tracts of country, there appears little interaction or connection with small villages along the way, and seemingly little industry which has grown up along the canal banks. So many of the canals in the UK system we know have a pub at least every mile ! We generally found we had to leave the towpath to find somewhere to eat and drink. The canal is now the responsibility of the local Council, and some pay to refurbish the lock-keepers' cottages, while others, sadly, allow them to fall into disrepair. We learn that some sections of the canal are now no longer navigable and clearly a lot of work would be needed if the canals were to be brought back into a condition where they could once more become as heavily trafficked as ours are in the UK.
The Crêperie, La Gavotte, where we have dinner is excellent. We sit out on the terasse under the stars and sample several different crêpes, sweet and savoury, while delighting in a "cider champagne", recommended by the restaurant's owner. We like it so much we decide we must track down the producer and buy some of his Perlé de Guillevic - but only once we are back in our car and can carry all that weight !
By now I am in my stride, so to speak, and as long as I take frequent stops to rest my aching rear (thank goodness for the padded shorts Breton Bikes so kindly recommend and supply), I now feel at home on the bike, and think I have mastered the gears ! I am eager to set off each morning, and love the ride through the countryside or along the towpath. The thought of 27 km does not daunt me, and again, we seem to have been going only a short while, with lots of interesting things to talk about along the way, when we are coming in to Josselin, our next overnight stop. The hotel is again easy to find, and the Château that towers over the canal bank is tremendous. Those Rohans, the local nobility, certainly did not do anything on a small scale ! We also manage to climb the 138 steps up to the top of the Church tower which gives fascinating birds-eye views onto the top of the town; oddly enough, it seems to me longer coming down than it did going up ! We wander in on an exhibition of African art and feel very much on a busman's holiday, since many of the pictures are so like ones we have taken ourselves in West or East Africa.
I am a bit nervous about today, as it is the longest ride - 27 miles, with the morning spent going back over the same route we came the day before and the afternoon going on to Pontivy, a big city and where our next hotel is. We set off a little earlier than normal, but apart from occasional stops to rest a sore bottom (guess whose ?), are back in Rohan in very good time and going very well. I'm actually finding it so easy now that I want to keep trying to persuade Sandy to slow down, so that we can savour the journey's pleasures a bit more. It is just as pretty as on the way, and I find myself looking forward to the next little bit which I can remember. I'm even more enchanted by the "bassins aux nymphéas" when we pass them again. I want to stop in Rohan again, to look around for longer, but we can't. Maybe another visit, another time, I tell myself as we cycle on. We're sometimes chatting a lot and at other times, staying really quiet so that we can look out for wildlife. Sandy suddenly draws my attention to a brown animal swimming away along the canal and we wonder whether it was an otter. Soon we are in Pontivy and it's a proper French city with - ulp ! proper French traffic ! I suddenly remember that I don't feel very happy cycling in traffic. I get off and push on the pavement while Sandy cycles on and then comes back to look for me, uncomplaining as usual. Luckily it's not all that far to the hotel, which is a wonderful find ! The hotel was an elegant and rich lawyer's house, all oak panelling and marble floors. Representations of the lawyer and his wife adorn the brasswork of the front door, with their children represented above, all looking out onto a grand square of enormous Napoleonic proportions (now, sadly, just a car park., but great for roller-blading practice when all the cars have gone to bed.) Many of the hotel owner's family heirlooms are in use - superb walnut and rosewood items of furniture and crystal chandeliers, which seem made for those gracious rooms with their ornate plaster moulding.
It's sadly our last cycling day, and, as if in sympathy, it is actually raining today, though not at all cold. I tell myself that at least it justifies having brought my rainjacket ! I am so wrapped up in thoughts that we will soon be returning to another world that I have completely forgotten that the route plan muttered dire warnings about hills - until they are upon us ! Quite amazingly I seem to have worked out a technique for hills and manage somehow to get up them all, on the bike, with a stop halfway up on some, to get my breath back. Over lunch outside an intriguing Creperie, which doubles as the village pub, we enjoy chatting to an elderly resident who, as she weeds her garden, tells us all about the large number of British folk who have moved into the area, and how warmly they have been welcomed into the local community. It's heartening to hear that people have made really good friendships across the cultural divide, rather than the hostility towards outsiders which you hear about elsewhere.
Our road next winds through a wonderful forest which seems to go on forever. We are quite glad that there seem to be few cars and I try very hard to pant quietly up the hills in case we meet deer or wild boar on the road ! Sandy thinks he saw a glimpse of something brown and large running away through the trees. (Was it a wild boar ?) I realise I was secretly quite glad we didn't get any closer when we visit the Forges des Salles old ironworking complex deeper in the woods. We are both reminded of Ironbridge Gorge and the Black Country Museum and other reconstructions of previous industrial activities in the UK. In one of the rather dark ironworkers' cottages, walking in from the bright sunlight , I nearly fall on top of a large stuffed wild boar ! Later, while wandering among the buildings, we come across Thérèse, a live wild boar in her pen. What a lovely lady ! She couldn't be gentler, and seems to me almost to nuzzle our hands as we feed her bits of our left-over nectarines, (after I've checked with the office that feeding her is okay). She looks enquiringly up at us as we tell her we have no more, and then trots off quietly to lie down with a resigned sigh as we walk away. Well maybe I wouldn't have minded meeting a wild boar face to face after all...
A few km on and we are back at Bon Repos again, and the end of our holiday is really near. We don't say much to each other as we cycle along the last remaining kilometres of towpath. I won't mind taking off those padded shorts for awhile and giving my rear end a rest from being so saddle-sore.... And I don't really mind if I don't have to cycle up any more hills for quite some time... But that seems minor compared with the thoughts of what a wonderful break it has been, and what beautiful countryside we have had the privilege of cycling through, and the kind, friendly, helpful and welcoming folk we met all along the way.... We get back to the car, unpack our luggage into it and then ride our bikes, with totally empty panniers now, back to the bike tent from which we got them. I feel really sorry to say goodbye to my trusty steed, and would love to take it back, but don't really have the cycling to do that would warrant all those gears.
So we return to our car, and set off for our final night in the hotel before we drive off to catch the ferry...except - because it has been standing for a week , the battery is dead and the car won't start !
Geoff's note...
First, this is as good as it gets:-) Second, ducks, geese etc do taste good - hence their general absence...
See Breton Bikes new venture! BB Sportscar Hire!