WEEK 5

Day 29
63km to Tarnac. Follow the Correze river north to Vimbelle and onto D 32. Lots of hills but sunny and very pretty. Lunch in St Augustin and then onto Bugeat where we buy dinner and breakfast. We see a stoat! Lots of hurricane damage in the forests. Many telephone cables laid out but not secured to their poles. I find a post office to post parcel (prezzies & maps etc) home. The post office is selling a video for the benefit of the victims of the storm – who were they - the trees? Once again the campsite is getting ready to open. Asking in the village provides a young helpful man who drives out to us during the evening to take payment for our site but whether he was the owner or not we were never quite sure! It’s been a 400 m climb up from Tulle and the evening at 800 m is rather cool but it hasn’t rained!

Day 30
84km to Gouzon via D160 to Peyrelevade, D 78  to Pigerolles via Neavialle, D26a, D 992.  Long descent in to Felletin. N beside lake up to hilly D990 to  Chenerailles and then D997 on to Gouzon.
It was very cold night last night. I awoke to massage ice-block feet back to life and put on warm socks. Lots of condensation and the wonderful sensation of the warmth of the early morning sun warming us as we ate breakfast. Gouzon has a good site by a canal and we cook a tasty dinner. Unfortunately my bum is unusually sore.

Day 31
115km to St Pierre de Moitiers on N 145 round Montlucon, then  D 3 to Herisson, Cerilly. A long hot day with a very sore patch on my behind. A small  blister has formed. All the campsites we have passed have been closed. The pristine campsite in this town is also closed and despite much help from locals with phone calls to the mayor and the campsite owner it will not open either. I don’t fancy pushing onto Nevers so I take a hotel whilst Mikael continues to Nevers where his employers are based.

Day 32
64km via Nevers on N7 to the home of one of Mikael's work colleagues in Le Hopitot south of D2/ N 151 junction.  Nice to have a short day. As we near the village another rain storm arrives and an enormous grass snake slithers across the road. We are treated to a delicious meal at a restaurant and the evening car ride is through fantastic forests. I recognise many town names from a family holiday in Bezolle 60kms SE of here.

Day 33
110km. A very nice run to Ligny le Chatel via  N 151 to Clamecy and Coulanges  then  to Auxerre along the D 100 and Yonne river. We eat a sombre lunch near an unexpected commemorative stone to Bradford and Devine ‘our British allies’ who died in July 1944. Fresh wreaths and the motto ‘Who dares wins’. Mikael is unused to the constant reminders of horror and war in almost every French village and even I am surprised by this particular stone.
As we cycle through the Chablis vineyards the blister on my bum bursts. Pain interspersed with occasional agony. Evening rain again as we sit in the camping host’s little cottage and eat sausage and chips and consume rather a lot of beer.

Day 34
98km to Brienne Le Chateaux on D 443 via Chaource, Bar s Seine and Vendeuvre.
A truly painful day. Careful plastering helps. Wind assistance made for a quick whiz through pleasant countryside, dulled by occasional agony. Tepid showers we have to pay extra for but a gaggle of English families to entertain us. Tomorrow we are heading for Verdun. Guess what? A storm brews as we bed down for the night.

Day 35
142km - my longest touring day yet - to Verdun via D 400, D 394, St. Dizier, N 35, Bar le Duc and the Voie Sacrée (N 35).
The English families had complained about the showers and sure enough the washing up water was hotter. The campsite owner warns us of bad weather and the BBC World Service talks of a lot of storm damage in Belgium during the night. If it had been against us I suspect the wind would have meant little cycling today but instead it blows us all the way to St Dizier. After that it swings more westerly and is only marginally helpful. As we cycle along the Voie Sacrée we watch a fox hunting in a field of long grass and a local bike race whizzes down past us. It is a pretty route, winding up and down valleys before reaching the ridge above Verdun.  My thoughts turn to the troops that 84 years before trudged the same way to Verdun, and the horrors of the First World War. What must they have thought marching along in the spring surrounded by fields of green and verdant trees, the thud of guns audible beyond the birdsong.  We reach a good campsite and eat in the town, enjoying a pizza  and the entertainment provided by an aged couple who discuss their bowel habits, clearly convinced nobody but them speaks English. The pizza nearly sticks in our throats as we try not to dissolve into guffawing. Mikael will leave me tomorrow and I will spend a day or two resting my blister and seeing the sights, however grim they may be.

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