Cheese mainly. And cake. Lots of cake. This has been the bike petrol for the last month. Oh and the odd the train that took the strain out of the legs.
Ran out of steam half way up a hill in Tuscanny. Took a slow loco to Nice and then a sleeper train to Paris. Found the Paris Marathon and cycled in the opposite direction to the tides of runners, which felt like we were cycling to the beginnng of our own endurathon. Found the Champs Elysees. Cycled down that. Found the French croissants. Ate them.
Cycled through the glory of Normandy in Spring and found all the bluebell woodlands we left behind last May. Surreal. Felt like our trip was a bluebell bookended dream. We are now just skinnier birch saplings on the bluebell covered floor.
Met Eric a French cyclist who let Jet have a wobbly go on his recliner bike.
Upright cycling to le Havre. Ferry. Use up loose change. Cycle off ferry. Man in fluro jacket says “Follow that truck”. He says it in English Not French, German, Hungarian, Romanian, Bulgarian, Turkish, Farsi, Arabic, Hindi, Maltese, Italian, French. But a friendly ballsy English. We follow the London Thames Estuary gravelly accent, the soot of the truck and are back in Blighty.
Parents buy us a pint in a Travelodge and remind us to put our bike helmets on. We stay with Richie and his housemates in Portsmouth and Richie makes us a veggie breakfast. Heaven.
Now we cycle back to Bristol along the south coast.
Back to a tiny dot in a big world.
But a lovely.