Thursday 9th September 1999 We awoke to find that there was a fine drizzle falling - not a good omen for the rest of the day! A quick packing up was essential as we had to ride back down to Le Palais to catch the morning ferry back to Quiberon. As if the rain were not enough, there was also a wind building up! The run down into Le Palais was fast, what with the steep hill being in our favour now and the brake pads wet...! The weather started to clear up once the ferry had set sail, however, and by the time we got to Quiberon the rain had stopped and the clouds were moving off. At Quiberon some of the group wanted to stop for coffee, but I decided to press on, keen to get the main road off the peninsula behind me. Not having had any breakfast, I was feeling peckish by Saint Pierre Quiberon, and spotted a lively little market. I wandered round that with the bike and saw a huge metal wok-style bowl of paëlla at one of the stalls. It looked delicious, but I wasn't keen to spend 35 francs (£3.50 or $5.60) on a punnet of paëlla, so I asked them to half-fill one and charge me half (yes, it is the cheapskate in me!). As it turned out, though, I ended up with a punnet almost full to the rim and they still only charged me half price! And it was delicious! Sausage, squid rings, shrimps galore, mussels in their shells, chicken and rice. That was the bargain of the two weeks. On the first day of the tour, before setting off, we had all traipsed along to the Casino supermarket at Gouarec and I had decided to buy a packet of smoked salmon slices. At the till, the eagle-eyed cashier spotted that the "Sell before..." date was the previous day, and said there was no charge for the item - another bargain! :))
The area of Brittany immediately to the north of the Quiberon peninsula is dotted with ancient stone structures, dolmens, burial structures known as cairns, and menhirs, standing stones, of the sort carried around by Obelix in the Astérix series! (pictures to the left). The best-known in the area is at Carnac, but this did not lie in the direction I was heading that day, so I had decided to look at the dolmens at Rondossec, near Plouharnel, and the alignment of stones at Kerzerho, three miles further down the road leading from Plouharnel to Erdeven. The Rondossec cairn was constructed in four thousand BC, and the standing stones at Kerzerho at about the same time. I had a good walk around the standing stones, which unfortunately had the D781 main road running through the centre of the site, and then got back on the bike and made for Erdeven, where a Pelforth Brune beer was waiting for me! I used to work in France, back in the early eighties, spending a total of a year in four summer seasons working in Talloires, near Annecy, at the receptions in two hotels, and Pelforth Brune had been my favourite brew then, so I was pleased to find it readily available in Brittany, too!
After writing a few more postcards and waiting for the post office to re-open at two o'clock (yes, more weird closing times!), I set off again along the D781, stopping only to take some pictures of the Rivière d'Etel from the suspension bridge which crosses it at Kergo (picture to the right). It was while I was sighting up the camera that I had a mild panic attack - an heavy articulated lorry had driven at speed onto the bridge and created exactly the same sensation as I have experienced many times at home in Greece, that of the shaking underfoot which indicates the onset of a (usually) minor earthquake. While it is logical to assume earthquakes are not part of "the Brittany experience", it was a disturbing moment! From the bridge, it was on to the large village of Merlevenez, where I had a look round the impressive church and took some pictures of the stained glass windows (pictures below). I was impressed by the churches in Brittany, most settlements having their church or chapel, and many of them extremely imposing, as was the one in Merlevenez. It was also good to be able to take photographs inside the church. I was once harangued by the priest in the church in Kilkis, where I live, for using a videocamera inside the church. Although he calmed down somewhat when I spoke to him in Greek (he thought I was a visiting foreign tourist), he was still not very happy, worried that I might be videoing the frescoes etc with a view to some sort of theft later! In Brittany there was no problem with taking pictures inside any of the churches I entered, although I did ask in each, just to be sure and as a matter of courtesy.
Merlevenez was also a good place to stock up on chocolate, as well as a bottle of the local cider. Cider is widely found in shops in Brittany, very much as it is found in south-west England. It ranged from the very good indeed to the rather unpalatable. Cider which was sold in corked bottles seemed to be the best choice, while much of the stuff packed in Cola-style 1.5-litre clear plastic bottles was pretty dire - and this was reflected in the price, naturally enough.
The run from Merlevenez to Hennebont was quite fast, but a problem that Rawdon had mentioned started to become noticeable, and that was the fallen chestnut casings on the road - almost bound to cause at least one puncture if you rode over them. I was lucky in that I managed to avoid them, although there were one or two close misses when my attention wasn't on the road. Just outside Hennebont I spotted a chap who had parked his car by the side of the road with his family inside and who was just returning to it, so I pulled on the brakes to ask him where the campsite was, only to realise (too late) that he had obviously been relieving himself in the bushes at the roadside and was now adjusting his clothes! He appeared a bit surprised to see me pull up, but was good enough to tell me where to find the campsite. There was a superb long downhill run into Hennebont, and then a ride along the River Blavet (picture below right) before a look around town and arrival at the municipal campsite at Caradec, a part of town where there are imposing castle walls (picture below left).
On arrival at the campsite at Hennebont, I spotted Rawdon and Mick seated at a café adjacent to the entrance to the campsite, so I joined them for a couple of Pelforth Brune beers and a chat (picture below right). The majority of the rest of the group arrived within about half an hour of my own arrival and proceeded to set up camp. The campsite at Hennebont was particularly well-organised and tastefully laid out with attractive flowerbeds, and the young man running it was both courteous and helpful. Once I had got my tent up I walked into town and made a beeline for a butcher's, where I got some lovely steak and a couple of ready-prepared salads for my evening meal on site. Hennebont was a charming town, tidy and interesting, set on the side of a hill up which led the main road through the shopping area.
Back at camp everyone set to cooking. The alcohol-burning Trangia cooking stoves we had been provided with by Geoff were superb, compact and yet extremely easy to use (picture to the left). This was my first experience of self-contained cyclecamping, and I have to admit I had been slightly worried about what would happen as regards cooking, but the stove and pots were both easy to clean and easy to regulate in terms of the heat given out. It assembled into a compact unit which took up fairly minimal space in one of the rear panniers.
The evening was spent very pleasantly eating hot food and washing it down with cool cider and wine until late, before retiring for the night to our tents. Hennebont was certainly one of my favourite campsites on the tour and a town I would like to visit again. The following night was to be the only night when we didn't pitch our tents at a campsite...
Day Six: Hennebont to Rawdon's place:
Friday 10th September 1999 I made a relatively late start from the campsite at Hennebont, having unwisely left my plates the previous night to wash in the morning. Another beautiful day - as I said, we were extremely lucky with the weather. The road leading out of Hennebont started with a long climb up the hill to the north of the town, and then on to Quimperlé. The road led past a large electricity complex, with pylons running off in all directions across the otherwise lovely countryside. At Pont Scorff, a large village on the Scorff river, there was a museum devoted to salmon, and an interesting construction in the forecourt which must have had something to do with catch the salmon. The main memory I have of Pont Scorff, however, is of a strange, rather unpleasant smell, and I later decided that this derived from raw sewage being spread on the fields as fertiliser - a tractor towing a closed trailer passed me and confirmed that smell was sewage. The smell was to recur several times during the day, but not again during the tour. Only once before had I seen this, on the way down to Quiberon, when a piece of agricultural equipment was spraying sewage over a field - and beyond onto the road and onto whoever drove (or - heaven forfend, cycled) past!!
With just seventeen kilometres of road from Hennebont to Quimperlé, it wasn't long before I had arrived and was making a very fast descent into the town, cars holding back behind me. Whenever I picked the back of the bike up (or at least, tried to!) two thoughts would occur to me; firstly, that I was pulling all this stuff around Brittany day after day, and secondly that there were times when it was all flying down hills at up to sixty kilometres an hour. I tried to avoid the second thought at times when I was whizzing downhill! In Quimperlé I sat down by the River Laïta, which flows through the centre of the town, fed by the Isole and the Ellé, and had a Pelforth Brune, while writing some more postcards. Rawdon had told me where there was a supermarket in Quimperlé, so after a walk around the upper parts of town (Quimperlé roads ascend sharply as they lead away from the river), I set off in search of the supermarket. Tonight was to be spent at Rawdon's house in a tiny hamlet to the north of Quimperlé, and a barbecue was planned, so everyone was buying in the food they wanted to barbecue up. We would be setting up our tents in Rawdon's garden that night. Having found the supermarket, I parked the bike and wandered in. It was while I was perusing the meat section that I heard a familiar English voice behind me and turned round to find Rawdon, who had already arrived home and had now driven into Quimperlé to buy in the other provisions we would be needing for the barbecue, such as French bread, beer, wine, and barbecue charcoal. It was a little worrying when we discovered that the supermarket didn't actually have any barbecue charcoal - hard to get a barbecue going nicely if there is no charcoal! But they managed to fish out a bag of vine roots for barbecues, and in the end these burnt very nicely indeed, imparting their special favour to the food. Rawdon offered to put my bike in his car and drive us up to his house, and I made the ultimate cop-out and accepted!
At Rawdon's house I wrote and sent a few emails to friends and family and put my mobile phone on to charge up before the others on the tour started turning up, surprised to see me there before them, given I had still been washing my cooking utensils when they had left Hennebont that morning. Cries of "Cheat!" all round when the truth came out that I had done the last ten kilometres or so in Rawdon's car! People set to preparing various dishes to go with the barbecue, and it felt strange to be inside a house again with everybody after a week on the road. Frank, who runs a catering business, was busy in the kitchen, as was Patricia (pictures below).
Once everyone had arrived, showered, and started making inroads into the beer, we got the barbecue going. Being a frequent barbecue chap in Greece, I offered to take charge of that side of operations and used the plentiful pine cones lying around as firelighters. A good evening was had by all, and much wine was drunk late into the night (picture of me, Patricia and Régine - and Sebastian's fingers - right).
Day Seven: Rawdon's place to Carhaix-Plouguer:
Saturday 11th September 1999 In the morning we had to take our leave of Rawdon, who sadly wouldn't be accompanying us on the second half of the tour, due to mechanical problems with his bike and work commitments.
I set off after everyone else again, after washing up my plates and chatting to Rawdon, and made for Querrien, where I bought in a baguette and some bars of chocolate. Standing by the church in Querrien I ate half the baguette and some chocolate and had a chat with an old chap who informed me that he had, in his youth, cycled from Paris to Brittany with a large suitcase strapped on the back of his bike. He gave me directions for an alternative, quicker route to the Quimperlé to le Faouët road, saying it avoided some hills. This sounded like good news, so I took his route and was soon spinning along the road in the direction of le Faouët. The road was quiet yet fast cycling, with one particularly long smooth downhill.
Just before le Faouët was the village of Saint Fiacre, named after the saint to whom the church was dedicated. I was keen to see this church, as it was well-praised in my Michelin guide, so I turned off the main road and cycled into the village. The church lived up to the Michelin's words of praise, with beautiful decoration (pictures below) inside, as well as a presentation of the life of Saint Fiacre. The outside of the church was equally impressive.
The payback for the long uphill stretches came later on, when the last ten kilometres of the day's run to Carhaix was very fast indeed, down superbly smooth highway. Thus it was that I made good time in getting to Carhaix-Plouguer, stopping at the Intermarché supermarket to stock up on foodstuffs, toilet rolls and wine. I had been forewarned that the supermarket stood at the top of a very long hill which led down to the Les Hyères campsite, where we would be setting up camp that night, and so it would be wise to stock up there before heading down to the campsite. The bike made a comical sight when I had managed to stow the toilet paper (picture below)!!!
After cooking up (two pot noodles - what a feast!) I retired to my tent for the evening and listened to the radio, gradually dropping off. Meanwhile, the others were dancing the night away to the live music...
After spending a very pleasant and peaceful hour looking round the church at Saint Fiacre and admiring some interesting artwork exhibited at a nearby studio, comprising figures made from various unusual materials (strips of metal and suchlike), I got back on the bike and set off on my way again. After passing le Faouët, and encountering there a road which was in direst need of resurfacing (in general road surfaces in Brittany were excellent), I arrived at the junction with the D769, which ran from Lorient on the south coast directly north to Carhaix-Plouguer, and which was a fast road to say the least of it. Here I had a choice, that of taking the main road or of following some lanes running parallel to the main road but to the east. Wanting to make some fast progress, I chose the former, and made good progress along the road, which was wide enough for the traffic to pass me at quite a distance. However, it did involve some long, slow climbs, as the road was now heading up the slopes of the Montagnes Noires (the Black Mountains), a misnomer for a range of wooded hills in central Brittany. The scenery here was particularly attractive, which made up somewhat for the now disheartening uphills. On one fairly flat stretch of road, I had a very worrying moment when a large butterfly flew straight into my face, and clamped itself to my sunglasses, causing me to swerve out into the main lane before recovering and bringing the bike back to the side of the road. Had any cars or lorries been passing at the time, I wouldn't be here to write this...! 
Arriving at the campsite, I met Pat, who was on her way back up the hill on her now unladen bike to get provisions in at the supermarket. Once I had found a good spot at the campsite, I started sharing out toilet rolls to anybody who wanted one, as the six-pack I had bought (the smallest size available) was far too much for my own needs. Thus it was that a number of people were walking around with lilac-scented purple bog rolls for the rest of the week! The Les Hyères campsite was in a beautiful area, with swans, ducks and geese on small ponds, and was clearly also an area which attracted the local population for walking and picnics. There was a small bar as well as the usual French campsite facilities (showers, toilets, washing areas for clothes and for cooking utensils), and a number of us repaired to the bar for a few cool beers. That evening there was to be a group playing, and they were rehearsing at the time we were sitting there with our beers.