Day Eleven: Ploumanach to Binic (45 miles):

Wednesday September 15th 1999: Today was to be a longer ride than on other days. The weather was superb today, although most of the previous days had also been good. I made a late start (again!) after chatting to a Dutch couple in a caravan on the adjoining pitch using my meagre Dutch. I have always loved languages, and speak fluent Greek and French, fairly good German and Italian, as well as enough Dutch to hold a basic conversation. I was due to travel on to stay with a friend who lives near Rotterdam after the tour, so I was keen to practise my spoken Dutch.

The group had cycled in from a different direction the previous day - they had taken the route around the headland to the north-west of Ploumanach whilst I had taken a direct route across the headland in order to spend some time looking round Perros-Guirec. Therefore, I took a different route from Ploumanach than them (they descended into Perros-Guirec) and made a beeline for the main road from Perros-Guirec to Lannion, in the hope of finding a road leading off it directly down towards Petit Gamp. However, after trolling back and forth along a short section of road parallel to the main road and asking a couple of locals, it became clear that both the signposting and their ability to explain how to get to Petit Gamp via the lanes were insufficient to get me there, so I reluctantly headed back along the main road to Lannion which I had taken the day before. I found that signposting in Brittany and the Michelin maps were relatively poor in comparison with the UK (and Greece, come to that) - I passed hundreds of little places which were nowhere to be seen on the map. To be fair, there were a good number of topographical signposts (see picture to the right) which showed the small settlements which were accessible from a lane leading off a main road, but almost without exception they were missing from the Michelin 1:200,000 maps. Also almost without exception, the placenames were in Breton, the ancient Celtic language of the region. So many placenames began with the prefix "Ker" (eg Kergoat, Kerdouc'h), which I took to mean "settlement" or "village". This must be the Breton equivalent of the Welsh "Caer" found in Caerdydd (the Welsh (Celtic) version of Cardiff, capital of Wales) and in other Welsh placenames such as Caernarvon. In the north of Brittany many placenames began with the prefix "Tre", a phenomenon also found in placenames in Cornwall, the county of England which was a Celtic stronghold in the past. Indeed, an area of western Brittany itself is called Cornouaille, and was the Kingdom and then the Duchy of mediaeval Brittany.

I rode down the main road, then, heading back towards Lannion and got as far as the Centre National d'Études des Télécommunications, which was right by Lannion airport. I couldn't work out whether the impressive tower looming above the roadside belonged to the former or the latter (picture right). Whatever the case the tower was visible from a good distance during the rest of the day. At this point I was joined by a French racing cyclist with whom I had a chat and who pointed out the turning I needed to get to Rospez, the first village off the main road on my route across country to Binic. From Rospez I headed for Quemperven, mulling over the thought that the name of this village would be almost exactly how a Frenchman would pronounce the English "camper van"... :)) I was hoping for a cool beer in Quemperven, but everywhere was closed (no comment!) and so from there it was on to Pontrieux. The countryside in this area of Brittany was particularly attractive, with expanses of corn-on-the-cob crops, and, together with the excellent weather, this turned out to be the most enjoyable day's cycling I had during the entire tour. There were sections where the lane led through a canopy of trees (you had to watch out for chestnut casings on the roadway, potentially catastrophic for the tyres), and then open land over hillier sections.

Pontrieux was a very pretty town indeed - especial care had obviously been taken by the townspeople, for there were flowers everywhere - on the little bridge over the River Trieux running through the centre of the town (picture below), alongside many buildings and in the windowboxes under every window of the mairie (town hall), which was running a blood donor campaign when I passed by. I decided to stop off in Pontrieux for the beer I had been wanting since Quemperven. The temperature was possibly the highest it had been since the beginning of the tour, and the idea of a cool beer was irresistible. I sat down in the courtyard of a hotel in the centre of town and waited. And waited. And waited. In the end I had to go to the door, beyond which the waitress had been walking back and forth for about fifteen minutes, fully aware that I was sitting at a table outside. In the end, I got my beer! It later turned out that the rest of the group had passed through Pontrieux some time before and had eaten at this very establishment, so perhaps the waitress recognised me as English and, in true French form, pretended I wasn't there! Vive l'entente cordiale, mais on ne bouffe pas les viandes anglaises!... :))

After spending some time walking around Pontrieux, I headed out of the town in the direction of Lanvollon, where I intended to stock up on food for the evening. I had checked up with the chap who had eventually served me my beer in Pontrieux as to the existence of a supermarket at Lanvollon, as my estimated time of arrival in Binic would probably preclude a visit to a supermarket there. Getting to Lanvollon involved a short stint on the D6, which led from Paimpol to Saint-Brieuc. Here I saw a parked Dutch lorry with steering on all wheels, front and rear, carrying what looked like an enormous pâté sausage, but which was in reality some sort of metal cylinder (picture below right).

Arriving in Lanvollon, I quickly located the supermarket, which was busy with shoppers, parked the bike and went in. I stocked up on a variety of food, and particularly on a bunch of celery. Celery is one of my favourite salad vegetables, but the celery sold in Greece is not very suitable for consumption when raw - it is widely used in stews and other cooked dishes, but is very rarely used uncooked. The celery found in Greece differs significantly in size, crunchiness and form from that sold in France and the UK. So it was particularly good to be able to chomp away on some crunchy, juicy celery and a punnet of cocktail prawns outside the supermarket standing by my bike. This must have made quite an amusing spectacle, as it drew jocular comments from a few people leaving the supermarket.

From Lanvollon it was not far to Binic, which is a small town on the coast north of Saint-Brieuc. The atmosphere after Lanvollon was turning distinctly nautical, in the way that you knew that the sea was not far away after a day of cycling in countryside more remote from the sea.

On arrival in Binic I quickly found the campsite. The rest of the group had already arrived and set up camp. The campsite (the camping municipal) was in a superb location, high up on the cliffs above the bay (Baie de Saint-Brieuc), looking directly east. This would make for a stunning sunrise the next morning. Once I had pitched my tent and eaten some more celery, I discovered that the group was planning to walk down into Binic for a drink and something to eat. This we did, and ended up sitting at a pavement café. The café had the most unusual outdoors heating system I have ever seen - it consisted of a gas fire under a metal cone which reflected the heat from the fire downwards, onto those sitting below. The evening was rather chilly and they soon wheeled a few of these heaters out. Suffice it to say that the heat radiated downwards was sufficient to make it uncomfortable on dark clothes. A picture of one of the heaters is below to the left.

After enjoying a couple of beers (picture to the right), we headed along the road in search of food. We had passed a little fast food place called Jeffburger, which sounded ideal given our leader's name was Geoff, so we piled in. The owner must have thought Christmas had come early, but he did a fine job of serving the ten or so of us. The burger I had was one of the tastiest I have had in a long while (it certainly beat the McDonald's Big Mac I had had at Lannion). I can certainly recommend you to visit Jeffburger in Binic if you are in need of a tasty fast food meal!

A number of us, feeling the tiredness of the day, decided to head back up to the campsite and retire for the night.

Day Twelve: Binic to Corlay (32 miles):

Thursday 16th September 1999: The next morning I awoke to a sound of noisy rustling - yes, the wind was up! What's more it was to be a headwind almost all of the day, making for some tiring riding - at times it was a push to get down a hill... Binic's municipal campsite was in a lovely spot (picture to the right, taken on the evening of our arrival) and it was a pity to leave it after just one evening, but we were now on our way back to Gouarec, where we had started from, and had to be back by the evening of Friday 17th. The sky was very heavy today and before long it started to rain in earnest. I had just set off from the campsite and was labouring up the hill above Binic. I came to the D786 which skirted around Binic and led on to Saint-Brieuc. There was some more climbing along this road before it shot down to meet the coast. I soon realised that I had taken a completely unnecessary roundabout way of a couple of miles and was now sitting at traffic lights about thirty yards from the bar where we had sat the evening before, some ten minutes' walk from the campsite!! Never mind, the downhill had been worth it. I continued along the D786 as far as a sign before Pordic which indicated that cycles were forbidden from that point on. Here there was a lane leading off into the centre of Pordic, which I followed, and from Pordic another lane led to Tréméloir and then on to Ville-Pied. At Ville-Pied I had to ask for directions and was shown by a postman in his yellow Les Postes van how to cross the N12 autoroute. By Plernauf the headwind was beginning to tell on my morale after so many days of great weather with hardly a breath of wind in the air, so I stopped there and had a beer and then bought a baguette to cheer myself up. I carried on to Plouvara, going under the main TGV railway line between Saint-Brieuc and Guingamp and Brest. At Pont-Camp I turned south on the D7 for a couple of miles before pulling off into the village of Cohiniac. I stopped here for a drink and had a chat with a couple in the bar. They gave me instructions for getting to Saint Gildas. Signposting in this stretch was distinctly lacking, and for the rest of the day it was a case of following my instinct as to the direction I was following, mainly south-southwest.

I got to Saint Gildas and passed through. The countryside here was reminiscent of parts of the English Midlands I had cycled in, and cows chomped away at the grass in the fields on either side of the road. On reaching le Vieux-Bourg I discovered that the road I had intended to take was closed to traffic. I didn't want to risk cycling down it and being turned back by workmen a few miles on or finding it was truly impassable even to cyclists, by a collapsed bridge for example. So a change of route was called for. A woman in a café-bar gave me directions through a maze of tiny lanes - again it ended up being more a case of following the sun and my instinct - and I finally arrived at the D790 at la Croix, a couple of miles from the Corlay campsite which was to be our overnight stop.

The rest of the group had already arrived and were busy setting up camp or showering. The Corlay campsite was also in a very picturesque spot, beside a lake and a river over which loomed an impressive castle-like building (pictures below). A few of us walked into Corlay itself to stock up at the supermarket. Most of us decided that we would have cassoulet, a sort of ready-made stew in large cheap tins, the ingredients of which seemed to centre around animal fats and butter beans! Despite the apparent unpalatability of this combination, once it was piping hot it was absolutely delicious. After the supermarket, we retreated to a bar in Corlay where addresses were exchanged (this was, of course, nearly the end of the tour) and beers imbibed. Back at the camp we cooked up the cassoulet and drank wine late into the evening. One of the group had bought some eau de vie, a local firewater! That made things all the merrier...

Day Thirteen: Corlay to Rostrenen and finally Gouarec (24 miles):

Friday September 17th 1999: Getting up early in the morning I discovered another beautiful day, with low mists hanging over the waters of the river and lake, as can be seen in the above photographs. A light dew covered the grass, the first I had seen during the tour, possibly a result of being so close to water. It had been decided the previous evening that we would all have lunch at a little restaurant in Rostrenen, so we agreed to be there by about midday. I cooked up some Moroccan soup (from a packet) for breakfast, and it was grand to drink steaming hot soup in the cool of the morning. After packing up I set off along the D790 to cover the fourteen miles to Rostrenen. The road was fairly good going, but my right knee was playing me up quite a bit now, so I wasn't putting too much pressure on it, and I took it fairly easy, stopping to eat blackberries at the side of the road every so often. At one point I was making a fast descent of a long but shallow downhill when the field to my right erupted into squawking and a chaos of feathers. After the initial shock I came to a halt and looked back - it belonged to a chicken farm, and literally thousands and thousands of inmates were busy pecking away at the grass. Cars they were used to, but a passing cyclist had thrown those nearest to the fenced off road into a frenzy of fear. Most of the rest of the group had taken a different route from mine, avoiding the main road, which meant that they ended up behind me even though they had set off slightly before me. They also later diverted off to take a slightly longer route into Rostrenen, so when I arrived there shortly after midday I sat with one or two members of the group who had arrived and waited for everyone to get in. We then repaired to the restaurant, which for some reason went by the name of Cumquat, a fruit characteristic of the Greek the island of Corfu. Geoff and Kate very generously treated us all to an excellent meal with copious wine, and there was much merriment and photo-taking (picture below right). I had a delicious steak, done rare in the way only the French seem to excel at. This was rounded off by rum and raisin ice cream.

We left the restaurant to pouring rain, so the best thing to do seemed to be to hit the nearest bar and have some more to drink! Eventually the rain wore off and we started out on the last leg of the tour, which would take us a few miles from Rostrenen to the Nantes-Brest canal, which runs some 240 miles across Brittany, and then along the canal towpath to Gouarec. It was good to be spinning along the towpath, no cars of course, and flat as a pancake! A few people were out walking or fishing, and we passed them with especial care. The afternoon's rain had left some parts of the towpath muddy, which called for care with the loaded bikes.

It was an emotional moment getting back to Gouarec, about 340 miles and a few kilos lighter after I had started out! We set up our tents for the last night under canvas (the next morning I was to return to Saint-Brieuc, where I had booked a hotel room), and I walked along to supermarket to get a few provisions. I had hoped to be able to call my wife, as I had been out of contact with her for a few days, but could not find a coin-operated phone - my mobile could not locate a network, either.

I was feeling a bit tired so I retired for a nap in the tent, and awoke to music and the sound of partying - the group were gathered at the main building in the campsite and were starting the end-of-tour party. Rawdon had driven over to join in the fun, and it was great to see him again. Lots of food and drink and dancing, a good end to two weeks of good fun and great cycling.

In conclusion

The next morning, Saturday 19th September 1999, a few of us were taken into Saint-Brieuc by Geoff in his car and deposited at the railway station. Most of the rest of the group would be catching the Saturday evening ferry from Roscoff to Plymouth, journeying thence to their homes throughout England and Scotland. I was to overnight at a hotel in Saint-Brieuc before catching the train (picture to the left) to Paris and then on to Rotterdam, where I was to stay with a friend and his family before returning to Greece. The departure from Gouarec was rather a hurried affair, as we had to be at the station for ten o'clock, as Patricia wanted to catch the morning train to Paris.

The tour was extremely well-organised by Geoff and Kate of Breton Bikes and everything went without a hitch. Although most days I struck off on my own (I am a bit of a loner when it comes to cycling, I suppose, and want to be able to go at my own pace and stop whenever and wherever without inconveniencing others), the group were great company, an interesting and varied bunch of people from all walks of British life. The two-week tour gave me an invaluable insight into self-contained cycletouring, which I intend to use in the future in more cycletouring. The equipment with which we were provided by Geoff was excellent for the purpose and so easy to use.

Brittany is a lovely part of France for cycling, varied countryside, impressive church architecture wherever we went, and great cider! If you like crêpes, you are in for a treat, too! Car drivers generally showed a high degree of respect for cyclists, leaving plenty of space when passing, or holding back until it was clear for them to pass. This was particularly noticeable on the road down to Quiberon, where French-registered cars showed far more patience than German, Belgian and British cars did when it came to passing our group on the extremely busy road which was the only route onto and off the Quiberon peninsula.

I would heartily recommend anyone wanting to discover Brittany to choose a tour with Breton Bikes, either an accompanied tour such as I did or one where you are free to go where you want. Finally, I would like to thank Geoff and Kate for making my two weeks in Brittany both a memorable time and a learning experience in cycletouring!