We arose from our slumber to discover a scorcher of a day and ready to hit Normandy again. We were soon sweating profusely and glad our lycra seems to soak it all up like some sort of magic sponge. Tiredness and reality of our challenge now seem to be creeping up on us as hill after hill took their toll. We were soon grateful to stop for lunch outside Guignen for a baguette. The countryside was changing around us as the manicured gardens changed into a more rustic feel. Our biggest danger today was a large boxer dog that decided to take a fancy to me snapping at my heels as we passed through a remote village. Luckily 2 wheels turned out to be faster than 4 legs. We are not helping ourselves with a desire to hit small roads and get "off piste" which is adding to elevation and distance. Soon the weather turned and the rain came (first of our trip) and our mood darkened with the black clouds. At last, our destination of Paimpont approached, a sweet Little town nestled in a huge forest by a lake. We staggered into the hotel dripping over the reception with much bemused chuckles from the locals. We only did 85km today but another 1000 meters of elevation. My biggest worry now is my lycra friend who has bad knee trouble. We have visited the Pharmacy (every village in France has one) and loaded up with anti inflammatory magic potion (there appears to be much witchcraft in Paimpont) which hopefully will do the trick. We are in nervous anticipation as tomorrow holds one of the longest days with nearly 1,600 meters of elevation and to make matters more interesting rain is forecast.....whose idea was this again!?

“THE VIEW FROM THE FRONT – NORMANDY INVASION”

Day 5 Paimpont to Guerande

The good news is that the “magic potions” seem to work on Big Mac's knee and the supposed rain has turned into clear blue skies. The bad news is I seem to have caught what Big Mac had so hopefully I can get rid of the ailments quickly with some legalised drugs (actually illegal drugs seem like a good option also at this point). The road from Paimpont to Guerande was simply breathtaking. We climbed the forest mountains and headed towards Rocherfort sur Terre. This village is probably one of the most pretty French villages I can recall. Set on top of an impossible hill its quiet cobbled streets housed endless restaurants, cafes, shops and smells that made your stomach yearn for food. Sadly we knew it was too tempting to stop and indulge in a 3 hour lunch on a Sunday as we were likely to never mount our stallions again. Instead we plodded on to the next village and begged the Boulangerie to open so that we could have some bread. We sat on the church steps with a rather soulless baguette, peanuts and a banana wishing we had made the stop at that little corner of heaven we had just passed through.

Our stallions (now called Rusty and Nail) were doing us proud. We have had no sign of a puncture or anything thanks to our armadillo tyres. For those readers who are intrigued by our equipment our trusty stallions are of the "Specialised" breed and I am still perplexed as to why my local bike shop said my seat was the most comfortable money could buy. Its tiny little rock hard seat that has caused some sores in areas I did not think possible unless you bat on the other side.

Anyway, we have made it to the West Coast of France (hooray) in Guerande and we have been going 5 days and covered about 500km (we are in France so we have to talk about kilometres - plus it also sounds longer than miles!). Our bodies are starting to show their real age but hopefully the punishing hills of Normandy are behind us and the long run down the west coast to Spain will be merciful.

Day 6-Guerande to Saint Hilaire

Well of course I spoke too soon about punctures. Rusty had developed a wound overnight and had to have his shoe changed which my mechanic (MacDonald) did in 10 mins (not Formula One timing but a damned good effort). With a new shoe Rusty and Nail sprinted off for our 120km trek to Saint Hilaire. Soon we were crossing the great Saint Nazaire Bridge underneath where the great commando raid of the second world war took place (an incredibly brave raid to destroy half the German submarine fleet). Soon our countryside was changing into the flat salt marshes of Breton and our only enemy now was the wind. My knee is now heavily strapped and seems to be doing the trick. The pain killers and creams also seem to work their magic. We were now passing through many remote small fishing villages that had an air of a ghost town and huge expanses of beach that went out as far as the eye could see on low tide. To our surprise there did not seem to be many cockle or clam pickers - but then again its a Monday and that's generally a day of rest for the French (clearly exhausted by the weekend). The locals were now all turning into retired couples playing boules on the front streets and rather worryingly they all looked exactly the same. Our hotel here is St Hilaire is something out of a Hitchcock film with a rather terrifying Grand Madame who seems to have taken an instant dislike to the men on their velouts. A great day today, full of ever changing scenery, and the sweet smell of the sea. Our legs seem to be strengthening and our minds focused on the job at hand. We might let our hair down a bit tonight and congratulate ourselves on 6 days of an incredible journey so far."

Justin

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