May 18th eleventh stage

May 18^th eleventh stage  Josselin to Blain by Nantes Brest canal  112 kms.

A third day of 100 plus kilometres, so I am making up time. I left Josselin, which is a really lovely town, and its spectacular chateau, in cold drizzle but soon warmed up, despite the continued headwind , and was moving so quickly that at one point near Guillac I nearly had a serious accident. Rounding a bend at speed on the towpath I came upon at least half a dozen very serious female riders heading towards me also at a great speed and, moreover, taking up the whole path. Much shouting and gesticulating and we shot past each other. If there had been a crash my only consolation was that I was on the inside and it wouldn’t have been me in the river! I was still feeling good  going so well when my pride took a hammering.   Three ladies of a certain age, weighed down with camping paraphernalia, cruised past me in the opposite direction with ease and a cheerful bonjour. That put me with my support vehicle well in my place. I rationalized that the ladies were probably simply riding the canal and not going anywhere near as far as I was but for all I know they might have been going round the world.   There was much more activity on the canal this morning. I was now at the point where the river Oust is navigable so there were, of course, the inevitable, slow moving rented boats which to me seem nowhere near as good a way as seeing the canals as riding a bike. I hurried past fifteen young teenagers sailing on what I can only describe as three old doors. In fact, these were probably the flat=bottomed boats similar to the ones that the locals on the Loire use in times of flood. Nonetheless, there was hardly a lifejacket in sight, and certainly no adults, I hurried past, not wanting to have to be the one responsible for diving in if one or more of them overturned, as I felt certain they were sure to do. Then I met a man who would have warmed the heart of my Breton friend of two days ago. A lovely, humble man, with a twinkle in his eye and a shy smile, walking from Nantes to Brest with his donkey, Topaz.  Topaz was his support vehicle carrying what I presumed to be the camping gear. I wanted to ask him how he got Topaz back home to Nantes from Brest at the end of the journey, but I didn’t. I took his photograph instead.

Malestroit is a very agreeable small town with a medieval charm and apparently a church worth seeing. I thought as much as I gazed across a barrage of construction material at a couple of old gargoyles, but I didn’t have time to investigate further.  At last I am finding the picturesque Breton villages that I had missed in the north of Finistere. But I hurried on, eager for my lunch and some shelter from what looked like threatening rain (again!)

The first part of the day had been on excellent surfaces and I was beginning to think that I should have put the slicks back on. However, after Peillac the surface reverted to stones and gravel and by the time I reached Redon it was little more than a thin strip of stones squeezed between the railway and the canal. This urban penumbra was not very pretty and I was pleased to arrive in the town proper. This crossroads of canals, an enormous expanse of water, must have been a thriving place  a couple of centuries ago and it was busy now. I decided discretion was the better part of valour and pushed my bike through the town to retrieve the Nantes Brest canal which was looking here rather sadly nondescript  and dirty compared to the impressive Vilaine canal that crossed it.

 Pleasant enough tracks took me past the ecluse de Bellion and on to Fegreac  after which things improved greatly.  The canal widens, and on either side are marshlands, ponds, rivulets. A rich area of wildlife, especially birds. The towpath as such disappears and in its place a track winds sinuously along the side of the water. Perfect for mountain bike riding, and indeed for walking. There is a powerful sense of isolation and between Port Miny and Guenrouet, little sign of habitation. Once again the sun had appeared in the late afternoon flooding these marshlands with a wonderfully delicate light.

I think it must have been the sun which gave me some second wind for the final twenty or so kilometres into Blain where Katherine had found an excellent campsite and where, with a glass of wine, I could write this blog.

Another longish day in indifferent weather until the late afternoon. The cold wind still mostly head on.  

112 kms 

Total 756 kms