May 16th ninth stage

May 16^th  ninth stage  Chateaulin to lock 152 on the Nantes Brest Canal  103kms.

At last some sunshine despite a frozen tent first thing in the morning.  Away early heading for Chateauneuf de Faou which was a very beautiful ride following the elegant curves of the canalised river Aulne which whilst adding on many kilometres  was well worth it to avoid the traffic, not to mention the hills. It was very quiet indeed so early but those I did meet, whether walking or cycling were strangely reticent, sometimes not even responding to my cheery “bonjour”. One explanation might be that, as we learnt later on, this area of Bretagne is a great favourite with the English, one small town  even being thirty per cent English. A welcome stop after 42 kms at Chateauneuf . A further 30 odd kilometres to Port de Carhaix  where instead of being able to enjoy a quiet lunch we  were seriously disturbed by two workmen cutting the grass. I felt like Mark Twain climbing the Rigi: I would have paid the men to stop making such a racket. We wanted very much, though, to find a beautiful, tranquil place in the middle of the afternoon to sit still and think about a dear friend whose funeral was even then taking place back at home. At one of the many meticulously- tended locks. we found exactly the place we needed.

I was aiming for Gouarec still many kilometres away but it soon became clear that the camping there was closed. I had taken up with an old cyclist (probably he was no older than myself!) a local Breton from Rostrenen with the thickest white hair I have ever seen, who recommended an excellent campsite , run by “les Anglais” (who else) in his own town.  This turned out to be  wise and timely advice. We were warmly welcomed by the campsite owner, a friendly Londoner, full of very good humour who clearly was revelling in the challenge of running a large (though this evening, virtually empty) campsite in very rural France. She had a few cutting words about those English offcomers who came ad then left just as quickly because of the weather.  However, before I could share a beer at the campsite I still had miles to go. My Breton friend’s  conversation was very interesting. I told him how much I was admiring Brittany, which to be honest wasn’t completely true, but he responded “only parts of it” He enthused about traditional Brittany which he claimed was still very poor indeed  (the atrocious state of the track we were cycling along he gave as evidence) but which was still steeped in philosophy, poetry, and music. From the way he was talking you would be forgiven for  thinking that every local would be carrying the complete works of Rousseau under his arm but I knew what he meant , and, moreover, I had to admit that this canal towpath was the only canal towpath I had ever seen with poetry pinned to a post every kilometre or so. Reluctantly, as evening was drawing in I had to leave him and pedalled on. But the light now was glorious. I passed the “partage d’eau” to arrive at the longest stretch on the whole canal without locks. Instead the water spread into a wide lake, inexpressibly pretty. I could not resist complimenting a gentleman  on the magnificence of his tree-filled garden whose closely cut lawns undulated between the trees with glimpses of  bright flowerbeds in the distance. He was ready to chat and gave me a potted history of this remarkable feat of engineering intended by Napoleon to beat the English blockade. It was he who told me of the more modern invasion of the English, although he didn’t disapprove.   A little leg weary after more than 100 kms, some of it on rough tracks, I was almost sorry to stop.

A day both sad and exhilarating. Fine weather and beautiful scenery. A moderate headwind was mildly irritating.  103 kms  Total 537 kms