Day 1 - St Nazaire to Saint-Florent-Le-Viel (81 miles)

Despite yesterday's forecast it was a clear start to the day when I stepped out this morning. My first objective: to get to the route on the opposite side of the estuary, a five mile journey that took me over the massive St Nazaire bridge, windy and exposed but thankfully quiet on a Sunday morning.

Things did not start well. The beginning of the cycleway was fenced off and clearly being worked on - I found out later due to slippage - so I was forced to parallel the route on a nearby road and head down lanes that might give access further down. It was to be third time lucky, so after a faltering and frustrating half hour I was at last in a position to set off properly and pedalled off with enthusiasm.

It was good to get going: to turn the thinking of the last few weeks into actual doing; to turn the physical inactivity of travelling to St Nazaire into exertion with a purpose. Too much time to think allows the butterflies to take hold, worrying about the done or the not done, about what might go well or not so well.  The rain had less meaning to me, when I was cycling through it later in the day, than the thought of cycling in the rain did yesterday. The same with the idea of a seventy mile cycle ride: once you start, once you are properly immersed in the task, acceptance of reality takes hold and you can start enjoying the moment. 

And I enjoyed the route. Flat sandy track took me past fishermen's huts, high on stilts, then between a flood protection bank and drainage channels, until the village of Paimboeuf where Napoleon built ships. Later, a route alongside a canal, lined with trees loaded with spheres of mistletoe looking like surrealist Christmas baubles, and tracks through woods much like home. And then I arrived at Nantes.

From Nantes the enjoyment became less palpable. It was as if the Gods were determined to thwart me with various problems: bad signage and route closures on various parts approaching the city; a half mile section alongside the river, thrown over to a weekend market rammed with stalls and people; and my navigation app, so helpful until then, not showing my route and continually telling me I was in the UK. And Nantes is also where the heavens opened. I ploughed on, headed to Nantes cathedral and in doing so explored the city streets a little, then it was back to the river and my journey. For the first few miles all was fine - a nice flat track through woods and small riverside villages - although it was becoming obvious that the river was flooded. And then so was my route.

It Got Worse…

With no detailed cycle route information to hand anymore I headed for the roads, ending up higher up the sides of the valley and in wine country. But vineyards are built on slopes and the road was often quite undulating with occasional climbs up to small towns, climbs that were definitely not in my original script. It was tiring, more so still knowing that this more demanding deviation had also added more miles to my journey. But I made it to Saint-Florent-Le-Viel in time for my agreed check-in time, cold, wet, hungry but content. The Gods however had clearly not finished toying with me: the small hotel I had booked was completely locked up. Standing in the rain messaging, calling and rechecking my emails in case I was in error (I wasn’t) wore thin. I was in need of warmth, a dry change of clothes and a hot shower. 

Saint-Florent-Le-Viel

I am now in a small apartment, warm and cozy, and the owner can not do enough for me. Having heard the story of my journey she has brought round some leftovers from the family dinner and a glass of local wine which were both well received; after today the thought of trying to find somewhere to eat in town, especially on a Sunday, did not appeal. 

Tomorrow I will be less ambitious.