Etape 23 Rostrenen to someplace in the middle of nowhere

Made a typically leisurely start after a copious breakfast provided by our Geordie hosts in our chambre d’hote. This couple from Northumberland had jacked their jobs, sold up in the UK and bought a large house with garden right next to the canal. They were saying that they get all sorts of folk coming to stay – including car-borne tourists, cyclists, canal kyackers and walkers from across Europe. Last year a German cycling team made up of 8 blokes and their lady masseuse (!) turned up to stay for several days and wanted high carb pasta type meals all the time. Apparently, several of them had crashes on the first day and the masseuse was brought into play early in the proceedings!

Also he said that earlier this year they had an equestrian group book for a night as part of a trip along the canal. An advance party turned up a few days before and brought their own fencing and bales of hay and built a corral in their garden. This group of six turned up on 5 large stallions and one enormous Breton shire horse which proceeded to extend his considerable neck beyond the newly-established fence boundary and eat several of the garden’s apple trees.

Reached the highest point on the Nantes-Brest canal today which is a princely 184m above sea level. This forms the watershed between two major river systems and, as you can imagine, it is at the top of a hill. When Mr Napoleon was conceiving this ill-fated notion of a linked canal system it was realised that a big cutting would be needed through this high point. Activate La Grande Tranchee de Glomel project.! The orders went out to conscript pensioners (!), prisoners, deserters and other ne’er do wells to dig a 35m deep 4km long cutting through solid schiste and granite to make the canal system work. It took this bunch of wastrels from 1823 to 1836 to complete this feat, primarily because most of them died of malaria, dysentery and other unspeakable diseases and more unwilling volunteers had to be found . The volume of material excavated equates to the total volume occupied by the Great Pyramid at Giza. We cycled through it in 15 mins – so well done lads it was all worth it.

So far on this trip the Velodyssee route signage has been very good making it easy not to go wrong. Also the surfaces through forested sections or along the canal towpath have mostly been asphalted or good solid compacted gravel. Today, however we had to navigate through the edge of Carhaix Plouguer. Well, the surfacing was all shot to bits, there was loose gravel on steep sections (a cyclists worst nightmare), potholes, signs that went missing, signs that were hidden in the undergrowth, and a ‘deviation’ to go around a music festival tent for an event that ended 4 days ago! I have a good mind to write a stiffly worded letter to the Maire de Carhaix Plouguer and complain about this gross lack of maintenance. He is letting down the many international cyclists visiting his town, he is letting down his Departement, he is letting down La France but worst of all he is letting himself down! Hopefully, my letter signed Mr Angry of Scotland, will sting him into action so that future Velodysseeists won’t have to suffer this discomfort. For gentlemen (and ladies) who already have delicate and tender nether regions after 23 days on a bike the discomfort suffered by very bumpy track surfaces is often more than they can bear.

Arrived at this very lovely chambre d’hote in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between that bl**dy Carhaix Plouguer place and Morlaix.

We were just sitting outside eating some grub on the terrace watching the sun slowly sink behind the trees, listening to the fish gently plopping in the pond, the collar doves cooing lovingly in the trees, the faint buzzing of the bees quietly going about their pollen collecting business, when across the surrounding cornfields from some distant but mysterious place came the groaning strains of ‘Flower of Scotland’ being played on a set of bagpipes. I know, I can barely believe it myself but it’s true. Mrs Nelson will attest. Maybe some distant farmers had got wind of our visit and had hired in a piper to welcome us into their community. No pipers nor farmers appeared and the Flower of Scotland floated away across the cornfields never to be heard again!! How mysterious!