By ferry – especially when you’re cycling off it – is a great way to arrive in St Malo (pic). Its stern, grey, granitic old walled town centre is famous, though it holds unpleasant memories for me, and always looks to me like the backdrop to a harrowing black and white film set in World War II.
Which made it a great place to start this trans-France bike odyssey, because I couldn’t wait to get away.
But I managed to take an official setting-off selfie (pic), by the Old Fort. This is the gleeful smile of someone with a new bike.
I wasn’t smiling quite as much for most of the day, however. A strong headwind made the seaside stretches quite a battle, though the scenery and views (here, of Cancale, pic) were grand. Plus my bike’s new leather saddle hasn’t quite broken in my backside yet, despite having had over 500 miles of use so far. Every time I got off the bike to walk gingerly around a town, I could sense the pharmacie owners reaching for the piles cream in anticipation of a customer.
Cancale is one of the best places in France to eat oysters, so I stopped there for lunch. Stalls by the sea wall will sell you a dozen, shucked and fresh from the sea, for a few euros (pic).
I ate them in the sun sitting on the sea wall, and threw the spent shells into the mighty pile on the beach below, following tradition.
Whether or not oysters really have aphrodisiac properties I can’t say, but they certainly don’t do much for saddlesore behinds.
Miles today: 42
Miles since St Malo: 42