You never know what a bike tour is going to throw up. This morning, unfortunately, it was the contents of my stomach. At 7am, after a sleepless, writhing and uncomfortable night, I frantically shooed Nigel out of the bathroom, where he was doing what you’d expect – working on his bike – and acknowledge the inevitable.
The mussels I ate last night exacted retribution. The Revenge of the Molluscs. The Bivalves Fight Back. My own fault: as the Czechs say, only eat shellfish when there’s an ř in the month. The English name of the month.
I couldn’t face breakfast, even though I’d paid for it in advance. That shows you how ill I was. I tried cycling, and limped out of Prague on decent cycle paths and, at one point, a striking bridge over a metro station.
But after 13 laborious miles, much of it walked, I had to give up and get the train.
Nigel cycled on, of course, and reported a very pleasant ride of forty-odd mostly riverside miles. But all I could do was grope my way from the train station at Kolín to our guesthouse and clamber onto bed. Not into; I was too spent. I had to hope I could sleep off what was clearly virulent food poisoning.
I’ll never have shellfish so far inland again.
Or more likely, anywhere.
Miles today: 13
Miles since Cheb: 173