The gods are paying attention

  Cycled out of Boulogre-sur-mer around 11:00. Late start but a beautiful day, no wind, no rain, sun shining, and the temperature is moderately. Leaving Boulogre-sur-mer, I thought I would try for
Le Tréport.  Suspect of relying on my GPS, I was able to stay on a good road with not too many hairbrain turns.  These system needs to supervised and overridden by one's basic sense of direction.
I should have had a map of Belgium and northeast France. An oversite that has cost me.
      Mile after mile, enjoying the landscaped with only a few steep hills (walkers).  I stopped after thirty-three miles and luncheoned while sitting on the stone base of good size, roadside stone crucifix.  I asked politely before talking a seat.  So after seventy miles with miles of bike path along the way , I arrived at the Le Tréport tourist information, 6:18.  (By the way, France is years ahead of the USA when it comes to bike pathway.) Here is where the day went from idyllic to real bad.  The GPS screwed me once more. Across town for nothing. I called the auberge/hostel for directions to no avail. The manager's English was non existent, worse than my French! As I was taking another route to find the hostel, suddenly my chain and derailleur snapped off.  This can't be happening!  At least it didn't happen out the pokey. I guess someone was looking out for me. So the big push began and I didn't trust my GPS.   It appeared I was walking out of town. Just great, the sun is setting and I haven't a clue if I am heading in the right direction.  Pushing eighty-five pounds of bike and gea, it gets old real fast.  A man at the front desk of a small casino drew a map which final brought me to the auberge, tired and frustrated.  The building was part of Louis XV former residences.  Quite the brick structure which was converted into a hostel, an amazing place. As for the manager, this is the first auberge where no one spoke English.  With people coming from all over the world and English being the international language, it was the wrong person for the job.
    Then came the soar throat.  For a day, it had been coming on.  Suddenly, I could barely swallow withou severe pain. Around 5:30 I got up and managed to find the nearby hospital.  No one there, including the doctor, could speak a word of English. This town is quaint but very providential. The doc and I communicated via our translation apps. He checked me for strep throat. The test came out negative so he wrote out a prescription for several meds.  So off to the pharmacy and the bike shop. I will be here today and probably tomorrow.  Are we having fun yet?