Re-entry.

     One the most important links with any of my bicycle trips is having a staging area both coming and going. Meielle Nichols took me in, outside of Brussels, and treated me as only one would treat a god. It was wonderful. Not only could I assemble and disassemble my bike with plenty of room and security, we dined in style both upon my arrival and departure. As though I were long lost family, she cooked up a veritable feast for me on a daily basis with white wine starting at noon. Her two children, Avril and Alec, put me in the uncle role which I thoroughly enjoyed.  Monopoly(in French), Trivial Pursuit and a video tennis game.  Mielle gave me door to door treatment to the airport.  Needless to say, I hope I can return the favor. Now it is off to Boston and home.  And for my next act.....!

The train ride back to Lille

     4:00 is an ugly hour to rise, considering that the sun won't rise for another four hours. Seven steps to get where I am going. One, ride from the hostel to the Brest train station.  Number two through six, make five train changes.  Seven,  ride from the Lille station to my Hostel.  I pulled it off but it was a fire drill every step of the way.  Remember, my bike fully loaded is about eighty-five pounds and a beast to maneuver up stairs, down escalator and into tight elevators.   Anything to avoid the stairs which meant lifting my bike to a vertical positions in order to shoe horn myself into tight elevators. The escalator was almost as much fun.  Nothing beats going down stairs with both the disc breaks on full, releasing them momentarily to descend to the next step.  The train track isn't announced until fifteen minutes before the train departs; then the contortion act begins. Scoping out the easiest route beforehand helps but the execution is the catch.  Complicating things, the ticket must be stamped by the little yellow machine and the bicycle car must be found.  If it were not for my extroverted nature and my minimal french speaking ability, I would have been up a creek.
    Through the countryside the train, bike and I travelled, stopping at little podunks along the way. Adding to the situation, with all the terrorism going on, the big stations were patrolled by army personnel shouldering machine guns. Not just one or two but six or seven personnel.  With their hand on the trigger, they were scanning the public constantly,  a good/bad feeling.
     Finally, through the busy streets of Lille, after fourteen hours of train travel, I finessed my way to the hostel. The GPS was always a few steps behind and screwing me up along the way.  Don't trust the damn machine!  Alors, I arrived at a large modern building which housed the hostel.  Checked in, my room mate was an American dude, sixty, who was real glad to talk to another American.  He was traveling back to the States from the Philippines where he lives; not by plane but by train, car and bus.  We had a lot in common. Another adventurer like me; we had a grand time comparing notes and bonding. So.....a long day with a lot of variables which thankfully all fell into place.

Taking in some culture

  Whirled around town all day, seeing this and that including what was left of the pre-war city and the local art museum.  Bicycling around town sure beats walking.  At the hostel, I had a discussion with one the managers.  We both agreed that there are two parts to seeing a country. One, seeing the sites and experiencing its culture.  Two, meeting the people and learning their perspective on life.  The overwhelming number of tourists only see the sites and basically isolate themselves from the population.  Being on a bicycle solo has allowed me to have the whole experience.  For example last night back at the hostel, I shared a bottle of wine with a fellow bicyclist who was bicycling like myself. His English was a heck of a lot better than my French but I still made an effort to speak his language.  Hearing his take on France and the Estate Unis was interesting. No one is thrilled about Trump.
      Tomorrows first train leaves at 5:40am so packed up everything ready so I will have plenty of time to ride to La gare. I pray that I make all my connection on my way to Lille, France on the border with Belgium.

Site seeing in Brest

  Having reached Brest, given the inclement weather, I decide that I should wrap up the riding south and explore Brest instead.  The weather was a major factor in this decision.  Lat year the weather was glorious here, no such luck this year. Riding around town sure beats walking; however, being Monday, most of the museums were closed.  I did try out the cable car which was fun but heights are not one specialties.  The naval base takes up a large portion of the water front along with the shipping
piers for the Cargo ships.  There are numerous huge cranes along the waterfront and accompany warehouses.  In between all this, there are various restaurants and water related businesses.  The  city's large acquarium(Oceanopolis) is right down the road from my hostel.  The port area isn't the best place to walk at night given the lack of traffic and people.  I made the six kilometer walk going both ways from a restaurant, keeping a close eye on my surroundings along the way. It reminded me of "On The Waterfront" with Marlin Brando.
     For a good portion of the day, I just chilled out and read a book on my tablet. Anyways, I rode about one thousand miles and Brest is a good stopping point.  This trip, more so than my other adventures, I took more time for side trips.  In Ireland, I experimented with seeing a few island and should have done more. Doing the north to south leg of the French coast along with its numerous islands is definitely on my to do list.  Tomorrow includes more exploring of Brest and getting ready for my long train ride back to Lille, France; an adventure in itself.  Adventure is the operative word, getting out of one's comfort zone and "going for it".  Time is short.

Ile de Ouessant, a place for the gods

   Through a heavy mist, I traversed the Island taking in the numerous lighthouses and beautiful landscape and houses.  This island was made for the Gods.  How cool would it be to find a small needy stone cottage that I could restore and live in.  I am sure within three months my French would be proficient enough to manage quite well here.  Most of the visitors here are hikers and bird watchers, vacation second homes as well.  My room mate, in his late twenties, is here with his friends for two weeks observing the various migratory birds.  I have always characterized bird watchers as a little in the geeky side, not these guys. They are hardy red blood Frenchmen.   They thrive on the inclement weather because it keeps the birds on the ground where they can observe them. The Ile de Ouessant is one the top places in France to bird watch.  Everyone has computer bird apps where birds share sightings with one another. We talked birds a bit; I have about ten species which are regulars around my house, both migratory and all-year-rounders.
    I took the 18:00 ferry back to Brest after saying goodbye to my new friends.  Being Sunday evening, the boat was packed.  Two stops before Brest, one of which is a small island which I should have spent a day on.  My ride back to my auberge jeunesse was a straight shot along the waterfront. The weather tomorrow will be more of the same so I will just bike around town seeing more sites.
   

Cloudy but a wonderful day in Ouessant

Alors, having worked out the route, I arrived with plenty of time before the ferry departed for ouessant.  Yesterday, a nice guy (to remain nameless) going my way said he would guide me to the hostel when I arrives....an understatement.  He sought me out; as we left the harbor he point out the German submarine pens and fortification. I take some excellent closeups. The ferry made two stops and after pointing out the famous light houses we arrived at Ouissant.  You may have seen the famous picture of a lighthouse keeper standing just outside of the lighthouse door just as a huge wave was enveloping the lighthouse from the other side.  He got in trouble for his carelessness.  I hope to get a shot of this lighthouse.  More on my new friend, he is an officer in the navy with an interesting career.
.   Upon arrival, he and his friend asked me to join them at his house for an afternoon lunch which turned out to be a full blow affair with friends and relatives. They put me in the middle and wanted to speak English as I wanted to speak French.  We had a fun time as well as a delicious French dejeuner.   Patrick has my card and said he would get in touch with me and forward the email addresses of the others.  After this memorable time, I rode to the nearby lighthouse (huge black white and black striped structure.  I rode back to my auberge jeunesse and napped.  For dinner, I had the best fish salad ever.  Tomorrow I will bicycle this small island seeking out the several lighthouses and take in the beautiful countryside and houses. I could easily spend two weeks here every year.  Turns out everyone in the packed hostel was there to bird watch; the island is  on a major bird route.

Brest, a day on the town

    A beautiful day for me to visit the sites.  First, I determined the road route to the the ferry to Ouissant for tomorrow. Next, to the train station to figure my transportation back to Brussels: the local train, five changes to Lille with the last leg to be determined, no fully assembled bikes allowed on the Belgium trains. Perhaps a bus to Tilly where Mielle Nichols' house is located.  Next, I rode up to the American monument (park) tower honoring the Americans for their part in WWI, as well, a plague commentating the French admirals who led the French fleet against the British during our revolution. Apparently, the ground on which the monument rests is American soil.  A great view from the park gave me a very distant view of the German submarine pens within the French naval base. Stationary binoculars gave me a better view. Finally, I biked over to the Brest castle which dates back to the romans (third century) who built the initial fortification.  The Brest Fort defends the 1.2 kilometer opening to the Brest harbor.  Over the centuries the Fort has been modified but the Roman foundation is still in tact, amazing.  Currently, the Fort is a marine history museum.  The tour took two hours with the aid of  an audio hand-held in English. There were nineteenth century painting of the French eighteenth century sailing battle ships defeating the English ships. The French perspective was interesting; they have a great deal of pride in their history.  By the way, my French is improving daily. Constantly,I am asking for the English words in French. Je parle francais un petit peux.  Once people realize how bad my French is, they start speaking with what little English they know.  Tomorrow I am off to Ouessant (pronounced 'whistle') bright and early. The ferry will pass close by the sub pens and fortifications.

The weatherman lied

Left St-Pol-de Leon for Brest at 9:15. Only a 10% chance of rain but what is classified as rain? For thirty-miles moderately hilly roads, I ploughed through a very heavy mist which was essentially rain. Cold and wet, I wove my way through Brest and found an auberge jeunesse (hostel) where I hung out inside until check in time at five.  The receptionist, Joanna, gave me a room all to myself, so here I am for two nights. Where to after tomorrow, another island? Sure enough Ouessant is a nice little island an hour off shore which everyone highly recommends. It is the furthest most point in Brittany. The people on the island are referred to as having character; perhaps, something akin to Maine.  What French name is equivalent to Virgil or Enoc?  There is a hostel there as well where Joanna reserved the last bed in the house for me. Tomorrow I scope Brest out, the next day I am off to Ouessant.

A bit hilly but at least a decent day

   Natalie and Erwan were off before I came down for breakfast; everything was laid out for me.  I made sure everything was shipshape, locked up and lumbered down the road in my touring machine.  Miraculously, with their directions and Google's, I found my way westward.  Thirty-eight miles with numerous hills to grind up with a mix of back roads and busy secondary roads,  I cruised into St-Pol-de-Loen. The town had the typical churches in the town center by the town square lined with old stone buildings.  Brittany and Normandy are comprised primarily of these stone buildings, very few wooden dwellings.  Being October the campsites are closing up for the season thus taking away one of my preferred places to crash for the night. The tourist office found me a nice B&B.  Monique gave me the best room since I was her only guest. The bathroom was all mine, YES!  The restaurant she recommended downtown was a gourmet delight.  From the vin rouge, a three course dinner to cafe, everything was delicious.  It is the best French food I have experienced since being in the country.  Even the house wine, I was asked to sample followed by a description of its characteristics. Brittany has its own wines, beers, cheeses and foods specialties .  Mussels and artichokes are big on their list. Today I saw artichokes growing for the first, like budding flowers several feet off the ground, really interesting.
     Tomorrow, I make run the for Brest.  Rain is NOT predicted.

A very enjoyable day

      As expected it rained its eyes out last night.  By daybreak, most everything had drier out. My one man tent is amazing the way I can pack everything in out of the elements and still have plenty of room to sleep. Dried out only the ground cloth and bottom of the tent, packed up and headed for town. My new friend Geelre (tough to pronounce) and his wife, Flo, took me to lunch.  From aperitif to French expressions coffee, our lunch was delicious and full of laughs.  To my surprise they picked up the tab.  Took the ferry over to the mainland and headed west at 14:15.  Thirty miles through scenic countryside and villages brought me to Ploubezre.  I met my Warmshowers host in town, Natalie packed my bags in her car and I followed her through the country to her here house. Just as I arrived her husband, Erwan,  arrived, very nice people. They had recently acquired a beautiful stone house, stone garage  and another stone building across the driveway. With plenty of land and forest (orchard included) along with the ancient stone buildings, they had landed in paradise. The place is in need of a near full restoration but they are in their mid thirties.  I would have loved to have hung a shingle and worked on the place.
     Until you have bicycled all day, you can't appreciate how nice a Warmshower is. An out standing dinner with great French wine and plenty in common, we carried on for several hours.  The are both leaving early for work tomorrow and leaving me to lock up.  Trust is never a concern with this Warmshowers organization.  Off to the land of Nod.

Ile de Brehat, a beautiful island

     The sun is rising around 8:10 and my 7:30 wake up time is creeping into the night.  The elderly owner of Hotel Sant Roch had breakfast waiting, at least what the French call breakfast. After eating everything I could to full the engine, I pedaled off from Langpol (sp), a few kilometers up the road from where I thought I had stopped yesterday.  I can't even find these place on goggle when zoomed in.  Of course, it was raining, a misty fine one, but rain nevertheless.  Eighteen miles northwest I arrived at the ferry for Ile de Brehat.  Alas, the sun appeared.  No cars just people and my bike which cost an extra 16€.  Riding over I stood on the foredeck and spread my arms like a cormorant to dry out.  The sweat created by my rain jacket is almost worse than the rain.  The jacket keeps my body temperature from falling to hypothermic levels.  One French man, riding over with his wife to close his shop for the season, chatted it up with me.  He called the local hotel which was too expensive so he recommended camping.  A big festival had just finished up yesterday, so the tourist had thinned out  to a comfortable level. With the campsite officially closed, the resident keeper said there was hot water and not to worry about pitching a tent. Talk about a view, I perched myself overlooking the bay with large rock outcroppings dotting water over to the mainland. After setting up, showering, I stripped down the bike and cycled to town.  The roads are not any wider than eight feet, the houses are stone and in pristine conditions.  I came along the french couple on the boat.  Their shop, "The Petit Masion", was tucked into a wall lining the road.  His directions and suggestions helped me navigate the island as well find a decent restaurant for a late lunch.  The ride out to the lighthouse was this idyllic paved path winding over small hills lined with houses into lower land where cows grazed.   With my bike, I Travered the island in no time. One interesting site was a small tractor pulling a cart with a draped coffin, with attendees walking behind.  Off came my hat as they passed me by, just feet away.  This place is intimate, no secrets are kept here.   The usual tourists were about but not oppressively so.  The summer here must be shear madness.  Coming into town, I found the market, stocked up and headed back to camp where I took in the view, had diner avec vin rouge, read and called it an early evening.  And of course, the rain came down throughout the night. Tomorrow the ferry leaves at 14:00 and twenty-seven miles west I have a Warmshowers place to stay for the night.

Brittany is beautiful but the rain keeps coming

     Left my hotel in Pleneuf-Val-Andre at 9:02 and sped down hill for about a kilometer to take in the beach and harbor before I headed northwest out of town.  Beautiful village on one side of a large rocky hill and an equally beautiful beach on the other which unfortunately was built up completely along with a small casino. I keep seeing them along my route with Loto advertisements as well. Even France has lowered its cultural standards. The beach area is a huge tourist attractions but fortunately for me the place was pretty much folded up for the season.  With rain forecast for noon, I climbed out of town and tried not to take any wrong turns.  The water stayed on my right within eye sight as I navigated the back roads. One seaside town after another, cafes sprinkled around the harbors and boats sitting in the mud.  Despite the high latitude, the weather remains mild and everyone keeps their boat in the water into November.  Noon arrived and dampness slowly turned into a light rain. I pulled out the rain gear and hunkered down for a wet ride.  The rain stayed light, off and one again all afternoon. Fives hours of riding northwest towards Paimpol and my body needed fuel. Being Sunday afternoon, pretty much everything was closed, yet I pulled into an open bar for beer and to eat what I had on board: pate, fromage, a nectarine, chocolate and miel.  The bartender followed by two locals gave me directions to a seaside hotel.  My GPS took me down the road and had me descending at least thirty stairs shrouded in vegetation.  Walking of course with both my disc brakes on full kept my steep decent under control.  Remember my bike is no light weight at eighty lbs.. Below was a quaint village with a hotel which was "complet", full, no vacancies.  This was not a good thing considering my wet sweaty condition with over forty miles ridden.  Fortunately, I was given directions to a small village two K up a long incline where a small hotel was located next to the local church. Welcome to Plouezec.  It looked closed, I knocked at two doors and was getting ready to leave when an elderly man came out.  Saved by the bell!  He showed me a nice room up an outside stairway by a beautiful  lush garden area.  This place is ancient as is the whole village and everything is built of stone. Charming!  After cleaning up, washing my riding clothes in the sink and taking an hour nap, the owner drove me back to the seaside village of
Brehec where I had a delicious diner avec vin rouge.  When I was done, the restaurant owner called c the Saint Roch hotel where upon the owner retrieved me.  Everyone knows everyone.
     Tomorrow, I will make a short ride to Pointe de l'Arcouest where I will take a one mile ferry ride over to Ile de Brehat which is supposed to be very nice .  A lot of Parisians have houses there and if I am lucky, they won't be there! They are the ones who give the French a bad name, sort of like New Yorkers invading New England.  The sun is expected to shine for a few days and I hope  to pitch a tent for two nights.