[You should get the joke in a minute.]
We spent s splendidly peaceful night at our blissfully rural site Bruere-Allichamps. The morning dawned with as many clouds as we’d had the day before but, nonetheless, I decided to wander along the edge of the river just to see if I could find any Odos roosting.
For camping, I love Crocs – they’re so handy for slipping on and off as you exit/enter Guillaume, thus leaving all the wet grass clippings outside. Where Crocs fall down deplorably is in the wet when they become disastrously slippery. The grass beside the river was decidedly wet. At one point, my uphill right foot decided to lose grip and pass my downhill left foot in seeking a point of lower potential energy. In short, I fell over with only my camera and macros lens breaking my fall. I wrenched my right knee. Fortunately, the camera and lens were merely dirty and needed cleaning. I found no roosting Odos.
With most of France being blanketed in thick cloud, our plan, such as it was, was to head south with all speed. Our first main area of attraction were plateaus around Millau [pronounced Mee-oh – now you should get the joke], hopefully far enough south to get a chance of some decent weather. Wrenched knee and all, we hit the road and made our way to the autoroute where Sally Satnav instructed us to “continue for 354kms”. Great – easy!
We followed Sally’s instructions (for once) and, after a fuel stop and a lunch stop, found our way to our favoured campsite beside the river Dourbie in Millau at about 3:00 PM.
I fancied a beer but we’d drunk them all. So precipitous had been our journey south that we hadn’t yet been anywhere near a French shop. No beer. A swift cycle ride into Millau was called for, in search of a bar.
Shortly before our departure for France, Francine became the proud owner a of a new bicycle. Never mind the details but this meant that I swapped a set of tyres from Francine’s old bike onto mine. I took the bikes off our car and off we set.
Along campsite tracks, then up a ramp to the road, turn left to head for Millau and, after 500m or so, Francine turned left onto a cycle track. I began turning to follow and touched the brakes. Nothing! The brake levers flopped in my hand. I continued at the same speed. Having no brakes on a bike is a little like ones first attempt at ice skating where there is absolutely no way to halt forward progress. Friction is utterly lacking. The only way for a novice ice skater to slow down is to fall over. I continued forward and clipped Francine’s new back wheel and slowed down, in the time honoured manner, by falling over. My left knee became my brake and the concrete surface of the cycle track became my brake drum. The concrete, naturally, remained largely undamaged but little remained of my left knee. Blood trickled down my leg.
I had clearly absentmindedly forgotten to reconnect the brake cables after changing the tyres on my wheels. I must’ve distracted myself somehow. Utterly stupid!! I had now buggered both knees in one day. Welcome to Me-ow!
At least the sun is shining. There is a Dipper flying back and forth along the river gathering food for young, a Kingfisher is flying along the opposite bank and majestic Griffon Vultures are soaring overhead. There aren’t many better places to sit nursing buggered knees.
Now, where’s that bandage?