Bonjournee

Day 5 and I’m down in Niort (583km) already so I’ve made good progress despite energy sapping headwinds, hills and a heavy load reducing my average speeds to well under 20km per hour! Still, in spite of some long dawn-till-dusk days in the saddle I’m loving being out on the bike even if my bum is paying the price. I’m not sure which is going to break in first my bum or my torturous leather saddle but given the pain I get from sitting down I know where my money would be.

My multi-coloured set up, flags and accessories are attracting a fair amount of attention so I can only imagine what the reaction will be like in West Africa. I’ve rapidly learnt that my little pink horn has a very select target audience which includes kids under 10, their mums, fellow cyclists and teenage girls. Angry dogs, Kappa clad youths, Bmx bandits and workman enjoying a pint on a Friday night in Portsmouth on the other hand are far from receptive to its satisfying honk, despite my best efforts. In hindsight a ferry from Brighton may have found more appreciative audience! Still, releasing a honk behind an unsuspecting Frenchman is a great way to lift the spirits after a hard day's riding.

Special thanks to the men of Curbridge or ‘the village people’ as I came to refer to them (and yes they did appreciate the horn) whom I joined for an early morning stint in France from the ferry, and despite insisting that I should be sectioned, settled for buying me my first continental breakfast. I spent the rest of the day wondering what the women of Curbridge were up to while their men dressed in high vis went for a wine ride round northern France. I fittingly also came across a small village in the middle of nowhere twinned with Johannesburg – I couldn’t help feeling that a city of millions hosting a Football World Cup Final had drawn the short straw compared to a village of 50 peasant farmers, 2 donkeys and an annual barn dance. Still at least I didn’t come across any ‘coloured lads up to no good’ that I had been warned to watch out for by the first old boy to ask me where I was bound, back in Shrivenham on Day 1.   

Thanks to everyone for all the continued support, it was particularly reassuring to hear I’ve got the support of my mates who have been gambling on where and how I’m going to meet my demise!! It’s all good by me provided the proceeds go to Re-Cycle, however I think the odds on being asphixiated by a pink horn phobic youth in Bordeaux should definitely be shortened.

Must dash, an angry Frenchman is on my case and I’ve got some pedalling to do!