Day 30 of riding, the 20th of May. As I charge my ipod in the morning with my laptop, I play music out loud over breakfast. and the human noise makes me feel a little less alone on this cliff edge.
I don’t mean it to be a long day. I have lost my only item of warm clothing, my sweater that I rely on mornings and nights for comfort. So I spend 20km fo cycling to not find ti back along my rout. I was so sure I that I would recover it, waiting beside the pothole that had thrown it from Rose, still neatly folded as I had placed it beneath an elastic cable. Or sat patient at the supermarket, where I had last dismounted and locked up the bike. For most of the day I don’t need it, it was a scorcher, and I have the singlet sunburn as proof. It will keep me warm.
And though not a huge disaster, there is one thing in common from when my axel broke, that not long before I had been euphoric enough to sing outloud. And while I don’t think that higher powers are against me flaunting happiness, perhaps I am being smote for inflicting such harmful noise on others. From now on I will whistle.
Despite this, the day was good, from north of La Rochelle, and across the Rochfort transporter bridge, which is a huge iron structure which dangles a platform across the river to transport passengers across. I ride through a star-shaped fort, and to rest next to a beach in the Forest de La Coubre near Les Tremblades. Here I wash the sweat away (in salt water, which is just the sort of counterproductivity that has defined the day).
