God, I was really looking forward to today. Now the weather has cooled, everything is so much more pleasant and I am loving the solitude of this canal, although I tend to leave it from time to time for a bit of variety. I imagine it was quite a feat of engineering at the time of its construction and presume the area must have been pretty prosperous to have it built in the first place.
I had also slept super well and opened up the flysheet for sunrise and just lay there, listening to the torrent of water as it thundered over the weir. Rain was on its way, however, so I packed up in record time, which has become a lot easier now. I have a routine and can knock it off in an hour or so.
A few false starts as I tried to anticipate the rain, but it did give me time to look around the lavoir again, interested to see that it was still being used by the locals to fill huge buckets which I trust was could hardly be for drinking if the accompanying explanation were correct; the water still continued to be transported via lead pipes from its source over 2KM away. I closed my eyes and could hear the women gossiping as they went about went about their washing over 150 years ago.
I was really in the mood for a frothy coffee and the town of Chaumont was only an hour or so away, so I decided to just crack on. The rain couldn’t make up its mind and I wasn’t going to faff around anymore. I set off down the Canal, which was no longer silky smooth and then I both heard and felt that familiar sound of a flat tyre. Just what I needed, halfway down a long stretch of route with no shelter, a flat tyre and finally the rain had decided to start. Of course.
Once I had the wheel off, I realise that the rim of my back tyre was in shreds and once I had put a new inner tube on and replaced the tyre, the inner tube was poking out the sides. Reminded me of a hernia diagram. Didn’t look good, so I decided to get back onto the main road and find a bike shop in Chaumont asap, which would hopefully sell Schwalbe tyres. Then the heavens truly opened and I took shelter in a rickety old barn, the smell of hay making me think of growing up in the Leicestershire countryside.
Touch and go but I found a bike shop with minutes to spare before it closed for lunch, of course. I got a couple of spare inner tubes but the shop was small and didn’t have Schwalbe. The guy suggested I try Intersport nearby, and down an almost vertical hill, which means I have to come back up it at some point, I presumed. I hurled myself into the store and noticed another MAMIL (Middle Aged Man in Lycra) chatting with the Sales assistant, who said that they didn’t due to production delays across France, they didn’t have any Schwalbe or Michelin tyres in stock and doubted I would find them anywhere.
Coming out of the store, I got chatting to MAMIL, who was an Irish guy Micheal who had the most neatly packed bike I had ever seen, certainly compared to my overloaded monster truck of panniers, saddle bags and handlebar bags. Unbelievably he too was going to Istanbul. I mean, now mad is that. The only two English speakers I have met during my two weeks on the road are both middle aged men cycling to Istanbul. Unlike Alan, he didn’t hold back when casting his expert eye over my load and he kinda pissed me off to be honest. Yes, I realise there is more items that I can get rid of, but hey I am new to this and you live and learn. I decided to just let him blow off about his own prowess and waved him a cheery goodbye. But his comments did register, I still had too much stuff and I did start thinking about budget. Both Alan and he were both experienced cyclists and they tended only to camp if they needed to. I thought about the price of campsites compared to the price of a cheap room and wondered how much the difference would be. Although the good thing about the campsites is that you do get to chat to other people and this ride was proving quite a solitary experience so far. Which is cool, I have no problems with my own company and indeed, it is a good thing to sit with yourself, but still this was food for thought.
Generally I am feeling pretty low after my unsuccessful trip to Intersport. The next big town is Langres which name was familiar to me from the creamy cheese. A quick search on Google told me that it was a beautiful medieval town as well as cheese producer and had another large Intersport and other sport shops. I figured I could take another day off, find a replacement tyre and a post office and unburden myself of more unnecessary items.
Given the precarious nature of my back tyre, I didn’t want to chance any off road, but taking the hugely busy N road was maybe not my best move ever. The trucks were thundering past me at speed with little room for me to take cover. I was aware that I would be big trouble if I had another blow out with my flimsy shredded tyre and I wished I had at least gone and bought a better, cheaper version at Chaumont rather than risk the horrendous, polluted, noisy and unpleasant motorway with absolutely nowhere to go should I have another puncture and risk being mown down by those trucks.
The town of Langres was high on a plateau which looks great when you are in auto powered transport, but not when on a precarious bike. The final approach up the hill involved a really steep U bend and I was totally knackered, fraught with the stress of the past hours cycle up the autoroute. I didn’t feel I had enough juice in my battery to negotiate the bend safely and decided to bear right and see if I could somehow walk and push my bike up what looked like a promising unpaved track. Working on adrenaline, I ended up walking through what appeared to be someone’s back garden and was thankful for the cheery wave and smile from a woman who had a very proprietorial look about her. God it was good to arrive at the top and carry on towards my campsite for the night, which was located by the ramparts of the city. The final route was fabulous, another old medieval town of strategic importance with a lovely vibe to it.
I selected a spot right next to an old tower that formed part of the fortifications with an amazing view, although not particularly sheltered. Definitely all guide ropes being employed tonight, borrowing a huge mallet from a young couple who were just brimming with excitement and looking very loved up. I felt a pang of loneliness and a whiff of lost opportunity. Didn’t last long, I was battered. I had an uninspiring dinner of something healthy no doubt and snuggled up in my sleeping bag, leaving the flysheet open to enjoy an unexpectedly pretty sunset. Honestly not sure of my plans for tomorrow, but would work that out in the morning.
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