Bikers eh?

Sunday

I sit at the dining table of my chambre d’hote, a converted farmhouse with pale blue shutters set amongst fields of corn.

I’m at the head of a ten foot long table, the length of it accentuated by the longitudinal red, white and grey stripes. The ceiling is oak beamed and there’s a huge inglenook fireplace to my left. 

Also in the room is an antique wooden corn shelling machine and a saxophone on a stand. The white stone walls are decorated with framed rugby shirts.

The floor is tiled, presumably to stay cool during the summer months and there’s the sound of a clock ticking ever so slowly to my right, I assume a grandfather clock. 

Two huge oak wardrobes and a typically French louvred screen complete the room. 

At the table are five more chairs, two either side, but more significantly one at the other end, all are empty. I am the only guest.

It’s another one of those ‘moments’ of which there’s been more than I anticipated on this trip.

In the morning, at the same dining table I see that it’s set for three. A French couple come in after me and immediately mention the ‘moto’, apparently they arrived last night on their ‘moto’ and as I got up and looked out of the window I saw a huge Honda Goldwing parked next to little Reg.

We conversed as best we could over le petit déjeuner after which I commenced my lengthy ritual of lashing everything to the bike whilst my French counterpart spent his time drying the overnight rain from his. We really were at two extremes and as they rode off on their gin palace to my friendly wave and “Bon voyage”, I chuckled to myself as I struggled with over trousers and over boots. The forecast was anything from 60 to 90% chance of rain so I was prepared for what turned out to be a rainless ride.

The first section was through the Landes region, which consists of arrow straight roads through endless pine forests. As I got further north the forests gave way to vineyards of the Bordeaux region and the road became much more interesting, resulting in an issue with my not so well lashed on luggage. I’m no Inspector Clouseau but the evidence was: small black fragments on the exhaust, hole in the throw over pannier, culprit – rear tyre, guilty as charged. Actually I’m the guilty one due to my ineptitude at tying a sheepshank, or should it have been a clove hitch?

On arrival at my overnight stop just outside Angouleme I pondered the whole packing scenario and, in the words of Baldrick “I have a cunning plan”. The last resort will be posting the remnants of the panniers back to their rightful owner Nige, he has been made aware that they aren’t in quite the condition they left him in, but as a second to last resort they now sit on the back seat with the tote bag on top, so low bridges to be avoided!

The place I am staying doesn’t do evening meals so when Olivier returned from work he took me to the local pizzeria for a takeaway.

He is the owner of a 500cc Honda but hasn’t stopped talking about Reg, taking photos, ringing his friends, he’s never seen one in the flesh and now one is sitting in his garage! I’ve told him that tomorrow morning before he heads off for work he’s to sit on it and fire it up, I hope he sleeps tonight! 😆