Blog 1.33. Days 48 & 49

November 8th and 9th

Another blowy morning greeted us on Tuesday in our seaside Aire that we had shared with just three other vans.

Back across that bridge

Eventually we moseyed on, backtracking along the route which we had used two days previously, before eventually picking up the north coast motorway heading for St. Brieuc and then on towards our next Aire on the more minor roads.

We'd originally intended to spend at least one night at Morlaix, but online scouting revealed that it really wasn't going to work out - more's the pity, as it looks like a very attractive old city. So, we sailed on past it, and Guingamp, and then St. Brieuc, before leaving the motorway and heading northeast towards Cap Fréhel and our Aire just outside the small seaside town of Pléhérel-Plage-Vieux-Bourg.

However, we soon spotted a Lidl at St. Alban a few kilometres up the D786, and pulled in to buy lunch (late again!) and consume it, and coffee, in the delightful surroundings of their car park.

That done, and no sooner had we started off again, we had our first malfunction of the trip when the Pioneer screen threw up a large dialog box and ceased to function as a satnav (or much else).

Not wishing to mess with it, and wanting to get to our pre-booked Camping Car-Park Aire, we just carried on while M shouted out the directions while using Google Maps on her phone.

On arrival, and after card-swiping in and choosing a suitable pitch, we had a good old delve, and soon discovered (as we hoped we would) a 'full reset' function. It's always slightly nerve-racking going down that route, but, save for one decision-requirement that fortunately seemed to go the right way, all was resolved. I'd had dark thoughts of protracted dealings with dealer/Pioneer etc. so it was all rather a relief.

At least we know what to do if there's a next time.

Wednesday morning, and we decided to give the bikes some exercise, and planned a jaunt up the road to Cap Fréhel, via the nearby village of Plévénon, and then completing the circuit via Pléhérel Plage - just because it looked good on the map.

Then, things started to happen. Only us...

While prepping the bikes, I noticed that the Gendarmes seemed to be out in force - or more force than youd expect in middle-of-nowhere France anyway. There seemed to be more traffic passing in one particular direction than would seem plausible for a midweek late morning, and I began to suspect there had been a traffic incident down the road.

No matter, we were heading the other way. Off we set, and soon encountered our first obstacle; a Route Barré sign, manned by a Gendarme who could possibly be described as an extra from Dad's Army. Or maybe that should be Allo Allo?

Anyway, we duly pulled in and commenced a Franglais conversation that established little, but at least confirmed that we were OK to continue to Plévénon. Happy with that, we progressed to the next junction - which was manned by a somewhat younger, balaclava-wearing Gendarme, who had very slightly more English to mix with our appalling French.

It transpired that we were heading in the direction of some race or other and the roads had been made into a temporary one-way clockwise circuit, of which we were traversing in an anti-clockwise fashion. I could only think it must be a cycle race, or maybe a foot one. But no; it was a sailing race...

The Phare at the Cap

Not just any sailing race either. This was, apparently, a huge event that takes place once every four years, The Route du Rhum, and runs from nearby St Malo to Guadeloupe, with a (record) duration of over seven and a half days, and competed for by 100 crews in several classes.

The locals are obviously passionate about their race, and there were literally thousands of spectators jostling for vantage points all over the cape, and cars parked for miles on the roadsides - not to mention the hundreds of bikes in the bike park and many who had ventured considerable distances on foot.

The Gendarmes were there in force too, and it was quite amusing to observe one particular officer who was very definitely taking no truck from anyone who strayed where he didn't want them to. The handgun on his hip stayed exactly where it was, but I imagine he might have relished the thought of hovering his hand over it especially when one punter became slightly too belligerent.

The many armed forces personnel carrying semi-automatic weapons in the classic 'dare me' stance also made me wonder if there had been some implied threat from someone - or maybe they just like to make sure?

All slightly intimidating I guess, if you're thinking of doing something that perhaps you hadn't ought to.

Anyway, the race was due to leave St. Malo at 2.15pm, so we decided to eat our lunch, picked up at the boulangerie in Plévénon, and wait out the hour or so for the boats to go scooting past.

Except that it was considerably more than an hour before the leader rounded the cape to our viewing line, and by then it was getting decidedly chilly in the stiff sea breeze.

Where the rest of them had got to I have no idea, and it was another ten or more minutes before second place showed his bow. I can only think the start is rather more staggered than I expected, and it was rather disappointing not to see a cluster of sails making headway westwards.

I think I must have given one too many Gallic shrugs, as eventually M agreed it was time to give it up as a bad job, as did several hundred, nay thousand, of Bretons. The exit exodus was something else.

Am I missing something? I really couldn't see the appeal, yet so many people had turned up on a midweek morning, not to mention national TV coverage from the ground and from a helicopter.

Give me goalposts and a ball any day.

Still, the scenery was wonderful, and made it worthwhile. I wish it had just been us though, as planned.

Mileage so far: 3175