Before we start, the church and venue were incredibly stunning, bettered only by the immaculate bride. Well worth the hair brained idea to see her smile light up the night!
I said my goodbyes to my new wedding pals and bid France's version of Basil and Sybil adieu. 100 km of sun soaked, French countryside lay ahead of me. Preparation was fast becoming my middle name, as my tablet was charged to within an inch of its battery obsessed life. I wasn't going to be left high and dry this time.
And so it proved, as myself and Google reprised our roles of mutual appreciation. Soaring along perfectly laid national roads and purpose built cycle tracks. Obviously there were a few random requests to head into farmer Francois' sunflower field, which I generously acquiesced to and by Bing, Google was spot on!
As the wheels continued to turn and I moved deeper into the unknown, two things struck me. France is closed on Sundays and I was rapidly running out of water. The effects of which were made more stark by the previous night's festivities.
Shade was at a premium and I would slow to soak up the cool air when it did appear. On one occasion, not only did I slow, but I took it one step further and brought myself to a full stop. That's probably a contradiction in terms but once you hear what happened next you'll forget about it.
I'd hopped off the bike and was chewing on a few cola bottles, the Haribo variety, not the glass kind, when seemingly out of nowhere I heard a rustle at my feet. I glanced down expecting to see a bird but instead I was greeted by a snake, nothing new on a cycle one night venture, but this one was devoid of any Lycra!
He took one look at me and slithered of into the bush, figuring from the smell he'd come across something well past is sell by date.
Once back on the bike I soon realized my water levels were dangerously low, short of taking off my clothes and ringing the sweat into my bottles I was running out of ideas. Flying through villages I began craning my neck to try and spot outdoor taps, with no luck at all. Then I passed a man in his garden who looked like just the man to help a thirsty thirty something.
I diverted into his driveway and followed up my request to fill my bottles of water with 'I didn't realize everything in France closed on Sundays', cue 'oh you're not from here?' I didn't have to be asked twice to play the Ireland card and magically my bottles were full to the brim with lemon flavored water. I was so grateful, this man breathed new life into my final 20 km.
Before I left I wanted to make sure he knew how appreciative I was, but as I write, it just sounds creepy. You can be the judge. I asked if I could give him my number, in case he is ever in Ireland and I'd get him something stronger than water. If it was Antoinette, the rural French beauty longing to escape to Dublin, the snake and the dehydration made me do it Your Honour!
I arrived back in my campsite and slipped into my trigano, safe in the knowledge my adventure had only 40 km left to run.
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