Читать книгу One More Croissant for the Road онлайн

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Riding past Bernard Hinault’s son’s bike shop, which saved my silly bacon in 2016, when I’d brought a bike with no functioning brakes on a cycling holiday, I thank God I have no need of it today. I do, however, need somewhere to lay my head before the rain starts again.

Saint-Malo’s municipal campsite may be some way outside the city limits, but to my relief it is at least open, something not entirely clear from its website. The nice chap behind the desk, visibly surprised at a lone female camper, directs me to ‘a very quiet’ pitch behind a hedge, among the trees, which is kind of him, except, as I realise when I get there, it’s overrun with mosquitoes and separated from the rest of the site by a small but significant bog. No matter. I open the pannier with the camping stuff in it for the first time since KnifeGate at Portsmouth, and merrily tip the contents out on the wet grass. Rookie error, but I’m so proud that it only takes me 10 minutes to pitch my tiny tent that I promptly message last summer’s touring buddies to tell them so. ‘Challenge: down to 8 mins in a week,’ one of them responds immediately. Tough crowd.