Day 14 La Chapelle-s-Erdre to Pornic 73km

A more demanding day, involving a meandering route with steeper climbs than we have had in recent days, having left canals and railways behind for the time being. I failed to mention that some days ago the lever for changing down with my front dérailleur dropped off and I have had to put it into second manually, giving me only 8 gears but, as Tim Whitley has correctly pointed out, we don't need all the gears that Shimano grants us and only use a fraction of them. The compound used to lock the nut securing the main controls had failed and it would no longer tighten, so a replacement must be sourced when we get to Prades.

Two major developments this day: negotiating passage through Nantes/crossing the Loire during ithe annual marathon run and my putting away leggings and moving to shorts. The Gowthorpe legs are rarely seen, not because strong men wince and maidens turn away in terror, psychologically scarred until the grave finally takes them. No, the lower limbs are pretty trim but they burn at the merest glimpse of sunshine and I find sun screen tiresomely greasy. However, it was a sunny day and I slathered up. No seared flesh, I am pleased to report.

The marathon was a cheery event with various musos enthusiastically playing in combos at various spots along the route. Lots of parents and children. The singer in one band seeing one runner whom he evidently took to be a close relative, shouted "Darth Vader, you are my farzerr." For, indeed, the Sith Lord had unexpectedly decided to join the run, motives unknown but unlikely to be in a good cause. Incidentally, the welcome live music contrasted with two instances in recent days in Redon and another economically struggling town, where the commune had decided to play wearisome music constantly through a town centre PA system in the shopping area, in the asinine view that it would encourage people to buy. Judging by the comments of people we spoke to, most of them wanted to get the hell out on the next stage. The gun laws have so far prevented removal of the speakers by drinkers in bars like the one shown below, whose name is likely to appeal to a special, but limited, clientele. The photo is to my usual standard and, therefore unreadable. It is called Le Spitoon.

The Vélodyssée route along the south bank of the Loire goes through some pleasant villages after leaving commuterland and you start to see some good-looking riverside spots. A little later we saw an otter, as we moved in land on our way to Pornic.

There is even a free ferry or 'bac', a catch-all word that is used for laundry sink, rubbish bin, or as an abbreviation (and how the French love these, almost as much as the Italians their diminutives) for Baccalauréat.