The Brittany ferries crew helpfully got us down the ramp early and off I set on my first attempt at riding a motorbike on the right for 28 years. In reality its much easier than driving a right hand drive car in France because at least you’re not sitting on the wrong side of the vehicle. I successfully negotiated St Malo and headed south around Rennes and on to Angers. After a look at the chateau (had seen it before but it is too impressive to go past) I called in at the compulsory stop for any true petrol-head, O Bolides. This excellent restaurant is in a converted car showroom and has a display of motoring memorabilia from the 50s and 60s. What raises this above the average themed restaurant is that the owners also have a car restoration business round the back and they display their restored cars in among the tables. The last time I visited for lunch I was able to reach round from my seat and touch an xk120 Jaguar. Today’s special? A rally prepared Ford Anglia.
Just time for a quick look at the Loire at Les Ponts de Cé and then on towards Poitiers.
Today’s intended accommodation was to be one of the many good, cheap municipal campsites along the route – absolutely no need to book ahead at this time, just turn up for the usual warm welcome. After three fruitless diversions down long lanes with ‘camping ouvert’ signs at one end and padlocked gates at the other I was starting to take the hint. Summer had officially ended last weekend.
Just north of Poitiers and in danger of running out of day, I passed one of those strange little French establishments that look like scruffy newsagents but have signs proclaiming ‘café hotel restaurant tabac presse bar’. At least it had a car park with a space about the right size for the bike. Madame did not speak any English but smiled at my French and was even amused when I asked her to speak more slowly. I got the last of the eight rooms and agreed that I would like breakfast and evening meal included for a total of 42 euros. It transpired that ‘Le Moulin Vert’ catered mostly for workmen working away from home and that, as a foreign tourist, I was a bit of a rarity. The excellent four-course evening meal was served to the eight guests in a little private dining area off the bar and included a large carafe of red wine and a substantial cheese board. I don’t want to think of how much an equivalent meal would cost in Belfast.
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