The Manche to the Med - Day 2: Rennes to Chateaubriant

I woke at 6.00am and decided I needed to stretch my legs. In the street outside the hotel was a cacophony from the tree-lined street. It was getting light and I stood on the corner as most people were hoarding the last blissful minutes with Morpheus in that sleepy, syrupy, dream-clotted, thick-limbed plaiting of consciousness. Gazing up there began a mass exodus of thousands, possibly millions, of small birds from their overnight perches. It was a French city dawn chorus that was more like a morning oratorio. The sky was black with the swirling flocks as they wended their way through the streets, soaring and swooping through corners and avoiding obstacles. The sound cleaved through the morning air like a squadron of Stukas on an early morning mission.

Our hotel breakfast was a satisfying buffet: cereals, fresh crunchy bread and flaky croissants, juice, coffee, ham and cheese. We made multiple visits to the counter to fuel the morning ahead. We try to buy bottles of water for hydration but, being a Friday, all the local shops are shut.

After breakfast and the ritual of packing our bags we were dismayed to see that rain had begun to hammer down outside. 'Rain reigns in Rennnes' said Gary. We can't wait though - we have a schedule to keep and we donned raincoats and set off into the busy morning traffic. Within a few minutes we were back on the canal path which would take us to the outskirts of the city and quieter roads. The weather drifted out of the sky like paint dripping into a glass of water, opaque filigree swathes and fretted blots, whitening out the landscape. All details vanished into the mist.

After an hour or so the rain moved on and the surrounding hills and vales danced in a slim slab of sunlight  - somewhat reservedly, as the the sun peeps out at us from behind still threatening grey clouds. By now we were in hilly terrain - long drawn-out climbs that seemed to go on and on.... The Breton countryside is green and lush, no gorges or mountains and there's a comforting familiarity. The landscape supports many farms, clearly agriculture is a major industry here - we are surprised at how much corn is being grown - field after field, acre after acre, all as high as an elephants eye.

Lunch stop

The maze of tiny lanes are ideal for cycling - not so good for finding a cafe or restaurant - and by now we're feeling hungry. Some miles later we happen across a roadside restaurant, way out in the middle of nowhere - we pull in. We park our bikes and camp at one of the tables conveniently situated in the pleasant early afternoon sun. This is a traditional french, family run establishment. It's simple, honest, fresh home cooking, well presented, thoughtful, considered and reasonably priced. We go for a 'Plat de Jour' of warm goat's cheese salad with lardons and honey and balsamic dressing - this was extremely satisfying - so fresh and tasty - the honey and goats cheese with the crispy lardons complementing each other perfectly. Pudding was an apple gateaux with cream - again, delicious. The interesting thing here was how the whole family was involved - there was grandma at the counter inside, mom and dad doing the cooking and waiting-on, then there was the little 8 year old daughter/grandaughter who came out to us to practise a few English words and take our order for pudding. We gave her a €5 tip.

After the perfect refuelling stop we were on our way again. The afternoon weather stayed kind and we arrived in Chateaubriant without any further need of waterproofs. The GPS locked on to our accommodation for the night, a B&B hidden away in the sprawling backstreets of this small town. We're here earlier than planned and wonder if we'll get access - we decide a cheeky knock on the door will provide the answer. We are greeted by a tall, skinny man who we think looks Scandanavian - he is in charge of the B&B while his wife works as an architect - demonstrated in the tasteful extension that will provide our accommodation tonight.

Chateaubriant is a quiet town, an interesting mix of old and new buildings with the ubiquitous church and market square at it's centre. We find a bar for a couple of beers, nowhere is open for food until 7.00pm. We have a wander around the centre of town deciding where to spend our Euros. We settle on a small restaurant specialising in meat cooked on a barbeque - there is an English family in there, they've been travelling through France but their camper van had broken down and they were stranded here until it could be repaired - probably a couple of days (they hoped?). Our evening meal was steak with baked potato and chips - a strange combination we thought - but accompanied by a bottle of local wine it hit the spot nicely. The patron had a photograph of himself standing with Jimmy Sommerville (The Communards/Bronski Beat - remember them?) proudly mounted on the wall near to the till. We were done and in bed by 9.40pm