Yep, a fall. No sooner was I feeling at one with the bike, or as at one as one can ever feel with something that probes such private parts of one´s anatomy in such a painful way, than I´ve come a cropper.
Not a puncture, I ´own´ punctures now, or this Spanish keyboard (Im currently day tripping in San Sebastian) which I can just about work out...but the infamous French administration system. I´ve lost my passport. Now a day waiting around in Plymouth is bad enough, so God only knows what they have in store for me here.
This ´setback´ aside, I´m feeling good. Did 5 days back to back on the bike for the 1st time last week, and I´m looking forward to my journey through my homeland* along the Cotes de Gascoigne towards Bordeaux. Sand dunes to the left of me, pichets of Red to the right, here I am, stuck on the road to Bordeaux (mispronunciation necessary for my jingle to work).
* I can by no means guarantee that this is in fact the origin of my ancestry. However for the purpose of this blog, and making me seem sunkissed, exotic and glamorous it is. Ok?
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