Distance 149.3km, 2117m ascent
‘Monkey Tennis’: an audio summary of the day’s ride, recorded from Plouider later in the trip (3:42).
Friday night and it was raining in Brest. It was only about 9 pm, but the heavy atmosphere made it seem later. The streets were deserted and anyone with an ounce of sense was huddled indoors. It was not an evening to be wandering the streets exploring. In our room on the fourth floor of the Hotel Du Gare, we wound down the metal shutters settled down for a quiet evening in. It had been a long day.
And yet the day had started much more optimistically. We got through passport control at Roscoff quickly enough and under grey skies found the road down through Saint-Pol-de-Léon, feeling fit and happy. Soon we found ourselves at the estuary of the Riviere de Morlaix, following the wonderful corniche that runs between Morlaix and Carentac, caught between the cliffs and woods on one side and the water on the other. I’ve cycled this road many times, snaking around its long wide bends in time trial mode, and it’s always an uplifting experience that is over all too quickly. In Morlaix, part of the quay was closed for roadworks and we diverted uphill to the train station. It took us a little while to find our way back into town, but once we were back en route we decided to treat ourselves to a French petit dejeuner on a little square. We were making good time and the weather was starting to look a little more cheerful.
Soon we were back on the road and heading south out of town towards Scrignac. We took a brief diversion onto a voie verte, one of the repurposed railway lines that now act as safe cycle routes criss-crossing France. Some of these can make good and quick shortcuts but the one we had found was hard going. It was a wet, light gravel surface and slightly uphill, so that even pedaling as hard as we could we could barely raise our speed to more than about 10 km/h. Hard work. After a few kilometres, we turned back onto the main road and emerged at the top of the hill just in time for an enormous rain storm that very quickly had us sopping wet. I then misread the GPS and led us off in the wrong direction for a few kilometres. Our good start had somewhat dissipated. But once the weather dried off, the cycling became enjoyable, with lovely countryside and some great little climbs:
Foxgloves and Stonechats: an audio clip from a climb near Scrignac (2:54).
Never mind; the villages were soon flying by again and after passing Scignac and Berrien and we arrived in Huelgoat just a little later than expected. I love Huelgoat, when it’s quiet it’s a superb place to while away a bit of time and I pass through whenever I’m in the area:
Just the right amount of touristy: from the Lake at Huelgoat (1:46).
From Huelgoat we knew we’d have a challenging little section of road to traverse as we skirted the southern edge of the Monts D’Arrée. We weaved our way past the highest point of the whole trip near Loqueffret, then through Brasparts and then due west to head for the coast. For the first time, we started to feel the wind on this section, and when it blew it really did blow. We were going right into almost gale-force winds and we they held us back even on the leeward side of the hills where normally you would get a bit of respite. It was beautiful and the roads were quiet, but the riding was becoming attritional. The kilometres were slowly ticking by, and by mid-afternoon we had reached a pretty little viewpoint on what we hoped was the last climb of the day at the 100km mark:
Côte de Picardie: a brief stop at a fabulous viewpoint (1:44)
From here, according to the profile, we should’ve had a nice run down to the coast at Le Faou and then a flat run in to Brest. The wind in our face made the descent much harder than we hoped it would be but we made it to Le Faou, split a couple of baguettes from a boulangerie and enjoyed a couple of large beers from a terrace bar opposite the church. If the sun had been out, it would’ve been a perfect stop! Recharged, we headed north for the final 30 km into Brest.
Except it wasn’t flat. The profile had given us false optimism. It was all bloody climbs!
None of the climbs were, in and of themselves, long or difficult. They were sometimes short and sharp and they were sometimes longer, gradual, leg-sapping inclines. But by now, the cumulative effects of the weather, the hills and perhaps an underestimation of the challenge had sucked some of our energy and morale. We were tired and just wanted to get to our hotel. After what felt like an eternity of difficult riding, we finally made it to the Plougastel Bridge, which runs parallel to the newer Pont d’Iroise over the river Élorn. At last, we were nearly there. The wind was absolutely howling across us through the railing sections of the bridge and the experience was somehow rejuvenating. We are both a little disappointed to arrive on the other side and find we still somehow had 9 km to go.
Back into the wind, heads down, we rode with the last of our energy into central Brest, up past the citadel and through the busy streets to our hotel opposite the city centre gare. It was a grim experience. Large parts of the city centre are being dug up to install new tram tracks and once the project is completed Brest will certainly have the air of a modern, welcoming French city. But the disruption and the traffic and the rain, which by now was beating down on us in huge droplets and streaming down the gutters, made for a difficult welcome. Inside the hotel we were checked in by an equally dour receptionist who chastised us for not having reserved a bike space in the enormous empty garage, took a shower pressed against the bath wall because there was no shower curtain, and looked out of the window at the greyest scene one could possibly imagine. It had been 11 hours since we set off from Roscoff and our arrival was anti-climactic. Well, at least we had a view of the rain.
And that really was that. We called home, grabbed some decent food from a nearby burger joint, and stocked up on an evening’s worth of sweets and beer at a supermarket. The beer was needed to numb the pain of the only channel on our TV showing the French version of the Masked Singer, and as if that couldn’t be any worse it was a Harry Potter special.
“The hardest day I have ever had on a bike” Graeme said. Hopefully tomorrow would be an easier day.
Listen to an audio summary of the day – the same clip that was at the top of the page! (3:42)
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