Reaching the Coast

Time for a tune-up

Some days the story writes itself, others I wonder what I’ll have to write about.

Today is one of those days.

I started the day with a tune up of the bicycle. My upper limit screw was out of whack, and I was tired of fishing my chain out of my spokes.

There’s a particular sinking feeling, when, as you’re desperately searching for inner strength, you shift upwards, looking for a gear you know doesn’t exist, and instead just hear that horrible rattle as the chain crests the largest gears and falls into the spokes. I’d ended up pulling on the chain with both hands to dislodge it, worried that I would break something in the process.

The limit screws limit the range of the motion of the derailleur so that it can’t just push the change over that last cog, and it stays just where it needs to be: on the cassette.

After yesterday’s mishaps, I needed to get them sorted.

It was an easy fix, and now I could shift to my heart’s content, confident that the chain would stay in it’s rightful range.

With that out of the way, I got on the road. Today would be a short day.

Yesterday I passed another cyclist who had warned me: the first 30 km would be an uphill climb. She was right.

Still, all climbs end, and since I was cycling to the sea, every metre I gained, I would lose again. Once I passed the high point, the route was almost entirely all downhill. I flew down, passing cyclists struggling to make their way up the path. Fighting, just like I had struggled before, to reach the crest.

This took me to Morlaix just in time for lunch. I was in luck, it was market day, and I quickly found a warm meal.

This game me time to explore. I had noticed the bridge cutting across the sky above the town, and wondered if there was a nice panorama to be found.

I climbed up, and around, but struggled to get a glimpse of the town below.

Back on the trail, I adventured onwards to my destination: Roscoff. The route followed the crests, moving towards the point. The wind picked up, and grew cold: this was cold sea air. I was getting close!

Try as I may, I could not get a glimpse of the sea. I strained, and wondered: was “that sky? or sea?” — eventually, through a gap between houses and hills, I caught a glimpse. I had found the coast again.

I’d cycled from the south coast of Brittany, to the north coast.

Tomorrow, I would embark on a ferry, for the second part of my journey.