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Published: August 31st 2008
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I make an early start and get on the road by 8:30. The traffic lights at the complicated 5-way junction outside the defunct Auberge de la Tour seem to take forever, and I wonder where all the traffic has come from. Finally I get a green light, cross the junction, and then stop to check the map. It has suddenly gone very quiet. I look back and see the traffic has completely evaporated. It reminds me of the scene in Jacque Tati’s film Traffic where he starts hitching a lift and suddenly there is not a vehicle to be seen.
I select my route. I am on another of those straight switchback roads that stretch out to the horizon. I see my first egret in a field with cattle. At Azay I stop for breakfast by a big chateau, and realise I have missed the planned route, which was the D43. It makes little difference although it explains why the road I am on (the D975) has been unexpectedly straight. I continue to just past Martizay. This is signposted as the Parc Nationale de Brenne. The scenery is more interesting now and there are wide verges full of wild flowers,
the sort of place my parents would have pulled off the road for a picnic laid out on the bonnet of the Morris 1100.
After Martizay I cut across to the intended route at Douadic, passing through the small village of Linge. This is a very agreeable minor road, past meadows, woods and the occasional lake. I find a bakers where I buy an evil-looking loaf spiked at each end, which I nervously attach to the panniers just behind my rear end.
The approach to Le Blanc is a little unpromising, past a huge disused railway depot and then down a long main road towards the river Creuse. However it soon gets better. Just before the bridge is a market, and I queue for some peaches. The stall-holder takes one look at my bike and thrusts the fruit into my rucksack, saying “here - it’s on the house for a cyclist”.
I cross the bridge and see from the old map that the interesting part of town is straight ahead up a steep hill, while the traffic is signposted either way along the river bank. So I get off the bike and push it up the hill.
I emerge at the church where there is an excellent view back to the north, including a very impressive railway viaduct. A good place to enjoy a peach.
I need to find a tiny road out of town to Mauvieres, and the compass helps me find something that looks promising, although it has no signposting. I chase after a postman on his bike, who confirms this is indeed the right road.
At the small village of St Hilaire-sur-Benaize, I am going to follow the river Benaize into La Trimouille. There is a road on either side of the valley, and I choose the western side as the road seems more minor. As the road is fairly close to the river I had expected it to be reasonably flat. However it proves quite hard work as it is a bit of a switchback.
I get to La Trimouille at about 2PM. This is my first possible stopping point, but it seems very early to stop. The Office de Tourisme is closed because it’s Wednesday (obviously not expected to be a popular day with tourists). However there is a camp site signposted. It turns out to be in a
charming position by the river. It is unmanned, and it appears to have been taken over by travellers. The restaurant opposite is closed until the end of August. All in all, it seems a good idea to keep going, although it’s another 29km to Le Dorat, the next significant town, where I imagine there should be another campsite.
As I head down the D975 the weather is threatening rain and I hope I have made the right decision. At 3PM I pass a sign saying I have entered the region of the Limousin. This is a good road, not too hilly and the headwind has almost gone, so the distance passes quite quickly. At 4PM and after 105km I cross the pretty river Brame and soon after enter Le Dorat. There is an excellent Office de Tourisme on the Place opposite the impressive Collégiale Saint-Pierre, a big church built into the fortifications of the town. A very professional young man plies me with comprehensive information about the town and the region of Haut Limousin (the region centred on Bellac, to the south of here). He is also in charge of the camp site so he checks me in, for
the princely sum of 2.70 euros.
The small camp site is a few hundred metres from the centre and has views towards the Collegiale. It has secluded plots and a small facilities block, but the shower turns out to be wonderful.
Although there is the usual dearth of restaurants, I finally find a promising looking Logis de France, the Hotel du Promenade, and enjoy an excellent meal. There are about ten tables in use, and six of them are occupied by Brits!
On my return to the campsite, I wonder what the loud high-pitched noise is coming from the bamboo grove next to my tent. It seems this is a nesting place for about ten thousand starlings. I tell myself they will soon go to sleep, but I think I beat them to it.
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