6 Days on the West Coast of France

by Anthony Kelly

From Roslare port in Wexford we took an 18 hour ferry trip to Roscoff in north west France on what was to be an eventful six days. The plan was for me and two friends, Dermot and Willy, to cycle from Rosscoff, down the west coast of France to Le Rochelle. Then turn inland and cycle back to Roscoff for the ferry home in 15 days.

Day1

The first day started well we were like three kids on new bikes. The sun was shinning, the roads were super smooth and the bike, my Thorne Sherpa, rode like a dream. This was the holiday I had been planning for months, it was happening and it couldn’t have been better. Then the first of our problems hit home, Dermot had not trained for the trip at all, a big mistake. He found the ride extremely tough going and ended up getting sick. But we pushed through and managed to get to the designated camp site, where we found it was closed. It seemed our information was wrong. It meant we had to back track 20k to a camp site we had passed earlier that day. Dermot was not happy about this, to say the least!

But get there we did and once we had unloaded, unpacked, put the tents up and got a brew going, Dermot recovered and we all settled down to a very pleasant evening.

Day 2

When we awoke Dermot had recovered and was feeling good. But heavy rain was the order of the day. We set of at 9:30 making for Brest. The rain and heavy widns persisted and made it a test of indurence in drastic contrast to the pleasure cycle the previous day.

We reached Brest at 1pm and had a marvelous lunch, pizza and coffee for me, while Dermot and Willy partock in some pasta and local vino, excellent by all accounts. Willy plotted a route out of Brest over lunch and we left clostrophobia of the big city behind within the hour.

It was a tough ride out of Brest, although the arrival of the sun made it somewhat easier. However the roads tested us and the long drags took it out of our legs. But on we went, riding on the old roads parrelell to the motorway, passing many villages and on through Le Faou and up a 10km climb to St. Nic Pentrez. Our plan was to continue on to Dowarnenaz, but disaster struck.

Coming down a hill Dermot hit a pot hole, the wheel buckled and over the handles bar he went, crashing hard into the asphalt. It was a bad crash and in the moments that followed, I thought he was dead. Luckily he was not, but he was badly injured. He hit is head, gashed his eye and had lost a lot of blood.

The locals came to help. They were fantastic. They called an ambulance imidately. One of the villagers took his bike to his house to hold it until it could be recovered. Dermot was carted to hospital in the ambulance and Willy and I were left at the side of the road feeling somewhat stunned by the events.

We began organising his trip home over the next couple of hours, knowing that, even if he was able to continue, his crumpled bike most certainly was not. Next step was to find a place for us to stay before joining Dermot in the hospital the next day.

We travelled on to Dauonmenez to a beautiful campsite, only marred by the events that proceeded, if they had not happened it would have been a perfect end to an otherwise perfect day.

A sleepless night followed, worrying about Dermot’s health. The next morning we set off back to Quimper and the hospital to check on Dermot’s progress.

Day 3

Dermot was awake and well, relatevly speaking, and considering he looked like he had just gone five rounds with Mike Tyson. He was fit enough to leave the hospital. From there we put him on the train to Paris, where his son was waiting to meet him and fly back to Dublin. A disasterous trip for poor Dermot. Looks like his training regeme paid off!

This had an unexpected and unfortunate impact on my own metal state. The worry following Dermot’s accident set in, and brought back some deep routed fear from my own previous and similar accidents. As much as I tried to shake this, I could not and several sleepness nights followed.

From there we went back to Dauonmenez, through the persistant rain, to spend the night and weigh up our options.

 

Day 4

I would say I awoke on that morning, but not having slept, I was already awake when the day began. Today was the day we decided to abandon the trip and return to Rosscoff. Although the tent and sleeping bag worked like a dream, the rain continued and by now all our clothes were soaking wet. Our spirits were well and truly damped and we concluded that the trip was a wash-out.

In an effort to see some more country side we set about on a different route and headed north back to Le Faou.

 

Day 5

50km ride into rosscoff in rain I could only discribe as monsoon like! After three days of being soaked to the one we discided to book into a hotel to dry off.

 

Day 6

My last day. A long wait for the ferry back followed by an 18 hour boat ride back to Ireland. The deck was empty except for a drunken Cork-man who woke me and pleasant French-man without much English. Unable to sleep the French-man and I struck up a conversation of sorts. We managed some form of communication, and somewhere in the midst of the sketches, charades and broken English he seemed to think I invited him to stay with me. I was home an hour when the doorbell rang and I opened it to see his happy face and camper van parked in my driveway… I’ve been home a week and I still have found the French, nor he the English, to ask “When are you moving on?”

 

So in all, a great trip…

 

Scene of the Accident, zebra crossing in St. Nic

Willy taking a well earned Break.

Beach at Rosscoff next to camp site, beautiful!

Rosscoff Harbour.

Willy and Dermot (Pre-accident) on old bridge outside Brest.

In St. Nic.

My new French friend, Michel.