Tuesday 29th of August A day of motorways The adventure begins for me as soon as we get in the van, but we don’t even get as far as the next village when my mobile phone addicted brain reaches out and finds nothing. As we start out again, I have a quick chat with the Vet about the new cat worming drops, a quick consultation with my mum, who is out and about, and has left her phone in the back of a taxi. (Both phones now happily reunited with owners), I send the customary WhatsApp message to the family to mark our departure. The now familiar route South-East on post bank holiday quiet roads to Folkestone is hassle free, we even get an earlier slot on the chunnel. The new to us route guidance app ‘Waze’ recommended to us by Mike at Parkrun last Saturday, is a joy to use and for once we negotiate our way to the right motorway from Calais without going round in circles. This may be because we are doing a different to usual route from here. There is no dramatic change in the landsca
Tuesday 2nd May: Lourmarin We've settled into this warm and sunny campsite and the cafe culture in town. I have an uncomfortable night and but it down to the pastis apèritif, wine and rich food of the previous two evenings or an overload of pollen from yesterday's ride. I opt for a proper rest day and wave Richard off on a gravel ridge ride he's been wanting to do. I take my time over gentle yoga and pottering. I have a nap, then feeling better, sit and write a bit and by 5 o'clock we're both ready for a gentle pootle around the lanes surrounding Lourmarin. Albert Camus made this place is home, sponsored the local football club and was a regular visitor to one of the local bars. Until his untimely death, he was referred to in the bar as Monsieur Terrace, to retain his anonymity as literary minded tourist came to find him. Its a perfect evening to explore this fascinating place, the more you look the more you find. We rode through in 2019 and got caught in a torre
Wednesday 13th September From mountains, forests and valleys, we're heading once more into the city. This time it's Kraków. We have errands to run on the way, the food shop, an obligatory fly-by to Decathlon to replace a lost item. This time it's my cycling sun-visor. It's been so sunny that I'm struggling without it, my reactolite cycling glasses don't adapt quickly enough to dappled sunlight and the road surfaces in places are patchy and potholed. It's a good few hours of motorway driving, with no more than the now familiar convoy of lorries to note. We realise that in the grand scheme of things that we've been in Lower Silesia this last two weeks, one might say not Poland proper at all after 500 years of being part of Germany. I'm on the lookout for any discernible change in architectural detailing, but there's not much to see enroute. It's the hottest day yet, and we arrive just before dusk to Camping Smok, not far from the Vistula rive
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