Day 1 – Sunday 29 June

Sète to St Giles

Campsite

Camping La Chicanette (http://www.campinglachicanette.fr/)

Notes

On Saturday 28 June I took a walk along the main road to the old fishing port of Sète and had lunch at Bar Le Passage watching a chap trying to impress a much younger woman with his big Harley Davidson motorbike only to be unable to disable its alarm for about half an hour. She was underwhelmed by his efforts but the people in the restaurant found the entertainment just what was needed during lunch.

The old fishing village occupies a spit of land on the east bank of the Canal de Sète, which gives access from Etang de Thau to the open sea. Ferries go from there to Tangier in Morocco. I walked over the lifting road bridge into Sète proper and shopped for supplies for the following day: pasta, sardines and some clothes washing glupe in a small tube that lasted me for about a fortnight. During the afternoon I dozed in a deck chair in the hotel garden and later we all walked into Frontignan and ate at a street café watching a family party having a barbecue in a car park opposite.

The following day, Sunday, I set off after breakfast, leaving the others to make their way to Montpellier and the European Bike Express. To be frank I was a bit scared of setting out on my own, and initially rode the wrong way from the hotel into the truck park. I turned round and rode back as they shook their heads in amused disbelief.

I got back to the road that was closed off that we had bumped down two days earlier and decided that I was going to take the marked diversion instead. I set off down back streets that had uneven manhole covers at odd intervals and as I bumped over one of them my front wheel banged a couple of times. I thought, "Hmm! better have a look at that before too long." However, at the next unavoidable bit of uneven road surface the front wheel started to bang repeatedly so I braked sharply thinking the front wheel had had it. But no, it was the front pannier carrier that had flexed inwards and caught the spokes as they came round and had itself been badly bent.

It's funny how you just go cold when something serious happens rather than panic. I picked up the front of the bicycle and rolled it the back wheel to a drive on the opposite side of the street and unloaded. After staring at it for a couple of minutes I could see how I might bend it back into shape, but as I did so the aluminium frame came apart at the welds. Clearly more drastic action was needed. I used a length of emergency string (bought in Spain three years ago) to whip the broken parts together in standard boy scout style. Was I glad I'd passed my knots badge all those years ago. Half an hour later I was on the move again gingerly watching the front panniers bounce about a bit more than before.

I abandoned my planned route along canal towpaths and switched off my satnav, plotting a new route with my 1:200,000 Michelin road map. My notes tell me I had a very good lunch in a Spanish tapas bar for €14, probably somewhere near Lunel. Once I had gone over the D979 at Aimargues I was clear of the built up area and out into farmland just north of the Camargue. Just short of St Giles I stopped to check my map and a gendarme came over to me and asked if I was alright. I showed him my broken pannier carrier and explained that I was looking for a good bicycle shop. He gestured to his watch, effectively saying, "Not tonight." I thanked him for the obvious and as I went through St Giles I saw a sign to a campsite. I decided to stop here for the night and go into Arles in the morning where there was sure to be a bicycle store.

The campsite was very good if a bit fly ridden. I walked into the town and found a noisy bar where I had a beer and a pizza.