Camping La Grigne, Le Porge Ocean

We packed up early and were way just after eight-thirty, keen to cycle as far as possible before the heat of midday. The flat trails of yesterday replaced by steep climbs through the pine forest that covered the sand dunes.

By the time we reached Lacanau Ocean we were exhausted. Keen to find the supermarket to by lunch and food for the rest of the day Angela tried to be clever cycling on the pavement instead of crossing onto the cycle path. The path had been freshly gravelled. She braked hitting the deck. John and a Frenchman who'd been cycling behind disentangled her from her bike. Falling off is always one of our fears. Angela seems to do it on every trip. Lacanau Ocean is place to be seen. The beach was busy. One woman determined to tan every nook and cranny. That looks uncomfortable, she won't hold that position for long.

Tonight's site a mere three star. It's enough for us though. We always enjoy our evenings.

Sitting down to eat, reflecting on the day, planning the next. Angela is nursing sore grazed legs. She hopes tomorrow there will be less hills. Call this a holiday. It's more an endurance test. Last time we cycled this coast we were eight years younger. Perhaps a cycle trip to Holland next time. Nice and flat.

Camping Cote D'Argent, Hourtin Plage

After camping out under the Le chapeau last night we were covered in mosi bites. The lady who arrived to open the office couldn't believe we'd been outside during the storms. She made us coffee. Our onward cycle was a long flat tarmaced trails.

Our lunchtime stop a Montalivet-les-Bains gave us the opportunity to dry our tent. The forecast was good, thankfully, and we pressed on to Hourtin Plage where a five star, yes five star campsite awaited us.

Five euros and our clothes were washed properly for the first time in nearly three weeks.

Just after nine we took the short walk to the beach, treating ourselves to a drink at one of the bars before watching the sunset. The events of last night catching up with us we were glad to retire to bed.

Camping Les Genets, Soulac sur Mer

Today we would not take the velodysee cycle route but the roads to Royan. How difficult or dangerous could it be? Apparently very difficult and dangerous! Firstly we arrived with other cyclists at the pont transborder (transporter bridge), a minute before it crossed the river. Thank you. You could of held it back for a minute. It's not like we can't be seen in all our hi-vis clothing. Now how do we get across the road bridge that spans the river? No bicycle signs on the approach roads left us scratching out heads. John went off to find a way and we eventually found a track, scrambled with difficulty over a large mound of soil and around a  fence to the pedestrian/cycle way. Some signage would've been helpful, as we were not the only cyclists confused. Forty minutes after leaving the campsite, our leg muscles now fortunately warmed up we began the long slow ride over the bridge.

The view from the top fantastic. Yet more lack of signage delayed us once again. Which way?  The dual carriageway we found ourselves on soon swallowed us up. The fast moving vehicles, some sounding their horns, sorry we're English passed a little too close for comfort. Worried we'd end up like the pigeon that didn't make it, now all blood and feathers we pulled off into a layby. Just a mile to the next exit. Hold your nerve everyone. And breathe. Back on quieter country roads we stopped at a boulongerie in Saint-Jean-d'Angle and bought pizza for lunch.

The small town was an important place in the 16th century when there was a thriving salt trade in the area. From them on all went well and we arrived in good time for our ferry to cross the Gironde estuary.

Soulac-sur-Mer our destination, we bought food for this evening and the morning. Now To find a campsite with a large covered area. The forecast this evening, storms, right through the night. The first just as we began to put our tent up. Let's hope we're not washed out tonight. If so we know we can decamp to the large covered area which tonight some of the site regulars are using for a party.

Their planned bbq rained off. For us, the main thing is we are safe.

At one point today it felt like we might now be awaiting repatriation to the U.K.

Camping Le Rayonnement, Rochefort (day 2)

We survived the night. Sheet lighting repeatedly lit the tent for half and hour but no rain fell.

An eco lodge would have been an unnecessary expense. However the forecast was not good. Much rain was expected, so we decided to stay put, drying our tent, wet from some light rain first thing, under the covered area. Then the storms arrived, one after the other. We'd made the right decision. Luckily there was just one pitch available for tonight and it was ours. Rochefort has been the cheapest and best campsite so far. Just 17 euros 44 cents for two nights. Bargain.

The facilities are right up there, and most importantly Le Bungalow, a communal area provides comfortable seating, television, charging for devices, a fridge kettle, microwave a large selection of reading books, albeit mostly French. And outside a large covered area where we could dry our washing. And a few minutes cycle away a supermarket. Once again we'd been lucky. Tomorrow we ride to Royan to take the ferry across the river Gironde. For a couple of days now the weather looks settled. Before that another night in mosquito land, they're large and keen, so we will take a large tube of antisceptic cream to bed with us. Oh, if you're interested we are both now fully recovered from our chest infections. Yesterday Angela cycled every incline. Our trip may not have been the one planned, but we have many miles to cycle yet. We have just under four weeks left, and we plan to make the most of it.

Camping Le Rayonnement, Rochefort (day 1)

At eight this morning it was raining. Oh dear. We packed up everything inside the tent and decamped to the nearby sanitaire which fortunately had a covered area over the dishwashing sinks. We ate peanut butter on bread and waited. Taking a risk we hung out very wet tent and groundsheet on our washing line and hoped the rain would abate long enough for it to dry. At eleven-thirty we packed up and left to cycle into La Rochelle.

First the tourist office, then lunch which we sat and ate whilst chatting to a couple, two of three hundred from a visiting cruise ship. Food stocked we set off down the coast. Yes, we'd abandoned taking the train to Bordeaux, the weather forecast for the area was terrible. So we have decided to cycle there hoping that it will be more favourable by the time we arrive. Our cycle along the coast took us through pretty small towns we had driven through in Marge last spring. It was hot and humid and as we approached Rochefort the skies darkened. Then bang crash wallop, quick get under a tree. Us and three French cyclists. The weather worsened, then one of the other cyclists beckoned us forward to a narrow tunnel running under the adjacent dual carriageway. Result!

Talk about being in the right place at the right time. As the storm raged, and we mean raged throwing down curtains of rain and then hail, which bounced of the path in anger. Two of the French were a young couple who'd lived in London for five years recently returning to Paris. As always the conversation turned to Brexit. We know! The storm over we pressed on arriving at the campsite around seven. The security man checked us in using Google translate to communicate with us. There is a notice up here for an orange weather warning. Let's rent an eco pod? No, both taken. We have pitched our tent near to the inside covered area just in case we need to evacuate our little tent in the night. The mosquitoes sense the storm and ate dive bombing us from all angles. It is very warm. The German shepherd cyclists sit around in nice clean evening wear. Us in smelly wear. We must arrive somewhere early tomorrow to wash my shorts and t-shirts. It is now ten-fifteen. The site is eerily quiet. We will keep our fingers crossed the rain is not too heavy. We're so jealous of the Germans. Eco pod and evening wear. Living the dream.

Camping Le Verger, La Rochelle

Just after eight thirty we bid Pascal and Maurice 'bonne route' and headed of over a undulating trail through the sand dunes to the next town to pick up some supplies as it was Sunday. We'd enjoyed our time with the two Frenchmen, and smiled at the thought that tonight Maurice would be parading around another campsite in his red boxers without a care. Having left early we felt a cycle to La Rochelle was achievable if the rain was not too heavy. 

Lunchtime arrived and just when we needed one a picnic table appeared right by a large tree. We were in the middle of nowhere what were the chances? And then the thunderstorm began. The tree provided shelter for a while. We resorted to a prayer to god to make it stop. And it worked. The sun came out drying out protective clothing that had not been to efficient.

As we cycled the signs stating the distance to La Rochelle seemed to hardly drop. Then we were diverted onto another route. Tired, frustrated, hot and bothered and with no campsites around we felt another prayer to god was required. We left the cycle route and headed four miles into the countryside. The campsite was closed. Help! Fortunately a lady behind the gate alerted the owner and he let us in. The site only opened July and August, but we could pitch our tent. He unlocked the sanitaire, but there'd be no hot water. We didn't care. Cash paid we settled in. Fig and cherry trees alongside unkempt hollyhocks have the place charm. Gary said we could eat as many as the cherries as we wanted.

Well what a result. Thanks god. Angela has calculated that we have cycled around sixty miles today. Tomorrow we will cycle down to nearby La Rochelle in the hope of boarding a train to Bordeaux. Looking forward to a small lay in, in the morning. Gary said we couldn't stay if we'd want him to unlock the front gate too early. Fine by us. Meanwhile we hope not too much rain will fall in the night. Perhaps a prayer's in order.

Camping du Pied Girard, Saint Vincent sur Jard

We'd set ourselves a target of quite a few miles today. The weather forecast was for very heavy rain from around five tomorrow morning, so with that in mind we were away by eight-thirty. The day soon began to warm.

After a couple of hours cycling through the Marais and over the sand dunes we stopped for coffee at a beach bar.

Whilst John relaxed in the fake Caribbean setting Angela shot into the dunes for a comfort stop. Re-emerging  in discomfort her cycling shorts full of sharp scratchy seed heads from the dried grass. That'll teach her! The heat building we headed towards the busy resort of Les Sable d'Olonne, where for some reason the velodysse cycle route signs disappeared. Great.

We found our way to the sea front and the tourist office, to be told the route ran right along the seafront. Of course it did! As we cycled up and on we stopped to look back at the view. The large sweeping bay bordered by rocks and sand curved right round to the high rise flats and hotels we passed upon our arrival. An hours lunchtime stop, the need to press on we battled with the oppressive heat which was playing havoc with Angela's chest today. By the time we arrived here we could go no further. After enquiring about renting an eco lodge at a campsite by the sea and being rudely told no, they were full all week we cycled a little further out of town where we found a site beside the cycle path with a covered outside area for cyclists. Worried about the heavy rain we once again enquired about some accommodation. Yes, they had a caravan at 30 euros for the night.

It smelt badly and we thought bed bugs would probably join us in the night. We politely declined the caravan. There would be no storm we were told, despite hearing thunder rumbling around, so we booked a tent pitch and prayed.

Two French male cyclists arrived and sat with us to eat. Them, pate, bread, melon and a custard tart. Us, two large pizzas and large chips. Didn't cycling make them hungary? The elder was 75, he proudly announced as the same age as King Charles III. He spoke no English, his nephew did and before retiring thanked us for helping him improve his understanding of our language. What nice men they were.