I listen to the wind

We listened to the wind
it told us to go south  



It told us to go west
To Piriac sur Mer
To play in the Hotel du Port

There were rugby players
noisy diners
there were cyclists
there were friendly folk 

we had a great show
our biggest hat yet

merci Vert Pays Blanc et Noir
defending nature

 http://www.vpbn.fr/

In St.Nazaire we came across Radio Pedale, secret underground pedal powered radio with which the french resistance was listening to the BBC.



We tumbled into an alternative housing co-op in the old submarine base.


Raumlabor Berlin call it Neocodomousse and the language is all beyond us, but it was cool and all recycled stuff and maybe one day we'll all live like this..... http://www.bmiaa.com/neocodomousse-exhibition-by-raumlaborberlin-at-life-saint-nazaire/

We were the first to play at the new cafe culturelle Sous les Palmiers la Plage.
https://www.facebook.com/souslespalmierslaplage/
It was a tough show.... the rain, the amap, the noisy regulars, the noisy inconsiderate parents, the acoustics....
Well we survived and some of the kids managed to enjoy it. Never play in a bar on a friday night....

The bridge we said we'd never cycle again. It was a beautiful sunny sunday day, hence no lorries on the road, no gale blowing from the atlantic. The prospect of a detour of 20km of petrol refineries et al changed our mind. It was a rather lovely crossing. 


And who should we meet coming towards us on the other side!?
Old new friends from Crac'h!


Moor, marshes and ominous cowpat sculptures. Whoopio a la poopio!


An abandoned tennis court and a tower of power, scarily secretive freemasonry.


They did invite us in for tea. - we made our excuses and listened to the wind....



... made our way past the gargoyles, eating themselves and past the tangled up runners...


... and arrived at a little house. Our shelter for the night with a wheel barrow full of hot ash to keep us warm..


The next day the ring road. The other ring road. Ringing round the roads.

This is where they all go... we carried on...

... to where the wind was taking us.... to the festival of adventurers.

http://www.unmondedaventures.fr/festival-aventuriers-de-tonnay-charente-17-samedi-8-dimanche-9-octobre-2016/



Another bridge. A little rusty and rickety, up high in the sky only pedestrians and cyclists go by.


On to and up and up and up to Angouleme, city of bande dessinee.
Another two shows... the first for 60 plus children - our smallest hat yet- and the other for a hand full of cyclists. Vive la Velorution! Vive Cyclofficine!
http://www.cyclofficinedangouleme.org

Whoopio a la poopio!
The robin told us we were right to listen to the wind and to go wherever our hearts take us.

Au revoir l’ocean

Nous allons par la!

Which way south?

Happy to be dancing in the long awaited rain, together with our friends Quimper en Roue Libre in the market square.... That way south!


Return to Pays Bigouden to visit Atelier C.R.A.D.E. still going strong...


Wahahey! Look it's them again, Rocinante and El Rucio saying: That way south! Pronto! Pronto!

The little man riding the frog is coming with us and the fox is howling - Soooouwth!

Hahaha! We're at the 'nearly opening' of the new bicycle repair workshop at Lorient.... Syklett...

Canapes and cider for the moment, soon to be filled with bicycles....

Also in Lorient we found the place of our dreams... it's just like being at home.... it's our kind of place
it's like a french scrapstore! With red plastic bottles destined for Berlin in a scrap swap shop ting.
 


Yey! Critters in the daytime, spontaneous pedal power cinema in the moon light....

http://www.ideesdetournees.org/actu.html

A little ferry crossing over to Port Louis where Charles a.k.a Rust in Peace has a lovely little bicycle repair workshop going in the market every Saturday.


Ooooh and then another boat to save ourselves some 100 or so km around the Golf of Morbihan.
Luckily we's the only passengers. Anyone else would have to climb over our bikes to get on board...


Aaah, a pair of wheels. One rusting and one wooden... Which one's which?
 

Whilst cycling across Brittany, conversations with old friends have been bringing up the topic of printing and cycling again and again....cycling, the letter press, mechanical processes, d.i.y
So we end this blog with a little homage to the bicycle by Dennis Gould...

Dennis Gould is an anarcho-cyclist-herbal poet and letterpress printer in Stroud.
Print available here at Boneshaker Magazine

Brexit

 La Vaquelot wackels a lot! Into port as we exit port and head for Brexit the morning after.
 But who cares!? As long as we have bicycles to ride and flowers to pick all is fine.

  that way , no that way..! 

The Brexit monster is looming large as we work our way through the horrendous, toxic slurry of traffic on the little island, slowly sinking.... 


Campsites without the licence to camp in tents.... Campsites where you have to bring your own toilet...  Campsites not insured for tents....Campsites are no longer campsites! 


 The christmas pie trail... with a name like that, what else would one expect really!
Aaah, the wonderful world of Sustrans! This way? That way? Round the houses, through the industrial estate.... Where are we now?
Phew there is a light on the horizon that shines like a hub with golden spokes.... D.I.Y. bicycle workshops!
    

 It's more like chasing Pokemons, virtual reality made real! Cyclist GO!

 what-would-british-roads-look-like-if-we-treated-them-the-same-way-we-do-our-cycle-lanes

To calm us down, a little art in the trees and on the roads...
       
We finally got away from London round about Hungerford.... cider and the west country at last.
Ten minutes in the tunnel and we're there!
     
 Darf Wader on holidays in the south west, enjoying the tunnels  and of course the cider...
   

 We had a great run of shows in the West Country.... Long live the Bristol Bike Project!

   

Aaaah the green and the trees of Devon and Cornwall!




It's time! Southward ho! The birds have left already... 


 Now it is us that fly across the rolling hills, the creeks and meadows
 one last look at the gert lush
 as we flee Brexit