I knew this would be a hard day, almost all off road, so a first-thing visit to the Boulangerie for Quiche Lorraine, Tarte aux Mirabelles, Flan. As I entered in my cycling gear, the woman behind the counter gave me a look as though I was an apparition from another world.
There was no breakfast at the “Pub” just a cup of coffee alongside three builders getting ready for the day’s work.
Another misty cold start.
Up high I was passing numerous small reservoirs. What were they for?
Well … The main export of the Morvan, even above wet-nurses, was wood for heating. From 15c to 19c huge amounts of wood was transported to Paris for burning. Throughout the year the wood was cut and stacked at strategic points.
In the spring, when the streams were in spate the reserviors were opened up in unison, and the steep-sided streams became rivers, in went the wood-stacks to float down into the Yonne and then the Seine and down to Paris. It was a big annual event known as “Le Flottage”.
The main part of the day was spent slogging up rocky slopes or diving down them (just as tough, especially on the arms). So the final two hours gliding down tarmac roads were delightful.
Stayed at an old fashioned family hotel, Madame full of banter, spoke English. Dogs and children all over the place, her family seemed to have a monopoly on commerce in the town since the hotel was also the Tabac and the grocery store.
Dinner at the hotel. Huge cheeseboard, “You can take as much as you want BUT you must eat it all” then “This is France, here we have ‘cheese AND desert’ not ‘Cheese OR desert’ well, except for Paris and the Cote d’Azur where they have to be thin to parade themselves around” here she minced the length of the dining room with one hand on a hip and the other held out to carry a parasol, glancing at us seductively over he shoulder. The choices included one item which was cottage cheese with double cream on top, who wants cottage cheese on its own after all.