The sixth day of bikepacking in France by myself.

The chirping of the first birds on the morning wakes me up. Through the windows of the barn that was my shelter for the night I see the sky, still dark, a few clouds. As more and more birds enter the morning symphony, I pack up my camp. Not a drop of the expected rain had fallen that night. Optimistic, that the forecast would be wrong another time I start cycling into the sunrise at 6am.

Quiet roads, green trees and endless canals on my side, I am excited to see what kind of place I would come across and choose for todays morning coffee.

When I cross a little town, I am lucky enough to catch some of the first market stalls opening up for the day. Some fruits, eggs and cheese, because yes I am in that country again. The sheep cheese country, France.

It starts to rain but I don’t mind. My mood is great, a few drops of rain wouldn’t change that, and all the plants have to drink too, is my mindset. Eventually I find shelter next to a public toilet, which might sound little romantic, but the fact I had running water in abundance was my sign to have an extended cozy breakfast, watching the rain.

Sometimes it takes little to destroy the peace we build for ourselves.

I still don’t mind the rain, but now we are both reflecting the same mood. As if I could get away from my emotions I am racing through the green hills and the forests. Faster and further, I don’t ever want to stop.

Well knowing emotions aren’t something you can cycle towards or away from I still keep going. I want to test my limits. Each town I tell myself would be the last one. Just one further.

My clothes, my hair, my shoes, everything is wet. A lot of dirt sticks all over the place, to my bare legs, my bike, my shoes I look and feel disgusting. Now I need to keep cycling to stay warm. As soon as I stop I feel the creeping wet of the rain on my skin.

The next town never offers what I hope for. Meanwhile not even myself knows what that would be.

Someone that picks me up from the wet street. A shelter, food and maybe a conversation. Something or someone gentle getting me out of this mess.

And how can I expect any stranger to do me that favour? Wasn’t it myself that put me in this situation? Wasn’t it my choice to ignore the weather and cycle through the rain like I was chased by dragons?

The second last “just one more town”. Turns out to be a desert. Everything is closed.

The last town, has no more options than the previous one.

I am close to despair. Alone, cold, hungry, scared and exhausted.

No, in fact this town has one more option than the last one. An open bakery. I get in, not sure how bread could help me out of this mess. Maybe the dry place and the nice smell of baked wheat would inspire me with a solution.

The scent and warmth feel awesome, but it is the bakery-woman that saves me. Calling around and telling each passing customer I was looking for a dry place to sleep, I end up in the car with Virgini while my bike gets to pass the night in the bakery.

A warm shower, food, conversation, washed clothes and a bed never felt that good.

Overwhelmed by the kindness of these strangers, I can’t help but wonder: How did I get here?

Or maybe that’s just how life is, unfair, hard and very beautiful.

The next morning both Virgini and the Bakery-Woman drop off their daughters at school, I am getting passed over from one to the other. Back at my bike and between many thank yous and me still not being able to believe how good, no great everything had turned out, I leave the bakery, not before she quickly hands me a sandwich for later and some cookies.

…and I decide it is going to be an amazing day.

Thank you for passing by, it’s a pleasure to share this adventure with you, enjoy your week!

All photos and words are owned by ©kesityu taken and written by myself.