Mr Rusty rides again

A magnificently sunny morning with a spotless blue sky meant there was only one thing to do: have a lie in. When I finally surfaced, I just had to get outside – so that meant it was finally time to coax Mr Rusty out of retirement.

I followed a route I had used before towards Cours-de-Pile, crossing the Dordogne on Gustav Eiffel’s wobbly metal bridge – the metal plates on the cycle path wobble and creak as you ride over them which does not inspire confidence. As I climbed towards the village, a little car tooted as it passed me and I turned to see a golden retriever in the driving seat, one paw hanging out of the window. Then I remembered this was France, and that wasn’t the driving seat.

I continued on to St-Germain-et-Mons and then headed south to Verdon. This was a punishing climb – but totally worth it for the fantastic views from the top. Absolutely stunning scenery, and completely silent everywhere except for the birds. I chose three more houses to buy. I then whizzed at reckless speeds down to St-Agne and Mouleydier, finding a quiet route back to Bergerac on the south side of the Dordogne. That was nearly three hours, twenty-five miles – and a great ride.

After grabbing some lunch I walked back along the Dordogne to the spot I found yesterday and spent the rest of the sunlight hours writing and being gawped at by Sunday afternoon strollers - clearly I must look completely out of place. I have to say that I saw some of the most monstrously garish and unecessarily vulgar coats that it has ever been my displeasure to lay eyes on walk past. Maybe if I had one too, I could blend in. It was like a summer’s day, until the sun began to set and the temperature dropped like a stone, and I scurried back to my bunker.