Day 5 or black dress, not good at all.

Unfortunately I have to start today with a sad message.
Ricard passed away last night.

The so-beloved tour guide of the last days really gave everything last night and then died of a severe form of contentlessness.
I dignifiedly but pragmatically bedded him in a bin of the campsite to rest.
I am deeply shocked, but also looking for a successor, when the right shop comes around the corner.
But now, back to today.
The night was not uninterrupted, which this time by no means my older small bladder was, but rather the fact that God actually had a long breath, which he used not just last night, but also overnight, to give the campsite a convincing blow job. But the tent withstood, although in between the feeling was another.
And so I’m crawling this morning around 7 o’clock out of my plastic castle and immediately be welcomed by lively 13 degrees and God’s Blow-job. I mean, it’s damn cool.
Actually, I put on my motorbike jacket first and then, faster than usual, follow my “Beginner’s Day” work. In the prevailing storm, it is hardly possible to pack the tent without the help of two additional hands. Anything not stuck or weighted on the ground will end up in a different place within a fentosecond.
But I conquer the impassables, pack everything swiftly, swap the summer gloves for the “transitional models” (yes, it’s so cold), even manage to start my campfire in the far corner of my pitch and heat enough water for 2 coffees, before I leave, almost with a bit of panic, to finish the rest of the tour from yesterday.
The sky does not play too. Dirty and cloudy, it shows himself. But as I drive farther south, I hope that is still to come.
So I’m going to Le Rozel and trying to stay on the coast, but I do not succeed enough. And so it takes after a few winding roads at least almost 2 hours until I finally find a shop in Bricqueville-sur-Mer, where I can buy some snacks for breakfast. A Netto, who would have thought that.
However, not to compare with the shops known to us, although, as seen in the photo, the same branding.Even more run-down than the shops here, leaving the goods on heavy-duty shelves inside, and all in all the impression of a 1970s Aldi. But, I get something for the two rows of teeth, can strengthen me and continue.The tour ends for me shortly after Genêts, in a dead end road. Here I had planned the next campsite.It’s only 11:30 am, but the temperatures are beyond my unit of measure “Oh no, no?”. I steam from all pores and instinctively seek the smallest shadow with every stop.So the trip to the south has brought something, albeit too much. 11:30 clock is too early and so I look for a more distant place, which can be reached in about 1-1,5 hours.
I find it near the Monastery of Mont-Saint-Michel and make my way. It will take almost 1 hour and when I arrive in front of the campsite, the thermometer shows just 35 degrees. I feel in my gear like a burned steamer, scurry to the front desk (one speaks English, how nice) and get, whether the torrential wafts of sweat that wind through my face, a pleasant shady place to a pleasantly shady price. And so I set up my tent, do the laundry, because this is the grill from the top especially and therefore sit at about 14: 30 o´clock relaxed in the shade. Oh yes, since you can hardly stand it here with clothes and I illuminate my surroundings with martial white radiant walkers, in an intensity that would actually make a 2nd world war flak headlights, I have, as a precaution, for the first time since felt 10 years ago bought a sunscreen again. LS 20, I would rather need 1400, but please, every bit helps. When the sun is almost down and from the phase of the bordering slight sleep again something like mental activity, I will think about how far the journey is still to go. To Brest it is about 250km, which is definitely too far for me at these temperatures. Maybe I drive a little way to the south, then to move in a big loop towards the Moselle. Just take a look. Well, and now continue to doze …….Stay tuned, dear ones.

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