Day One - Combourg - North West France

It's currently 3.30pm on my first day. I got off the ferry at 8.30am. The following has already happened:

• Bought and ate proper croissants and pain au chocolat
• Got lost in St Malo and went the 'wrong' way - for everyone who's asked me what my route is or how I decide it, the answer is 'I head for places where there are road signs to, that are also on the map'
• Cycled through deserted French countryside with the sun, and a smile, on my face
• Cycled through deserted French countryside feeling lonely and daunted by what lies ahead, and also wondering whether I'm able to do this or not
• Seen a man driving a Citroen van in blue overalls with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth
• Discovered that my hunch was correct - French campsites aren't open at this time of year
• Slept in a park overlooking a lake, in the sun, for an hour
• Been offered (and accepted, against my better judgement) a lift from a stranger
• Discovered my better judgement isn't always right and met a very nice Frenchman
• Been offered a lift to Rennes and a bed for the night (which I declined)
• Met Madame Lebret

I have to say, this last one could possibly be the highlight. After discovering the campsite was shut and really feeling the effects of little sleep on the Ferry and my first 40 miles on a fully loaded bike in quite a while, I decided that I would stay here - in Combourg - campsite or no campsite. The Office de Tourisme recommended a 'Chambre D'Hotes' (B&B) in the town centre, run by Madame Lebret who owns the florists next door. 'She's...ummm...the rooms are very nice,' the girl in the tourist office offered nervously. I asked her what she meant. 'She might seem a little...wacky, and her shop is a mess, but the rooms are fine,' she answered, again, slightly nervously.

Entering the florists, I could see what she meant. I was greeted with an enthusiastic handshake from a weathered Frenchman with a very impressive moustache. He stepped aside to reveal a thin passageway to the back of the shop, sided by tables and stands of flowers and general, dusty clutter. At the end of this path was a small woman - literally about 4'5" - sat behind a desk in the centre of the shop, babbling in French to two women. She was wearing a flourescent pink and purple jumper, at least two sizes too big even for her ample frame, and a large fuschia pink ribbon, tied in a bow on her head - not in a dissimilar way to comedy-toothache bandages. This was, of course, Madame Lebret.

I am meeting her at 5pm so she can take me to my room, hence why I'm blogging so soon. There was no way I was going to carry on cycling today, I'm too knackered! So I look forward to a shower, some dinner in one of the restaurants in town and, hopefully, a long, still, night's sleep. Then I'll see where the road signs take me tomorrow.