In news that will surprise absolutely nobody, it seems cycling 265 miles in a single day leaves one with "a very sore backside." At least that's what I could make out as John stuffed his face with a gallon of noodles, before bedding down on concrete for the night. Boy, does he know how to live it up!
Not much to update from today - our conversations are brief and mostly to let me know he's not been knocked off his bike by an errant string of garlic or a maliciously hurled saucisson - but at last count he had cycled nearly 200 miles for day two and was planning to stop outside Lyon. His tracker tells a different story though: an hour ago it looked like he'd stopped near Lac des Eaux Bleues (pictured above), but a refresh of the tracker reveals he's in the heart of Lyon. Near a boulangerie. Presumably planning to wake up to a sight like this:
Little does John know that he could wake up in his own comfy bed tomorrow to a similar vision in his own kitchen. It's been a miserably rainy day, so I spent the afternoon making two loaves of honey-and-seed bread and a pineapple upside-down cake. For moral support, of course.
Always a man of few words, an exhausted John is even quieter, and only calls when he's stopped to fill his face with carbs. An example from tonight:
Me: "What's your plan for tomorrow?" (Meaning, where will your route take you, how does the weather look, are you likely to hit the first checkpoint - I dunno, any bit of context).
John: "Get on my bike and pedal."
For my part, I'm looking forward to some freshly baked bread with homemade marmalade, a cup of Earl Grey and that warm fuzzy feeling that smugness gives you. Oooh, la la!
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