I've stopped sulking now. By the end of the day - after a 7km bend - me and the canal were back on speaking terms.
I knew it was going to be a long one because, basically, there was a distinct lack of sites between here and there. Add to that the dismal weather forecast and my mood for the day was set before I even left the site. Maybe it was packing up in the rain that did it.
Looking back it seems quite funny (not really but I'm trying to lighten the mood). I set off in a funk. The wind was in my face. There was no shelter and it was ever so slightly up hill. It felt worse knowing that the nearest site was 80km away. The first 20 km took for ever.
Really really s l o w.
On a good day I tootle along at 20+ kph. On an an average day it hovers around 18, 19. Today I was there on the flat pushing to reach 14. It's bloody depressing. It's just you and this straight bit of path next to an anonymous canal struggling to get anywhere.
I stopped once an hour for 2 hours. When the sign said Mulhouse - where I'd come from - 25km I nearly wept.
But these things don't go on forever. Even if they feel like they will. You just have to put on some cheerful tunes, get your head down and get on. Eventually the locks stopped and the wind lessened and I started to get somewhere.
Then it rained. Oh how it rained. It started off as a little drizzle. Sometimes when it's like that I don't even put on my cagoul. Today I did and thank goodness. Suddenly the heavens opened. All at once like someone had pulled the plug out.
I got drenched and eventually took shelter under a bridge where ironically I filled my water bottles from my reserve supply.
On a map Montbeliard looked interesting. Interesting enough to consider a hotel. I was hopeful but no. Nothing endeared me to it so I had a coffee (the Fench don't eat on cafes at half four as the kind lady in tourist information informed me) and bought a sandwich (do you have a vegetarian sandwich, is duck whatever it is ok? No.) then headed back for the dreaded last 25k.
It turned out to be ok. There was a frustrating few miles when the route took me up a steep hill only for the downhill to be negated by the road having been dug up every ten metres. Back on the canal I focused on avoiding the slugs (are they carnivorous? They certainly seemed to be chomping down on their poor squashed comrades) and counting the herons. I got here in one wet and tired piece and then put my tent up.
Tomorrow I'm aiming for Besancon. I don't care if it's as interesting as it looks on the map I'm having a rest day there.
As did wishing the road signs would magically tick down.
As did the rain.
I've no idea why those are in black and white. My phone is safely stowed in a special waterproof bag and I have very little control when being drowned by the downpour.
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