The Jogler: Hot hot hot To Fougeres

Here's a game for you - try and follow a map around here. At one point, where I knew for absolute certain where I was, there was a 50% hit rate. Half of the roads I saw were on the map. Sometimes it's a big long drive. Other times it's a farm track but mostly, they're perfectly serviceable roads. Signage seems to be similarly haphazard ("well Fred we'd better make sure your farm is signed but this road here- annonymous as it is - it needs no sign as it only goes to the village and I don't like their mayor." "Are you making a map? That's nice. Ooh, look, a rabbit. Let's run after it and see where it goes...a little while later...must get back to it. Now, which of these remarkably similar looking roads did we get to?." That's what I imagine happened)

Obviously I spent a bit of time meandering in an appropriate direction whilst ruminating on this. I was helped by my trusty compass and a big and noisy motorway (That was on the map). I enjoyed the rolling country side and was cooled (if a little annoyed) by the head wind.

But, I'm not built for heat and so I decided to cut it short here at Fougeres. I've checked out the cycling conditions for the up coming Tour stage. Happy to report that if they open roads rather than expecting them to use the cycle lanes, all should go well.

It's a rather beautiful town and I'm knackered so I'm staying here tomorrow and exploring the castle. Mainly cause it will be cool. The next stage too is weather dependant. If it's like this (37 degrees. My water - which I have repeatedly poured over my head- was hotter than me.) then it will be a short hop. If it's a bit less boiling I can see my way to going a little further.

It's not, I must emphasise, that no weather pleases me. Ideally, I'd like early to mid 20s with a cooling tail breeze. I don't mind a bit of rain every now and then but, I object to it out lasting all clean clothes. Heat - and especially humid heat - I dislike rather a lot. It's still 34 degrees here (according to google weather). It's 8pm. Its northern France. It's indecent.