During the night, I woke up a couple of times to the sound of rain pounding against the tent’s outer shell, bracing for the worst. But at six in the morning, it was quiet. I started packing, hopeful — but the break in the rain didn’t last. Fortunately, I had the entire municipal campground to myself, so I hauled everything into the laundry room and finished packing in the dry comfort of four walls and a roof.
It kept raining on and off, so there was no point in waiting — I was going to get soaked eventually. And sure enough, five minutes out of town, I was already drenched. At that point, I stopped caring. I just wanted to get it over with. If this is what July looks like, I don’t even want to imagine the other seasons. Honestly, I don’t understand why Brits retire to places like Normandy or Brittany — maybe they just miss Foggy Albion.
Pushing farther yesterday paid off: I reached Mont-Saint-Michel by 2 p.m. and, miraculously, the sun was out. I managed to get a spot at the third campsite I tried — the first two were full. Apparently, even in this weather, people are willing to get soaked to see this marvel. I thought it was just me.
After pitching the tent, I returned for a closer look. I think I explored every nook and cranny of the village that didn’t require paying. I moved quickly — it was shoulder-to-shoulder with people, the exact kind of crowd I try to avoid. The place is hyper-commercialized: it’s either a gift shop or a restaurant every few meters. They must be raking in money, both the businesses and the government. I didn’t visit the Abbey this time — maybe next trip but not cycling, and in a different tourist season.
Seeing Mont-Saint-Michel with my own eyes was the whole point of this journey. I could’ve taken La Véloscénie and caught a train back to Paris — that was the original plan. But it felt too short. So I added La Seine a Vélo and another leg to make it a loop. Which way to go was a flip of a coin. As for the timing, what could go wrong in mid-July, right?
Now that I’ve seen what I came for, I’m torn — do I keep riding to Paris out of sheer stubbornness, or call it a trip? So far, it’s been anything but smooth: I’ve been soaked more often than not, lost part of my kickstand, had a (mild) head-on collision with a tricycle, had issues with an Airbnb host, tore my shoe covers climbing over barbed wire (because the road was blocked), and even got an electric shock from touching that same wire.
But knowing myself, I’ll probably get back on the bike tomorrow — I like to finish what I start.
Still, I’ll try to get to Paris quicker. On verra.
Today in numbers:
91 km – distance cycled
1 — day shaved from the trip already
14 meters — the height difference between low and high tide around Mont-Saint-Michel
350 — steps to the top of the abbey