I left the campsite just after 7 a.m., holding my breath and hoping the rain wouldn’t return. And so far—well into the evening —the skies have held back. I’m dry, my gear is dry, the tent is pitched, and I’m happy. Who knew that happiness could be so simple?
For the first thirty kilometers, I stayed off La Véloscénie, still haunted by yesterday’s muddy ordeal en route to Mont-Saint-Michel—I came back dirty up to my knees, and so did Greengo. But eventually, I had no choice but to rejoin the route. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the path were dry, but after days of rain, the trail was a sticky mess. Gunk clung to the drivetrain and just about everywhere else. At one point, the derailleur stopped shifting altogether.
I made a stop in Domfront—a small, charming, and quiet town with medieval ruins. That’s where I had originally planned to stay. But in my quest to shave another day off this journey, I pushed on to Bagnoles-de-l’Orne. As the name suggests, it’s all about spas, thermal waters, and hydrotherapy. Like many other European spa towns, it was all the rage at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th century. Much of the architecture from that era is still intact. It even has its own casino. The town seems to attract a steady stream of people “of a certain age” coming for various treatments.
The first thing I did upon arrival—and no, it wasn’t to find an ice cream shop—was to locate an auto repair garage, where I gave Greengo a proper pressure wash to clear off all the muck. Only then I rewarded myself with an ice cream. As for any spa treatments, I passed for now—I’m saving those for my later years.
Today in numbers:
99 km – distance cycled
110 — people per m2 is Domfort’s population density making it peaceful but not ghost-town
63 — average age of a spa visitor in Bagnoles-de-l’Orne