Day 3 + a few

Onwards I plunge, further into France....

Day 3 brings me into the Ardeche region, unsurprisingly beautiful countryside, but there's something not right about it for me. The reason becomes clear, and despite what I said the other day, it's down to greedyfuckers putting houses everywhere. The Ardeche is one of those traditionally rural places with picture book cottages.......owned by cunts with loadsamoney.The terrain reminds me of North Wales, and just like North Wales, I'm sure it's full of cunts who live in big cities and only go there at weekends. I feel sure the locals, born and bred, are being priced right out of the market, whilst some fat cunt comes in and flogs off parcels of land for development.

The trad look Gites are springing up here, and there's For Sale signs everywhere. They've obviously not cottoned on to the fact that the reason there's so many places with boards on, that have obviously been there for a long time, is because they aren't selling - SO STOP BUILDING MORE.
Fucking idiots, you can hear the cash tills ringing in their heads - I know, let's buy some land in the Ardeche, lob up a few Gites and we're sorted! Utter tossers. Just like the lake District, Cornwall, or Wales, you can tell it's been ruined. All the old buildings, the ones with character, have been re-pointed and have double glazing. I bet they are owned by cunts called Rupert who spend the odd weekend there whilst nipping to do a bit of watersking in Geneva. I bet the traffic here is horrendous during Peak season. I feel impressed by the landscape, but also feel it has been sullied by greeed. The charm has gone, and I bet Rupert is looking to buy somewhere else now, somewhere for peanuts because too many carpet-baggers like him have fucked this place up. Still, the ride was great.

Bizarrely, I'm looking at some of these great old gaffes, thinking to myself that I bet there's alll manner of cool old loot in them. You know, things like Willys Jeeps and Kubelwagens left from the end of the war. (Well, there might have been 20 years ago before Rupert & Co arrived. First thing they did was scrap it all, to get the Audi in the shed.)
Anyway, I'm in the middle of nowhere, like the road to Royston Vasey, and there's a huge farmhouse selling antiques by the side of the road. Seems like a good idea to stop and have a look.
Well, no luck with war loot, but this place was incredible. Not what I expecteed, which was some City Slicker selling HQ shit at top Dollar. No, this was an old-stylee junk/antique shop. They had obviously been doing local house clearances, there were piles of just "interesting" old shite, pictures of long-dead families from 1909, curly moustaches and all (that was just the women).
I spent ages in there, rummaging about looking for something interesting. Cut-throat razors, baccy boxes, all that sort of shite, along with loads of good solid farmhouse kitchen tables and sideboards. Not stupid money either, it was a real gold mine. Or would have been to someone who knew their stuff.
I was looking at a pile of crucifixes, looked up at a model car with the licence plate 666, when in bowled a fucking nun! By now I'm thinking I mnay have dozed off on the motorway, but nope, all real. She didn't flop her tits out and give me a BJ, but I was still hoping. You just never know, do you? I saw it in a film once, they are all filthy, no matter how pious they try to appear......

Anyway, I pass through the region and roll up to a campsite at dusk. The owner lets me camp for free! Small victories, my son, small victories.
The one thing is that it is getting cold. Not fun. The next day I hit theroad for more of the same, and it's nagging me.
This is just like being at home - I could be in the Lake District, clouds and cold wind and all. I drive on, not far or fast, and stop after another pleasant day in the saddle, at a campsite by a lake called Lake Nutsac, or something. It's grey, cold, very Autumnal, and there's abpout 3 people in the whole campsite. The owner takes my E8 and fucks off, closing the office up. The silence and blackness at night are bottomless, and what's more, it's FUCKING FREEZING. AGAIN.
I end up digging the thermal long-johns out, and more socks, and a shirt. Still I can't sleep. Not good. I'm seriously contemplating going home, I've left it too late this year, Summer has gone.I'll head home and fly somewhere warm for a holiday, like normal people.

However, I crest some mountains and see blue sky. Things may be looking promising. The roads are still fantastic, sweeping curves, tight hairpins, total biker dream. There are many bikes from all nations on the roads, I relax a little.
Soon the sun has warmed me and I ditch the shirt.Then the over-jacket. Then the Summer gloves come back out. I even have to stop for a kip because of the heat of the sun!Maybe I've been too hasty.
I drive deep into Lanbguedoc, and the sun is blazing. Game on!!!