Out the forest, round the corner, down the hill, up the hill, into another deserted village. Shops of any description (that are open) are often hard to find in rural France. On the morn of stage 3 this became all too clear. After what seemed like hours we finally got our 'Pain' fix in a perfect patisserie. South. The problem with sleeping outside in a forest is that its very hard to charge electronic equipment so we stopped at a friendly Cafe after about 20K. In this place we found out how the Tour was getting on and about gambling obsession. 10 men watching what seemed to be an endless Lottery screen. Strange.
To navigate we have been using Adam's GPS on his phone and have been fondly calling her Gina. She has a womans voice and tells Adam where to go in Polish, he then relays this information on to me. However she has become increasingly erratic. Her fondness for taking us the wrong way down one way streets and directing us onto motorways has earnt her the name 'Gina Piece'o'Shit. The actual Journey into Paris was not that eventful apart from one spectacular crash. After a Gina inspired off-road session in which my panniers became a bit loose we were comming at speed onto a 'round-about', cue pannier getting caught in rear spokes and a me flying over the handlebars. Minors cuts and bruises only, score.
Once is Paris: Nearest hotel, showering is brilliant, TDF on TV, into the centre, food, actual pints (in pint glasses!), random sight-seeing, underground, sleep.
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