Dog and I road trip

Too many jobs to do; too many protesting body parts, so I decided to take a day off - with the dog. And, aware that this period of crazy late summer weather will end any day, I was keen to get a last wild swim in.

The dog doesn't really appreciate the road trip idea but sits upright on the back seat, eyes fixed on the road ahead - so maybe she does, difficult to know. We headed north with lakes in mind - the sea is my biggest pull but that would be a serious dawn to dusk road trip. About half an hour away is the lac de Rillé, a large area of water, part bird observing place, part human enjoyment - fishing, small boats etc. I'm never sure if you are allowed to swim there, but have done.

Rillé's South end

On the way we stopped at a favourite small walk of mine passing by the moulin de scée and its clear little river, so the dog could undertake the morning doings in some undergrowth, then on to Rillé where we walked the lake's ragged circumference, ate sandwiches - well, I did, and peered in at various access points in which to enter the placid water. There were too many fishermen however, and I'd forgotten my flip-flops so was unsure of what lay beyond the reeds. 

                                              The new bird observatory structure at Rillé

Feeling deprived of the swim I decided we would investigate the lake at Hommes, just a few KM away. This was easier - set up for swimming but as it was October, not a soul about. So, the last wild swim of the year was a placid, warm, smooth swim, none of the battering and oh, so wonderful waves of Brittany on our recent trip there. But non the less, a lovely close to the season - unless the weather continues in its worryingly hot trend. I already feel the thought of one-more-swim sitting at the back of my mind.

Hommes was a tiny village devoid of cafés or at least open ones. We had a quick explore then drove on to Savigné sur Lathan a small town which was mostly being dug up for G5 cable laying... it must have had an illustrious past as there were the vestiges of a town wall, moat and a few majestic houses but now it appeared beyond quiet and rather more crumbling than repaired. I sat on the bar's terrace for a while anticipating a cup of tea but no one appeared so we left, did a final tour of the empty streets and returned home, sand still between the dogs toes and in my shoes from the beach at Homme's lake.

                                                             This town needs vegetation....

        

                                                                    Tired and sandy dog

H20 two

Following on from my last water-themed post.

I've always been totally drawn to getting in water. My childhood is highlighted by memories of visits to Southgate Baths in North London and our annual holidays at the Dorset coast where Mum and I would stand in utter awe at the glittering blue expanse before hurrying down the cliff path and plunging into the waves. But it's not just the obvious waters such as municipal pools and the sea, I only have to pass a reservoir, river or pond in the warmer months and the urge to immerse myself surfaces much to the eye-rolling of Ezra if we happen to be on a explorative road trip. 'Mum . . . really'?

         Local pond surrounded by keep out signs, which I ignored a few nights ago - great swim!

We were lucky enough to have inherited a pool with our previous house, a typical rectangle of turquoise which we and especially I used intensively from early May through to late October, and thus the urge to get into any available water was somewhat quashed for many years, although ocean visits still remained the top experiences. 

I assumed when moving to the Loire and seeing the vast placid expanse of blue water that I would be able to get in it but sadly it is not recommended/forbidden due to the mysterious currents. There is one area where the Vienne meets the Loire where it is possible but it's not near enough to be very useful. Last year I did find a pond in a forest not too far away but it's on a path frequented by marathon trainers which provokes all that embarrassment of peering about while balancing on one foot trying to get knickers on at speed before a team of lycra clad folk storm past.

This year in part due to the early and scary heat, I spent time seeking out other water possibilities and am contented to say I have found the perfect spot within cycling distance and or excuse to take dog slightly further afield. The Changeon river starts near Gizeux and doesn't pass through any industrial areas - it probably has its fair dose of unpleasant stuff sprayed onto the vines of the area but the fact that water lilies and dragonflies are very present makes it an attractive proposition at an air temperature of 38 degrees or so. I just looked it up on the map and the surrounding forest appears to be called: Le pont de paix intérieur - the bridge of internal peace. poetic! I've swum there about six times now and so far and its a marvellous, and indeed, peaceful, close to the day at about nine o'clock.

dog that shuns water... weird.

If we are evolved from fish life then I for one am certainly less evolved, happiest when feeling my limbs free and weightless when moving through water. 

                                  Not in the local river... idea of what we may have evolved from

New swimming place

For me, both swimming and walking almost always inspire writing ideas. Walking in our new region, no problem - loads of paths, quiet roads and woods. The swimming aspect is more problematic. I never anticipated buying a house with a pool but our last abode had one and over the years it provided masses of exercise, great pleasure, and general inspiration for my plot lines, characters etc. 

In our new house there is no pool, a small river, but not big enough to get into. The loire is reachable by bike but not advised swimming, the currents being very strong. So I've been on the look out for other wild bathing options. Of ponds noted on recent cold winter walks the one featured below has distinct possibilities.

Pond swimming is probably my favourite form. Possibly because of all the trips my mother and I made to the Hampstead ladies' pond in the 70s - a great green-brown pool of soft water to be shared with ducks and other women as they quietly breast-stroked their way around, hair covered by rubber, flower-decorated swimming caps.