We made a real effort to be up and away early today, so around 6am I put the kettle on and after an hour or two of rustling, zipping and whispering in the sleeping campsite we managed to be packed and ready to roll by 8.20. This was a new record for us and our delight of being ready to leave before the annoyingly sporty camper van family opposite had even stirred was only slightly marred by the fact that we still had to pay and the camp office appeared to be still closed. Luckily someone turned up at 8.30 and we were on our way. We braved the busy main roads for a while, receiving a few waves and a heart thump from a passing motorcyclist. We’ve had this a couple of times and assume it’s a sign acknowledging our bravery for cycling amongst the articulated lorries and speeding traffic, although it could just mean ‘get an engine, losers’. Kez pointed out a sign to Spain before we left the busy N road and joined a quieter D road. The going was good and the sun was hot but bearable in the cool morning air. We left the D road to cycle some miles on a completely deserted lane that ran along an old railway track, enjoying the country side and getting overtaken by an immensely fat man somehow crammed into cycling shorts and jersey on a creaking racing bike. A herd of strange chickengoose birds (which Kez thought were probably guinea fowel) living in a grassy paddock ran en masse towards us as we passed squawking noisily about something important. We stopped for a breather by a little shelter next to the railway line which looked like the smallest train station we’d ever seen. Some long climbs took us through pretty hilltop villages with amazing views over the forested valleys and as I raced down a steep switchback descent, just for a few moments, a large eagle soared with me a few meters above my shoulder. A real memorable moment in a wonderful few hours of cycling. Kez later said she wished she’d had a video camera because it looked great as the eagle seemed to fly with me round the hairpin bend below, before soaring off. We found our campsite just a couple of miles down the valley from Thenon with beautiful trees and a lilypad lake from which someone was catching decent sized fish of some sort. We lazed around in the shade eating lunch, watching the wildlife and sipping wine until we finally worked up the energy to pitch the tent. We were without groceries for dinner so I made the two and a half mile climb back up into the town and narrowly avoided a large silver green snake which slithered calmly across the road in front of me before disappearing into the long poppy covered meadow we’d commented on earlier. We passed the evening watching the trees rustling and swaying in the warm breeze. Kez particularly likes what she refers to as ‘bottletop trees’ because their leaves flutter in the wind like milk bottle tops on cotton. I told her they were silver birch trees, but frankly I haven’t got a clue. I’m trying to foster an image of a sort of wild country outdoor survival expert like Ray Mears but even fatter. To this end I hide meat products in the hedge under piles of damp pine branches, and fashion yoghurt spoons from bananas with just my teeth. Kez never seems particularly impressed but I do erect a good washing line and I whittled a great camp stove levelling wedge from a wine cork with my stainless steel multitool. I reckon we could survive anywhere with supermarkets.