For my evening nutrition I strolled to Le p’tit Noirmout, hard to find but worh it, with an unassuming front hiding its treasures within. As the restaurant was but an oyster-shell’s throw from the harbour, my choice wasn’t hard to decide upon. Oysters, then Fruits de Mer. And a glass or two of wine.
The racers tucked up in their cheap hotels, two to a room, would have gorged on late-night carbohydrate-rich snacks: small cakes, fruit, nuts and cereal to ensure glycogen levels are constantly being topped up.
Let’s hope they didn’t get crumbs in their beds. Nothing worse than crumbs to keep you awake after 200 shattering kilometres on a saddle skinnier than Victoria Beckham’s wrist.
My stage 2 was part of the TDF’s stage 1 and Vincent, my directeur and mécanicien rolled into one met me with the bike at Saint-Jean-de-Monts down the coast. I came by taxi. After all I had a notebook and cameras to tote, plus overnight bag, something the riders needn’t lug around. Saint-Jean is holiday-central for French, Brits, Dutch, Germans, you name it. 8 kms of golden beach and a 400m pier.
There is a vast network of cycle paths, known as the Sentiers Cyclables de la Vendée.
Over a pre-stage nutrient boost of hot chocolate and croissant, Vincent suggested that my performance needed upping if I was to achieve pro standard and that he was going to introduce me to Rosalie. I perked up no end at this. Hmm, Rosalie. Personal trainer perhaps? Soigneur? (therapist).