Brusque to Saint Jean du Gard

Rain! The first big splash, and it was a single one, hit me squarely in the eye. I thought it was a bug and stopped to check that it had gone and wasn’t stuck somewhere in my helmet. It’s humid here, and at the slow speeds dictated by the twisty roads, my skill level and desire to stay alive, I need to drive with my visor open. I love the Schuberth C3 Pro helmet, but it could do with more ventilation in this climate.  It works fine in Saudi, but there the speeds are much higher. When it’s humid and your writing slowly it’s like having your head in the sauna.
I was reading about Saint Jean du Gard on the Internet and it has an interesting history. It was a protestant enclave, fought a war of succession from Paris, made its fortune from the silk industry and then went into decline in the twentieth century, until tourism and a reconstructed steam engine rescued the day. I’d write more, but then I would be just copying Bill Bryson’s style, only not as successfully. Now it has tourists, hikers and more than its fair share of local drunks. Pretty place though. 
Suffering from two days of eating far too much food, I forced myself to go for a run. It was hard work to start with and my belly seemed to have a life of its own. I struggled on though and eventually found the will to run a 10km circuit. At 8km I felt that I had been on the road for so long that I must have taken a wrong turning. I slowed to a walk, checked the gps and … Bang. Once I’d got over the shock and checked that I wasn’t bleeding, I cursed the local council for putting a signpost in the middle of the pavement. 
The hotel restaurant was OK, but hey only had here or four course meals on offers so I walked back into town for a salad.


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