Day one, first leg went very well indeed. As we passed the field were I had planned the first camp more than a week before, I felt good and took the opportunity to retrieve my long nylon rope I'd forgotten the other day. This distance was walked without any visible effort from Justin and it was such an exhalting feeling to see him in such a good shape and spirits. Just before St Sauveur le Vicomte, eighteen kilometres from home, we set camp in a wide path right next to the Green Lane. Weather was fine, not too hot but dry and mild. The night on the leash hooked on the long rope went well. He had a lot of grass (too much to my liking as I was dreading laminitis from too much green grass full of growth hormones and not enough roughage...) and apart from another donkey calling every now and then in the distance (may be an Ex... as he has been so succesful as a stallion around here...) to whom he seemed to send back louds "I love you too but my mate won't let me go right now... see you soon). Next morning was not very nice as fog and damp surrounded the tent and feet, socks and shoes as well as bags were drenched. Two minutes after getting up I was feeling miserable. My airbed has a tiny hole so, after an hour or so of lying on it, I'd been on the floor. Luckily I'd put it on a foam matress so that a sharp piece of wood would not pierce it, so discomfort was minimal.
Day two, second leg.
After leaving camp, wet and miserable, we hit the Green Lane and a few hundred metres from the city, were I was supposed to get a new supply of tablets for my blood pressure, as I'd stopped and was looking for the prescription in my shoulder bag, Justin just lowered his head to the ground and was sniffing at an old and dry horse dung. Before I could understand what was going on, he bolted, turned round and I was being dragged behind him at his fastest possible canter speed and eventually went flying into the ditch, in two inches of black smelly mud. Reopening my eyes just in time to see Justin disappearing in the fog full speed ahead like a racing horse, dragging the long leash behind and risking breaking his neck every time he'd walk on it. Getting back up and swearing, I started to walk towards were he went. After a few hundred yards, as I was trying, just like an Indian to read fresh tracks in the dust of the crossroads to see which way this stupid animal could have gone and as I was going to call the Gendarmerie for them to be aware of a mad donkey on the loose, I spotted on the track one of my leather shoes which I had stood between the two bags for drying out the morning dew. Then the other one further away, then my rolled matress and air pump that were stored outside the bags. Five minutes later, I saw Justin, like a ghost coming out of the fog and walking toward me, out of breath and sweating like Red Rum in the Grand National... Pffff... what a relief. I did not shout at him, just made a mental note not to let his nose near a horse pooh again. I was full of drying mud and looking really rough when entering the chemist's and they must have thought I was a tramp. Later, donkey and dog attracted a lot of attention when I tied them both outside the supermarket for two or three days food shopping. Still, we were on the way, the sun was getting brighter and spirits went back up.
Bruised and aching from this morning tow and fall, I decided to set camp in St Sauveur de Pierrepont, only about eight kilometres from the other St Sauveur as I'd made contact with somebody there a few weeks before and I liked the place. What a surprise to see and hear a herd of beautiful shinny cows, tits bursting with milk, most of them wearing a huge bell around their neck. I thought I'd been "teletransported" into the Alps, this (to me anyway) familiar sounds bringing back memories of my youth and I had an strange longing for a slice of Reblochon, this really nice mountain cheese, so different from the local Camembert... Seeing a farmer tending to these cows, I asked him if the village had a "commons" where people could leave their animals to graze for the night. Since he did not seem to understand what I was saying, I adressed the lady coming towards us and asked her. She answered in a very thick (nevertheless very charming) german swiss accent, which confirmed the Alpish atmosphere, that there indeed was one and that I had to ask permission to the the Mayor who lives a couple of kilometres away. I then let Gamin to look after the gear unloaded in a field where I intended to set camp and took Justin to see the Mayor, the commons beeing towards his farm. When I got there, the head of the village and his brother were busy doing their yearly barn cleaning but gave me a warm welcome and after a yarn decided that Justin would be better in their field, with lots of grass and a shelter should it rain in the night. An hour later, we were still talking, in front of a couple of bottles of cider and pommeau (a local drink made of cider and old Calvados, sweet and deadly) when I realised I'd forgotten all the connectors between my chargers and phone or GPS at the farm. Since I was only thirty seven kilometres away from home and they had a push-bike I could borrow, off I went. Three and a half hours of hard pedaling later, I was back to camp and was asleep before the zip of my sleeping bag could reach the top...
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