The Wilds Bainville-aux-Miroirs to Crévéchamps

We moored last night in what local boat dwellers often refer to as "the wild".    It's not that it was very wild though, anywhere there is a patch of forest out of sight of habitation, is called "the wild" and to be fair one doesn't need to use too much imagination to begin to believe that there is not another soul within a million miles.

The reality though, is that even in the wildest parts of "the wilds" one need only carry one's new ten kilogram folding bike for a few metres across the grass to reach a small waking track which in a few hundred metres will lead to a small vehicular path, which will lead to a road, and within a kilometre or two, to a bakery.

One needn't fear starvation when mooring in the wilds.

What one really needs to fear apparently is complacency and procrastination and the urge to nothing but sit variously chatting quietly and laughing for long periods of time before taking a nap.  Just why one needs to fear those things is not yet clear to me though, and when it is, perhaps I shall take steps to prevent them happening.

Neither Dave nor Ria nor for that matter the good Captain herself have any fear of those things either, as progress during the day if that is what it could be called, was interspersed with all of them along with a little food, and halted entirely when eventually we came across another shady spot, not unlike the one we had left.