This morning we decided to leave the farm. We'd given up trying to work out what the two sad looking donkeys were thinking. John was still not good, feeling sick, blaming the powder sachets the pharmacist had sold Angela. We made slow progress, cycling slowly along a pretty green route, of which there are many cross crossing France. They are the disused railway lines. Suddenly a loud noise emitted from John's rear wheel. One of his spokes had broken. Great! Our bad luck was never ending. A short while later it happened again. We weret a low point. Fortunately we were near to La Haye which had two bike shops, one of which was just closing, the other run by a very helpful man who ordered the spokes in ready to repair John's bike the next morning. A short cycle down the road to us to a tiny campsite run by an English couple. They were full, but found a spot for our small tent.
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