Pain, trains and a random act of kindness in Brittany

It was 19:15 by the time the last of three trains pulled in to Morlaix, and that meant that Sheila Scott and I would be facing a late ride of 27km to reach our hotel.

Under normal circumstances, maybe 2 hours on bikes loaded with panniers, arriving too late to find any restaurants open in the Brittany port (they mostly close at 21:00).

But these were not normal circumstances.

Earlier, we had started the 9th day of our Basque to Brittany 2026 tour in Longeville-sur-Mer, with the intention of completing over 120km before the day was out - day 9 of 12, as we

still had a third of La Vélodyssée (the French Atlantic Coastal route) to complete.

But there was a problem - and the problem was me. For some days I had been hampered by a debilitatting left shoulder pain, as well as an increasingly inflamed Achilles.

The first 40km or so in the morning, uncomfortable. The afternoon 60km (in a developing heat wave) nothing but a complete suffer-fest.

One of the great benefits of having Sheila Scott as my cycling partner is her maturity and experience around distance cycle tours, and her unconditional agreement that, when I said I need to pull the "kill switch" on the tour, she knew it was the right thing to do.

So, to repeat, our long day had started on the bike, and then became an orienteering adventure on the French railway system, to get us from Les Sables D'Olonne (after 30km that proved I had to quit) to Nantes, change for a train to Rennes, and then change again for the final leg to Morlaix.

Back to 19:15 outside the station. Not a soul in sight.

We had already discussed on the train the decision to hire a taxi to Roscoff, so that we could avoid any further injury to me and arrive in a reasonable time to shower, change and get some dinner, before an early ferry the next morning.

Google search "taxi company near me". Not many choices, but the nearest is across the other side of the railway, so a short uphill, across the tracks and down again brings us to the Agora Cafe Brasserie, outside which sits one solitary sedan cab.

I enter the cafe, where a small group of locals are at the bar, enjoying an early tipple before France's World Cup game later that evening.

In my GCSE French I ask the landlady if there is anyone in town that can transport two people and two bikes to Roscoff.

It's clear that the vehicle based there will not be adequate and so she makes three phone calls to other local firms whilst I wait - and sadly there is no-one available.

I thank her profusely and walk outside to explain to Sheila that we have a long journey ahead - just as the rain starts to fall.

As we start to prepare for the task ahead, a middle-aged man with silver grey hair, tall, well dressed in casual clothes, approaches us. I had spotted him the bar as I was waiting.

"I will take you" he says.

Sheila and I are, at first, a little bewildered. Who is this guy?

"I have a van" he adds - and points at a Ford Transit parked at the front of the cafe.

We engage in a conversation - his English is about as good as my French - and he explains that he is just prepared to take us - simple as that. He doesn't want any money - he just wants to help.

We are both stunned by the RAK (random act of kindness) and after packing bikes and panniers we join him for the 30-minute drive, along the way doing our best to share our respective stories.

Eric a local architect, runs his own business, happened to be there in his work van (apologising for the fact that it is dusty) and is quite happy to make the short hop to the coast and help us out.

We share our own adventures across Spain and France.

And so, by around 20:00 we are shaking hands with Eric, thanking him profusely and insisting that we make a contribution to the cost of a good bottle of wine.

Check in to hotel, shower, change, walk into central Roscoff to confirm that everyone shuts at 21:00, except the Vietnamese restaurant, where we enjoy one of the best meals of our tour, celebrate, reflect and commiserate - then plan "Back to Brittany 2027", when we will complete the final 350km of our route.

One random act of kindness, from a man we will likely never meet again. In the heat of the moment we didn't get a photo or any contact details - but Eric probably wants it to stay that way.

Top bloke.