Like telly vision isn’t smelly vision, nor chilly vision, looking out the window only gives you some of the data. Beautiful and sunny as it was, the wind retained a bite that justified wearing plenty of layers and gloves as I pedalled up the lane.
My plan was to cover some of yesterday’s walk and take some pictures that would more accurately show what I’d found than my simple sketches.
A pile of rocks, through which an oak had grown, had formed a shaped that looked like a sleeping shepherd boy, curled up by the base, head resting on his folded left arm, knees tucked up. With sunlight coming from the south-east shadows did not give such a well-defined image as yesterday afternoon. I could see the image only partially this morning, but was disappointed not be able to get a clear photograph.
The abandoned goal frame and pavilion was easier to capture, as were the cowslips and a plant sprouting up where there was shade and lots of squishy terrain.
A long decline towards the Gartempe led to a narrow road bridge, the mirroring incline and a woody hillside. On a good bike, perhaps a few inches of frame too small, it was gently testing work. Rarely were climbs challenging, it was only on the final hill approaching home that I got off to walk.
Plaisance is aptly named, Saulgé equally attractive to the eye with an array of local amenities, including a finely maintained sports field.
Moving steadily uphill, to a wide expanse of land, fields were larger, Oilseed Rape featured in some, yellow buds fit to burst. Elsewhere, wheat greened up the soil. Here and there were patches of chainlink fencing hiving off abandoned, overgrown land. As I rode on in the bright sunlight, I was glad that I had worn my woollen gloves and light jacket.
It was heart-warming to see the EU flag alongside the Tricolour, during this time of international instability. It is clear from the moment you arrive at an EU entry point Brexit was wrong. The queue to get the passport stamp is irritating enough, the dubious victory of a campaign funded by opaque means, still annoys me. Then again, most of my life has been lived when Tories have been in government, unstitching all that was worth having. Thatcher and her acolytes, enriching the rich with half-baked ‘trickle down’ economic policies have done immeasurable harm to the UK.
The final part of my journey towards Montmorillon was along the banks of the Gartempe. There is the site of an old foundry and a couple of other abandoned factories that would have utilised the river for steam power.
After that, the arches of the railway viaduct, before entering the town, passing the station for the Chemin de fer.
By the bridge an abandoned garage, with SHELL, gradually fading from view, rain shower by rain shower. On a long wall within the forecourt area someone has spray painted the words NO FUTUR. If that is a comment on the world’s continuing vulnerability due to fossil fuel dependency, or a comment on job prospects for local youth who can say? It may just be punk rock sensibility finally reaching Haute Vienne.
I managed to get a table in the porch of the restaurant for lunch. This turned out to be a great place to catch the proprietor’s eye for a quick turn round. The place was very busy and the three tables on the street were suffering from neglect as the tables inside reached peak Sunday lunch.
Cycling away from the town towards La Dorat was a steady climb on a Roman-straight route. There is a Gallo-Roman site a couple of kilometres out. It was well sign-posted and I found it easily. The site had been used first as a neolithic ceremonial site from over 2,500 BCE, then had two Roman era temples built there, before they were demolished in the 2nd or Third Century CE, leaving just the foundations, including a well-worn step.
I turned right, with the afternoon sun behind me. To my left was an area of woodland lined with red signs informing the curious that there was DANGER DE MORT. There was reference to a penal code and that entry to the area was forbidden every hour of the day, every day of the year. This woodland was unfenced and ran beside the road for several thousand metres.
The road I followed proceeded north-east and I knew I needed to be going south-east. The phone battery was really playing up, so I navigated by the Sun. Eventually, I made the turn and sensed I was heading in the right direction. This led me by a chateau at a place name Le Frissoniere, which had a princess tower, half-timbered houses.
At the top of the hill a village called Bourg-Archambault had a helpful district map. I took the road toward Lathus, shown to be 7km away. Immediately round the bend was another chateau, this one made of stone, moated, with pointy round castles and a severe, gated entry.
Was I impressed? It meets the finest specification for any chateau in France, but also suspect that the owners of this building would have lorded it over the local population, eventually leading to the Revolution of 1789 CE. I noted that the top floor of the building had boarded up windows, not shuttered.
Whatever you think of the chateaux in the area, the wildlife is thriving. I was accompanied for most of the ride by the drumming of woodpeckers, the cries of buzzards and an orchestra of birdsong, including being able to see and hear skylarks ascending, but the most thrilling sight was a Red Squirrel just a few feet from my head, scurrying along a hedgerow and leaping into the trunk of a small oak.
I did see two odd creatures on some wasteland scuttling away toward the cover of a hedgerow. They looked like enormous rats, giant beavers, or possibly Coypus. They were a distance from the river, although they would have plenty of ponds and fishing lakes to inhabit.
It was a beautiful day, butterflies were out and about. Orange-tips were most commonly seen.
I had covered just over 60km when I got back. Restorative rehydration was needed, then bed.
~
CLP 15/03/2026
Journey of Words 
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