Days 21 & 22 – Clash of the Titans . . .

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Who knows? What happens when an unstoppable force meets two movable objects? Who knows? We do!

Day 21 – Co-ordinates entered into CoPilot. Aiming for La Pelouse Municipal Camping. A two night stopover in Bergerac. Another been there, done that refresher course.

This same morning another MOHOman, most likely does the same. Although his co-ordinates are different. Ours are set west. His east. Also most likely, is that we are both presented with two, or three route options. Shortest, fastest, most scenic. There isn’t a safest option. More’s the pity. Mr Google’s Maps isn’t yet sophisticated enough, or should that be, intelligent enough, to determine points of very high risk. In any event, oblivious to one another, we make our choice.

Sometime later, the narrower than usual main road is clear ahead. Nothing in front. Nothing behind. Beastie’s trundling along nicely at approximately 35-40mph. Minding his own business. Doing what he does best. Mr S is humming a happy tune. Enjoying today’s short ride.

MOHOman east is doing the same, most likely. Mr S rides along close to the grassy verge. His left hand drive opposite number is riding in the crown of the road. Along the white line. As is Mrs S. We both spot the other. Neither slows. Combined approach speed probably 75-80mph. Beastie has nowhere to move, other than the ditch, just off the verge. He holds his ground. He’s been in many a tight spot before. It’ll be OK. Won’t it?

Both MOHO’s are manufactured to the same Ducato spec. Wing-mirrors positioned at exactly the same height. Mrs S sees the fast approaching impact first, as it rushes past that point of no return. Lets out a scream a nanosecond before the two movable objects meet that unstoppable force. An almighty thunderclap shatters both objects. As if hit by a cannon shell. Debris explodes and flies into the air like windswept confetti. Mr S slows to a halt. The contorted remains of Beastie’s nearside wing-mirror are swinging by an electrical umbilical chord. In need of emergency treatment. We hope monsieur MOHOman’s beastie has suffered the same fate. Fairs, fair and all that.

Day 22 – This severely outdated riverside camp site is a mud bath. Eight hours of overnight rain create perfect sticky goo. A toddlers playpark. By the time we reach the sanitary block, our footprints are four sizes larger. Its only saving graces, we have a riverside view and it’s a ten minute walk into the centre.

By late morning the rain eases, then clears. We step out, along, then over the Dordogne River. Make use of the pretty bridge.

We head for the Tobacco Museum, it’s a free entry day. As in all old quarters, there’s usually a surprise waiting around the next corner. Or in this case sleeping.

Ninety-five percent of the displays are in French. When your language skill is bordering on tepid, it can make for a slow and very tedious walk-through. Even using Google Translate can become trying and tiring. So we end up looking, not reading.

As it happens there is plenty to see. The museum tells us little about tobacco and its production. Although, it comes as a surprise to learn that from 1637 until the 1970’s many farmers in this south-west region of France, relied on income from tobacco farming.

The museum focuses on the satellite industries, that grew as a result. Mainly pipe design and construction and the machinery needed for that. It shows a bewildering amount of pipe designs, from the very earliest as used by the Sioux, up to current day. From very basic, to crazily complicated.

Of course painters had to get in on the action too . . .