Days 22, 23 & 24 – We’re not sitting in a railway station . . .

We’re definitely homeward bound. Crossed the point of no going back. Though not necessarily no return. Like a couple of meteoroids, destined to become meteorites once back on terra firma. We’re high-tailing it with hot tails. Dragging some heat along with us.

Day 22 – Calais, Friday’s crossing is caught in our cross hairs. That doesn’t mean we’re keeping our heads down. On the contrary. Breath-taking panoramic views of the Pyrenees lighten today’s journey.

Beastie’s going to have to squeeze through that narrow gap . . .

Beastie sails through while we Quordle through . . .

It’s all plain sailing – timing is everything on these narrow corners

They’re only doing their job Mrs S . . .

Once through the pass and back into France, Mr S notices that everything seems very French . . .

Today’s one-nighter at Pyrenees Nature Camping is a thirty minute walk into Oloron Sainte-Marie, where we come face to face with a fellow traveler.

St James leads centuries of pilgrims to Santiago de Compostela, his place of burial. Dropping route finding scallop shells along the way for all lost souls.

Day 23 – Some days are better to get over and done with. And forgotten ASAP. Today was one of those. A long haul of over 300K is extended by an hour. A Route Baree 11K short of camp sets us following yellow deviation signs that send Beastie literally in circles. As a result Hoo-ha Henry has a melt down. Like a lost soul, he loses his way. Can’t tell his left from his right. Has no idea which way to turn. No scallop shells to follow. Decides to wash his hands of us. Call it a day. Deny all knowledge of our existence. Dumps Beastie on a single lane dirt track in the middle of woodland. (Some camp site run-ins are like this, hence we obey his call signs). On further investigation the nearest camping is a further 10K.

All’s well, that ends well though. Camping La Motte, just east of Montguyon, is a pretty woody site with a small heated indoor pool. Just about long enough to swim away Hoo-Ha Henry hatred.

Beastie loves pitches like this. He feels like he’s really camping.

A couple of plates of sea bass, with a couple of glasses of Spanish red and all is forgotten and forgiven.

Day 24 – As sole campers on Camping Les Petites Minaudiers, near St Sauveur, we have the huge woodland site to ourselves. Arriving late afternoon ideal. Mrs S is in fine form for our forty-five minute under cover table-tennis knock about. She just about knocks back everything I throw at her. Like the good little doggy I am, I mostly play fetch the ball. “Woof”

Then it’s time for a lakeside walk . . .