Last night, I reviewed today’s route and removed any paths or state roads. It’s an easy task with the navigation tool I use — you can highlight sections to avoid and then drop points to reroute. I don’t want a repeat of yesterday’s farm tracks, and with the strong winds, I’d rather stay clear of busy roads. I also took a few screenshots of the route and downloaded the relevant maps from Google Maps.
Sainte-Mère-Église is a small town now devoted entirely to Second World War remembrance, with its Airborne Museum and countless tributes. Even the local hairdresser has joined in, naming their salon Hairborn — a clever nod to history. Can you spot the parachutist?
Free of dirt and freshly lubricated, the bike feels much better today. I’d pumped both tyres yesterday morning, and the improved pressure gives me a steadier, more confident ride — especially in this wind.
Further along, I reach Carentan, where more D-Day memorabilia shops and information boards line the streets. I’d already passed a D-Day Experience museum earlier in the morning. Travelling parallel to the coast, just six miles inland, it’s no surprise that the landscape is steeped in wartime echoes.
I arrive in Carentan by noon, torn between pushing on to outrun the rain or stopping for lunch. In the end, food wins — there’s no point rushing when check-in isn’t until six.
Reaching Saint-Lô with time to spare, I take a walk around the town’s ramparts, visit the Church of Notre Dame and wander to the main square where memorials and plaques honour the French Resistance. It takes me a while to warm to Saint-Lô, and I realise that after 815 miles, fatigue has finally caught up with me. The boat beliw is called Le Saint l'eau. It must be National pun day.
