Once is not custom, the first hours of the day are conducted at a steady pace. The fields of wheat and rapeseed accompany us from village to village, from hill to hill. A photo here, a refueling there. The picnic is improvised in the tall grass, on the edge of a lake. The pontoon is worm-eaten and nature is in full action, but no matter (quite the contrary!). Back in the road, a stop is needed to keep a photographic trace of the passage midway. The sandy paths are then carefully rounded (or painfully biked). The end of the stage, on a small country road in the middle of the forest, is like a cherry on the cake of this beautiful third step of leg C. The barbecue is prepared in the tumult of the music of our charming cottage neighbors. At 11 pm, the lights and sounds went out, but some have already been sleeping for some time, dreaming of cards, pedaling, and country picnics …
