While Team Elephant's alpine wanderings were over for the year, we were still a long way from our London base and we decided to make the best of the journey. France has excellent motorways with a 130 km/h speed limit only spoiled by the toll booths every 20-50 km. These are so inefficiently run that, in some areas, where traffic is heavy and booths are frequent, most of the time saved by the road is lost in the administration. This, needless to say, isn't one of those charming French idiosyncrasies. But motorways are not motorbike ways. There are few things more terminally boring than a long motorway transit on a bike and we tend to avoid the things like the plague.

Our plan, therefore, was to transit from St Didier in Vaucluse to St Marlo in Brittany using the "D" roads as much as possible. All roads in France are lettered and numbered. “D” roads are those that are the responsibility of the Département (county), while "N" roads are a national responsibility. In the absence of a motorway, the “N” roads are the major link between cities and are thick with heavy transport and dopey little hatchbacks. These, also, are best avoided if there is an alternative.

With such a basic plan it was no wonder that we said goodbye to our St Didier host and headed east (back the way we had arrived) rather than west towards the coast. In a series of long loops we tried to see as much of the Central Massif as we could before descending onto the plains to the north of Brive. The Central Massif is a long limestone plateau split through the centre by the Rhône Valley. A lot of it is above 500 m altitude with weather to match. We remember very well a long two days in October 2007 when we transited the length of the Massif on Elephant in the pouring rain and biting cold. This trip we were thankful that the rain held off and the temperature remained above “long-john” level. Our first loop took us over Mout Ventoux which is well known to followers of the Tour de France. We ended the day at an overnight stop only a few kilometres from our start point. Over the next few days we continued to back-track and side slip to avoid the final run to the coast until it was inevitable.

These turned out to be some of the best days on the bike all summer. The Gorges de l'Adèche, the Corniche des Cérvannes, the Gorges du Tarn and the Gorges du Lot were all exceptional and, from our point of view, a well kept bikers' secret. With the autumn weather starting to chill the air, and the summer holidays long over, tourists were few on the ground and the little country inns (auberges) we frequented were half empty and pleased of our custom. And, there are few things more relaxing after a day sweeping along perfect roads through a breathtaking gorge than to sit down to the 12 Euro set-piece meal and a jug of wine at a country hotel.

By Tuesday night, however, we had broken out of the high country and into the centre of France with nothing to look forward to but a long run north to the Loire Valley through the rural and industrial heart of the country. The weather had also given up on us completely and it was cold enough to break out the long-johns and keep the rain suits handy. We put our heads down, switched to the N roads and made best-speed north, rolling into St Marlo in time to buy a ferry ticket for Portsmouth before lunch and find a nice hotel close to the action.

We spent a pleasant week wandering Brittany last year so we had good reason to avoid the local specialities of pancakes and cider, which Jo reckons she has out of her system for ever, and headed for the waterfront across the harbour from 'tourist-central' in the old city. With a well developed nose for these things, we sniffed out a bar full of locals with a few tables and a kitchen in a converted closet and ordered huge pots of steaming mussels (about all that was on the menu) and a bottle of the excellent Muscadet we had developed a taste for on our last visit. It was a perfect simple meal and a wonderful end to our northern summer.

In the morning we strapped Just Sue down in the belly of another ferry and settled down to the sea passage with the same sense of uncertainty that seems to accompany the start and finish of all our journeys. By the time we arrived in Portsmouth nine hours later it was thundering rain and we still had a three hour flog back to London and a warm house. There are still weeks of work ahead of us to prepare and sell Just Sue on to another owner who will take her on other adventures and to get the European end of our lives tucked in and square. But we are already planning the next adventure and thinking about other journeys we need to make.