The second half of the run to Dinan turns out both easy - the towpath of the tidal Rance is obviously completely flat - and extremely pleasant. As it was in the young Lawrence’s day, when he and his friend rode to the town in 1906. He writes from Dinan:
“Rode with Scroggs to Lehon today, after coming here without incident except a puncture on quay which I mended while the ‘permit’ was obtained. The scenery of Rance from the lock to Dinan was magnificent; we rode of course along the towpath which had excellent surface, free from flints.”
This is small boating territory, so the crinkle of my tyres on the light gravel is complemented by the putter of the small motors. And it is very pretty: deciduous trees tower above, providing shade, at knee level the variegated greens of grasses and dock leaves flash by. Ducks tool up and down in their pairs or take flight with a flurry and skate coolly down on the other side of the river.
I find it a little confusing however. All through these journeys I have been trying to locate - and recreate - the photographs taken by the young Lawrence when he blew through the area the following year, 1907. (See more about the young TE Lawrence’s photography.) It has turned out something of a challenge, not to mention slightly comic. In this instance he took a shot of the east bank somewhere between the lock and Dinan, but could I find it? Not a chance. There is a distinctive section of rock in his image, which I find… except that from another angle it doesn’t look quite right. And anyway… farther down there’s another section of rock. Perhaps this is it? Or is it that one? Oh well. At least taking a shot of it doesn’t involve a risk of falling into the river, or being eaten by a tiger (yes, really. Well, nearly, in Gisors). So, inconclusive. But hey, there is a real treat to come in Dinan…
The quota of pleasure boats increases: I realise I am approaching the town. And if the towpath was a gentle delight, it is merely a warm up for the ‘port’ of Dinan, an unnaturally pretty stretch of river lined with traditional buildings: warehouses restored into restaurants and attics converted to ateliers. It centres on an ancient stone bridge, from where the old road leads up the town, hovering above us on a cliff-face (the whole scene is framed by the more modern bridge, a viaduct flying a hundred feet above).
Presumably this is the quay on which he mended his puncture, while permission was obtained to enter Dinan. In his 1907 pean to the town – “With Dinan and the Rance I am entirely in love.” … - he continues with a reference to his arrival, along the steep street leading up from the port:
“The Rue de Jersual, from the old bridge to the "place," is perfect…”
And it really is pretty. It has that unfeasible neatness and sense of care of a tourist town. Some buildings are stone, their brightly painted lintels and window-frames hanging with overflowing baskets and window-boxes, others are half-timber houses in Norman-style. Intriguingly they lean out from the street’s edge, each successive storey reaching further out over the cobbles, so that between the top storeys you could almost hand across a billet-doux. The street culminates at one of Dinan’s city gates.
The Headwater app suggests that I bypass the Rue Jerzual however, and take a less steep route into town. I head to my hotel, check in and drop off my bags. Well, bag, the easily detachable ‘shark-fin’ of my bike-packing gear, which contains the clothes I carry in order to look vaguely presentable at the hotel dinner table. The town is inviting, but that’s for later. Like the young Lawrence and Scroggs, I will head straight for Lehon, where they visited a castle and an abbey.
I descend Lawrence’s road (it’s now called the rue du Petit Fort, though it starts as the rue Jerzual), returning to the afore-mentioned quay. I take a moment to look around before continuing upstream, through a miniature light industrial area beneath the huge bridge and passing the local canoe club, where triangular people are hefting boats into the river. Thereafter it becomes serene. The grand sweeps of the lower stretches of the Dinan have developed into tighter bends and the greenery becomes even more extreme. The path is patched with warm and cool air: I pass through a miasma of wild garlic, humming with insects. Above, strange clumps – mistletoe, I wonder - are suspended in the poplars, like growths in a lung. A crow mobs a bird of prey.
Lawrence himself wrote on -
“…the river is most lovely. Above the town it becomes very quiet and peaceful, like the Thames: lined with Aspens & Lombardy poplars. When you add waterlilies, willows, and an occasional high bank, crowned with a quaint farm-house or château, you have a fair idea of the characteristics of the stream.”
It is still warm as I arrive in Lehon. The abbey appears across the river and the castle above it. I reach them across another lovely stone bridge. The priory is shut so I shall have to come back tomorrow morning, but at least I can visit the castle.
