Fifteen.

Another day. Less distance to cover this one, though. Only 18.5kms. less than half yesterday's grind. The last leg along the Rhône was quite straight and uninteresting. But now I'm back up onto the ledges which run alongside the Rhône.

Last night their cat, Gary - who turned out to be a girl, was curled up on my sleeping bag. She liked my smell, but not my vocabulary. Yorkshire is my native tongue, not Savoie. She let me ruffle her white fur and then promptly pissed off.

The sunrises over my left shoulder as I head towards Yenne, with the Jura behind ... Jurassic rock, not The Jura. Brightly the birds command me to be calm today. The devil is at least two days behind my tail. And I hear there is one pilgrim ahead who set off from fucking Copenhagen (show off) how can he deal with being alone for months on end. Several days, maybe weeks is the most I can manage, but El Camino is very addictive.

Time to pay attention to the road and the dogs who greet my passage.