The night was quiet, with no miracles or scares. The menhir didn't move, Christ didn't resurrect, and I slept like a log, curled up in my blanket, dreaming of slow cats. At dawn, everything was still in its place. Even breakfast.

The idea was to do the trail that passes right where we had slept. It's called "Tour du Causse de Sauveterre," and when you hear "tour," you think of a nice little loop. But it turns out it's 161 kilometres. One hundred. Sixty. And one. As if we were marathon goats. So, no, we left it for another day. Another month. Or for someone with more legs.

Besides, just when we were about to decide if we'd do at least a bit of it... it started raining. Again. So, nothing, everyone into the car. Which in our nomadic life means: plan B in action.

We set off towards the northeast. The scenery was beautiful, that's for sure. Forests, gentle hills, stone houses, cows that looked at us as if they knew something we didn't. But the roads... oh, the roads. Departmental ones of those that seem to have been designed by a drunkard with a saw. Endless curves, potholes as deep as existential puddles, and stretches so narrow that if someone came from the front, we had to hold our breath. Well, not me, because I'm lying down.

When we finally reached a more decent national road, we diverted to Lac de Naussac, which sounded good to us. And it is. It's a huge artificial lake in the Lozère region, created to regulate the Allier river. It has the feel of a reservoir with a beach vocation. There are paths along the shores, picnic areas, and even sandy beaches when the water level drops. A perfect place to walk, swim... or fly, depending on the wind.

And what a wind. When we arrived, it was blowing hard. A treacherous cold that came from the north straight to my ears. Even so, we went for a walk. Short, yes, much shorter than we would have liked. I was grateful: it gave me time to sniff a couple of bushes, mark my territory and get back to the car before freezing my tail off. There were people kitesurfing, with their wetsuits so thick they looked like ninja seals. I watched them with respect from dry land, well away from the water.

We passed through Aubenas, which was on our way, and took the opportunity to refuel at E.Leclerc, which is usually the cheapest place to get diesel in France. And while we were at it, Papi Edu went into Bricomarché to buy some screws. There's no day without DIY. There's always something to adjust, reinforce, repair or, as he says, "improve the camper." I think he does it for sport.

We found a very cool corner of nature to stop and eat, rest and play "what sounds if I press here." While he was screwing and cursing in several languages, I explored the surroundings, sniffing each stone as if it hid a treasure. The sky gradually opened up, and by the time we were taking our siesta, the sun was so nice that we would have loved to stay there to sleep. But of course... Park4night said that you can't spend the night. And on top of that, some comments mentioned that the gendarmerie comes to kick you out. And we don't like nocturnal adrenaline.

So around half past six we packed everything up and started looking for another place further north. The spot we had seen on Park4night was already occupied, but a little further up we found another one even better. Quiet, with views, no traffic, and it seems more discreet. There is no sign prohibiting sleeping and no one has said anything on Park4night, so we applied the travel logic: if it's not forbidden... it's because we don't know it.

And that's how the day ends. We didn't do great things, but we covered a good stretch, dodged the rain, improved the camper and found our refuge. Which is not bad.

We'll see tomorrow. For now, I'm getting into my bed, with my nose warm and my belly full. And if the wind blows, let it blow. Not an ear moves in here.