4 hrs 34 minutes. Fast and flat.

Sixty percent done now, Hugh's definitely broken the back of this. Another day on flat, good roads and Hugh out and back in a great time.

This is an area of cultivated forest, so the gps informs me. Pine is grown for the pulp to be turned into paper in the local factories. Geometric areas have been cleared of woodland and in places, re-planted, no doubt a planned process. Pine grows quickly and produces soft straight timber, easy to transport and process.

This is ideal running country, good straight roads, quiet, tree lined of course and flat. Hugh therefore put in a quick time, not something he will want to do too much but today he felt he needed too. There have been a lot of distraction in the previous few days and this was a day for him to do what he felt. His legs are also getting tired after 15-20 miles and there may not be too many opportunities for quick times once the roads get busier and more undulating.

An eventful day. Samia got bitten by a spider in the night and had an allergic reaction so was rushed off to the doctor, accompanied by Emma. She was cheery despite her obvious discomfort when she joined us on the road later and at least managed to grab some sleep in the campervan, admittedly not the best place for recuperation but at least there are other people around which I think helps.

The start of the run was unassuming enough but the road eventually led to a military installation which appeared to be nothing but a high fence and an inviting road the other side. There was no one around but a strange phone box was oddly positioned by the fence. We had a couple of laptops and various gismos on the dashboard which probably didn't help our chances of entry and despite several attempts were turned away, by a voice repeatedly informing Jonny to leave the area. A fighter jet roared low past us a few minutes after we left showing what the place was used for so Jonny stopped taking pictures of the 'photgraphie interdit' sign.

Passing through a tiny village later, with the requisite church, small central square and bar we stopped for a coffee. This was lunchtime in rural France and therefore a soporific time for the locals, mainly old boys who sat over empty bottles of the region's red. Jonny spread the word about the 50in50 challenge, handing out flyers. They were driven to expletives reading these, one particularly inebriated chap getting each salient point 5 minutes after everyone else. We left as Hugh trotted past, the discussion just starting to go strong, less to do with Hugh perhaps than a new subject on which they could converse and possibly disagree.

I ran the last few miles with Hugh along a track cut into the woodland, where there were stacks of timber. It had become clear that the roads were straight in order to allow the trucks unfettered access from loading up to unloading in the towns. Each conurbation we passed had a revolting eggy smell but we didn't realise why until we got to our next destination; the town of Bigamos. This has a large pulping plant and presumably the smell is sulphur dioxide (I only got an C in Chemistry so don't bother writing in). This is a town one imagines proliferates in middle America; small, without pavements, with motels and a few bars along otherwise featureless roads.

Later we ate in a restaurant across from our hotel, just behind one of the factories belching out toxic smoke, not expecting much. It was run single handedly by a tired but pleasant lady who produced the most outstanding food. Places like this are always worth visiting. It just shows what you can do irrespective of location or circumstances and the place was packed.

As we get ready to leave our hotel once more it is clear that each place we visit is part of this journey even if we just see a snapshot. Bigamos reminds me of the town in the film The Deerhunter where everyone works in the same plant which dominates the town. Unpleasant perhaps but not bland. It has an identity which is something. So we troop off, with our little rituals - Hugh with the Holy water, applying it to his forehead and all areas where he has had an injury, me with never quite finding what I want in my bag and everyone else; permanent and temporary members of this caravan with their own little ways.

Off to Bordeaux next with its obvious attractions.