A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.
Hemp, Marihuana, Mary Jane, Grass, Weed. I suspect it was just the former, hemp, grown for rope-making, either that or I'd stumbled across one of the region's major earners.
It was slightly surreal though, nonetheless, cycling along and suddenly there is a major dope field stretching to the horizon. Click to see a closeup photo.
I got back to Moissac without incident, ah, other than meeting the canoist I'd met in La Réole again. He'd changed from La Garonne to the canal again because navigation on the river was becoming too problematic.
So, I got back to Moissac, set up my tent, and walked in the midday sunshine to enjoy the cool waters of the blue, blue swimming pool. I got just up to my swimming trunks when I was accosted. Apparently there's a regulation in France that forbids wearing swimming trunk shorts in previous pools! It's to stop problems with young hip-hop kids who wear their shorts all day and then swim in them. The fact that, with my grey hair and beard I'm patently neither young, hip-hop or a kid didn't, apparently, alter anything. I couldn't swim in my new swimming trunks.
I mentioned this problem to a fellow French cyclist I met in the campsite who circumvented the problem by just swimming in his underpants. Hygiene be damned. Underpants are, apparently no problem whereas swimming trunk shorts are.