Day Seven - 31/8/12 From Kraków to Toruń

The great amount of cycling I did the day before made for stiff muscles on day 7. I ate two bars of chocolate before two o'clock which says something about the condition I was in and the desire to gain energy from somewhere. The road leading out of Leszno was a mess but instead of taking the diversion, I decided to be stubborn and go through the roadworks as I was afraid of getting lost. They went on for longer than I thought and made for slow progress with strange looks coming at me from the construction workers.
            Once I got past that, I managed to gather some momentum and speed. The route was pleasant enough and all was going well but then I felt that funny sensation in the back wheel and realised I had another puncture. The wheel was not completely flat but was definitely soft. I stopped at a shop and asked the lady working there for a bucket of water to help me find the problem. She was very friendly and duly obliged. Fixing the tube again was surprisingly not so difficult but put the fear into me that this was going to happen again in the future. So many problems with the bike and all this after having it serviced before setting off. I had been worried a little about getting punctures and had thought about replacing the tyres but it was too late now. I was just hoping I could get to Toruń without any more mishaps. 
           My aim for the day was not so clear. It was a case of just trying to see how far I could go. 
More roadworks in a town called Chodaków and more dust and noise. I had to backtrack a little here after taking a wrong turn and then it took me some time to find the bridge to Żuków. I think the mayhem of the roadworks was the cause of missing the correct turn left. 
Once I got across the River Bzura, I took the 577 all the way to the bigger main road called 60. One of the funniest place names I saw on the way was a town called Gąbin. According to the Oxford online dictionary a gombeen man is a person who is:

'involved in the lending of money at unreasonably high rates'

but in Ireland this word is used to describe someone who is basically an idiot.

      My strangest encounter in a rural area full of fields of cabbage and onions was with an old man on a bike who was wearing a hat. When I asked him for directions he looked at me with his mouth slightly open displaying his full selection of teeth which amounted to about five in total but he remained mute. I asked again but nothing changed in his blank expression so not knowing what to do, I thanked him and moved on. I rode fast and eventually made it to Płock but crossing Solidarity Bridge (Most Solidarności) was terrifying. I had to get off the busy road and lift my bike over the metal barrier and onto the footpath. It was far too dangerous for a cyclist to ride among the vehicles big and small that were roaring past.
       Fortunately in Płock I found a hostel without much difficulty. It was a bit expensive but very clean and well-equipped especially the kitchen. I took advantage of this by making a massive meal of pasta with fried onions, tomatoes and beans. It was a meal for two or three people but I devoured it on my own.
      Płock has some nice architecture and its lofted position over the River Vistula is attractive but there was not so much to see and do there. In the square in the Old Town there was a concert stage set up with some bands playing but the drizzly weather was unpleasant. I wandered around a little contemplating what to do but the gangs of males prowling the streets encouraged me to return to the hostel. Despite being a four-bed dorm, I had it all to myself. I fell asleep watching Polish TV, woke up not knowing where I was and then struggled to the bathroom in a haze to clean my teeth before hitting the hay for real.