Day 9. 3112 km. 55 hours riding.
A sinner’s mouth does speak the truth. As I was saying last time, we are going to pay for this, but what I had in mind was the rain that was making its presence known since the first morning camping, when we had to pick everything up hastily and stop after a few hours to look for shelter to dry off our soaking wet luggage. In the evening, when we start looking at the next day’s route, surprise: Be-on-Road, the GPS navigator that guided us till now, is frozen. I restart the app – frozen. I restart the phone – still frozen. I reinstall the app – still frozen. It does not want to work and that’s it, it’s got a mind of its own. I resign myself and install Here, which guides us in the morning, when we take off in the rain but with plenty of momentum; if we can’t see a lot at least we can travel a lot. At least 400 km.
The first curve leaving the city takes me by surprise – it’s tighter than it looked on the map, I am still used to the old GPS and don’t interpret correctly the new one. 70 km an hour… kind of fast. With a wet road and cold tires I don’t think I should lean too much, I’d rather slow down a bit. ASS! Don’t break! Next second my beautiful Bellagio is sliding horizontally, in a rain of sparks, and I follow it about a meter behind. It seems like an eternity until it stops next to a wall, without having hit anything in the way. Cars are stopping, Adi is stopping too. The undutiful – instead of taking pictures he comes over to check on me! A French lady, supposedly anesthesiologist, comes over and asks me if I’m OK, if anything hurts, if I’m dizzy. Truth be told, I don’t know… my body has been pumping a bunch of adrenaline in the past thirty seconds, my head could be missing and I wouldn’t know it. I count hands, feet; everything seems to be where it belongs. There’s a hole in my raincoat, but other than that I’m fine, not even a bruise. My old Revit jacket, with its’ protective layers placed discretely exactly where they need to be, did a good job and saved me from my direct encounter with the asphalt, just like a few years back, during my first days on the bike. I had spent a ton of money on it then and felt a bit sorry, but now I would pay it all over again just so I can keep wearing it.
We pick up the bike, pull over. No leaks, it’s starting, but the brake pedal is bent and I can’t push it anymore. Someone shows up with a lever - how in the world you find someone with a lever just when you need it? We straighten the pedal and everything is fine. We’re starting off.
During the next few hours I re-learn how to ride. The road is soaked; I lean a bit at a time, paying attention to every puddle, every bump, every tremor of the rear wheel. Is it running? It is! Faster? No, slower. We go straight through the woods of France, on narrow paths, with barely enough room for a car.
A sinner’s mouth does speak the truth. As I was saying last time, we are going to pay for this, but what I had in mind was the rain that was making its presence known since the first morning camping, when we had to pick everything up hastily and stop after a few hours to look for shelter to dry off our soaking wet luggage. In the evening, when we start looking at the next day’s route, surprise: Be-on-Road, the GPS navigator that guided us till now, is frozen. I restart the app – frozen. I restart the phone – still frozen. I reinstall the app – still frozen. It does not want to work and that’s it, it’s got a mind of its own. I resign myself and install Here, which guides us in the morning, when we take off in the rain but with plenty of momentum; if we can’t see a lot at least we can travel a lot. At least 400 km.
The first curve leaving the city takes me by surprise – it’s tighter than it looked on the map, I am still used to the old GPS and don’t interpret correctly the new one. 70 km an hour… kind of fast. With a wet road and cold tires I don’t think I should lean too much, I’d rather slow down a bit. ASS! Don’t break! Next second my beautiful Bellagio is sliding horizontally, in a rain of sparks, and I follow it about a meter behind. It seems like an eternity until it stops next to a wall, without having hit anything in the way. Cars are stopping, Adi is stopping too. The undutiful – instead of taking pictures he comes over to check on me! A French lady, supposedly anesthesiologist, comes over and asks me if I’m OK, if anything hurts, if I’m dizzy. Truth be told, I don’t know… my body has been pumping a bunch of adrenaline in the past thirty seconds, my head could be missing and I wouldn’t know it. I count hands, feet; everything seems to be where it belongs. There’s a hole in my raincoat, but other than that I’m fine, not even a bruise. My old Revit jacket, with its’ protective layers placed discretely exactly where they need to be, did a good job and saved me from my direct encounter with the asphalt, just like a few years back, during my first days on the bike. I had spent a ton of money on it then and felt a bit sorry, but now I would pay it all over again just so I can keep wearing it.
We pick up the bike, pull over. No leaks, it’s starting, but the brake pedal is bent and I can’t push it anymore. Someone shows up with a lever - how in the world you find someone with a lever just when you need it? We straighten the pedal and everything is fine. We’re starting off.
During the next few hours I re-learn how to ride. The road is soaked; I lean a bit at a time, paying attention to every puddle, every bump, every tremor of the rear wheel. Is it running? It is! Faster? No, slower. We go straight through the woods of France, on narrow paths, with barely enough room for a car.
It’s been raining all day, only in the evening it’s starting to clear up a bit. It’s Sunday and next to the walls of every Chateau we pass we see the villagers gathered to some kind of fair. Tables laid, troubadours, and everything else. We start feeling better.
More than 500 km later, without any undue bravery, with precaution, well, rather with piety, we reach Bordeaux. We’d been driving on the sides to avoid the heart of the storm.
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