It’s 9:06 in the morning as my train races for Paris at a pace much faster than I travelled two hours ago. I am already exhausted.
There were a few unforeseen developments this morning. First, when I booked this trip to Belgium it seemed brilliant to work backwards so as to make connections that would deliver me to Arlon at a reasonable hour tonight. So, checking trains, I decided I better leave Bayeux on the 8:39 a.m. train.
One tiny miscalculation. . .
To reach Bayeux by bicyclette at 8:00 would require I leave Ver-sur-Mer at 6:00 and the sun does not come up until 7:45. Brilliant, Rob. Ninety minutes in the dark, in a navy blue Pea Coat, no reflectors,packing this armoire on my back. Je suis un grand doofus.
Second small miscalculation.
Apparently all the street lights which make Paris the City of Lights were stolen from Normandy. Your French countryside, particularly the rue from Ver-sur-Mer to Ryes to Somervieu to Bayeux has no lights. As in NO lights. As in coal mine with no lights
And the cute, but not exactly illuminating , Lady Bug head light and flashing red tail beacon with which Francois outfitted me might have worked on a Schwinn Sting Ray back in the day, but weren’t exactly up to the 20 km stealth ride I was on in backcountry Normandy.
No problem Rob. Quiet road, little traffic. Let your eyes acclimate and stick to the center of the road until a car comes. Don’t stare into oncoming headlights. Listen for traffic to your rear.You got this wired.
Oh, one other thing.
Did I mention it was raining chats et chiens. Pardon my French, but it was a friggin ( that’s French) downpour. Cumfy and as dashing as your Navy peacoat is, water repellent it ain’t.
Okay, I’m tough. What else you got, god. This is it? You call this a test? Hell, I’ve done double centuries that made water boarding seem like the times I taught YMCA campers ( they always gave me your entry level “polliwogs”) how to stick their face in the Russian River. You gotta do better than this big guy!
That must have really pissed him off.
A mile east of Ryes, fortunately a few meters from the only light in rural Normandy, I heard it. . . that pisser of a sound . . . ppppfffffffttttt. A flat!! I may have wakened a few farmers when I screamed “SHITTTTTTTTT.
Well, Rob, you’ve still got an hour. You can make it. You’ve changed your share of tubes. Dump the suitcase, flip the bike over, strip out the old tube, slip in the new, watch for folds, now pump that little excuse of a hand pump Francois put in your pocket until the little sucker is white hot.
Now as any cyclist will tell you, the best PSI you can hope for with a hand pump is about 60 PSI, when a bike like this cruises at 110. So normally, you ride low and slow, praying the damn thing won’t pop again until you can find a gas station and an air compressor.
Funny thing about the back roads of your Normandy countryside. Yeah, yeah, beautiful and green, but not a gas station anywhere. God what I would have given for a Chevron mini mart.
Now things are getting dicey.
I’m cruising along like Dumbo on an under inflated rear tire with a portmanteau on my back and time is running out. It’s 8:20 and Francois is waiting at the shop where I was to meet him.I’m lost in downtown Mayeux where traffic is looney, and the train leaves at 8:39. I corner some poor woman who must have been terrified of the guy soaking wet with a bike tube looped around his neck (in a classic Parisian knot, I might add) and she points me to the train station.
I stagger into the train station with no number to reach Franciois, no wi fi, and too cheap to unleash AT&T’s data roaming monster. The clock says 8:35 . I sit down convinced I’m screwed when around the corner walks Francois with a huge shit eating grin saying in broken English “I know sum-ting go bad. ”
So I boarded the train with one minute to spare, the spare tube draped around my neck, and am off to Belgium
"Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost" 