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Two Heads Hit the Pillow
Sharon didn't want to spend another night at the port (and the park was definitely out), so we rode back towards Cannes looking for the cheap chain motel we had passed on our way into Nice. We never found it. Instead, we followed signs advertising camping up a long, steep hill. At the top, we received a severely personal "Fermé" from the campground's owner. Just our luck. It was closed for the season. Exhausted from the climb, and not wishing to ride any farther, I visited a nearby farmhouse and asked the matronly woman if we could camp in the field beside her house. She said she didn't own it, but go ahead anyway, other people had stayed there before. The sky was clear; it was going to be another cold night. Since leaving our hotel room on the Riviera, we had been going to bed fully-clothed -- and then some. My nighttime wear consisted of two pairs of socks (one of them being thick woolen), shorts, pants, Gore-Tex rain pants, long sleeved thermal shirt, long-sleeved shirt, fleece jacket, Gore-Tex raincoat, wool gloves, fleece headband, and baseball cap. I would have put on more, but that was everything I had. Sharon was comparably attired. (Inevitably, similar to a child finally bundled into their snowsuit, I would suddenly remember I had drunk too many cups of cocoa.) Despite being swathed like novices at a strip poker game, we were never overly warm. I fell asleep counting dicks. |
| "It's an ideal
book for a trip where you have a number of small bits of time
to devote to reading. It's 75 short stories which hang on the
story line like underwear on a clothes line. You can read one
of them, lay it down for a while and come back without losing
your place or the story line. [...] It explores just about every
emotion that a couple can encounter on an extended tour. It does
so with vivid word pictures and rare humor. Neil writes like
I like to read. I highly recommend it." Jim Foreman |
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