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November 2 Wednesday Bicycle touring France from Nemours France to 10 kilometres past Montagis France bicycle camped next to a barn Phooey pluie. Rain again. Just a little splatter -- enough to keep my glasses perpetually splotchy. We got up at 8:30 AM. Ange was already on the staircase cutting up old bread that the baker gives him to feed the ducks on the canal. He had climbed over the stair railing to get here, since we have the key to the door leading downstairs. They lock everything here. I can't decide whether they're paranoid or just careful. Ange has three full rings of keys -- the old skeleton type. I don't know how they keep track of them all. There is one for the outside door leading in from the street, of course. There are no front yards here. The entry door is right off the sidewalk. Then there is an inside door that is locked in the entryway. Another door to downstairs from this entry way is also locked. We climb fifty stairs to their door and another key unlocks their suite. There is a huge nine-foot high rock and cement fence surrounding the side of their property facing the side street along the canal. The property behind theirs has the same type of high fence with the added attraction of a metre-wide moat. A sliding metal gate which opens to about ten feet wide has a key. This lets one into the back yard. There is room to park a car here, although they don't have one. It is for when their kids visit, Ange tells us. There is an open building with miscellaneous material at the very back of the property. The property is about 100 feet in length from the back of the house to the back of their property. Also in this area is a cement cubicle building, that is locked; it holds Jean Luc's bicycle, a lawn mower, rototiller, and pesticides. It looks like it is built to stand forever. Toward the house there is grass. This area is about 30 feet wide by 60 feet long. There are plants and flowers along the neighboring rock wall which is about six feet high. A clothes line is strung across the width. Their neighbour's house is attached to theirs. Where the lawn ends toward the house is a rock floor area about fifteen feet by the thirty feet width of the yard. There is a barbecue area next to the neighbor's fence. There is a wrought iron gate to pass through from the grass to this area and a rock wall extends the width. Next to the side street is a huge two-door wooden gate that looks like it could stand an onslaught of battering marauders. It has two locks plus two crossbars across the entire entry way. Of course there is another locked back door to enter the basement of the house. Once inside this door there is a lock with a magnetic key on the bedroom door where we slept. Maximum security or what? Our bikes have never been so secure. The entire building is made of stone and mortar. Bricks are in the floors of the three levels. The staircase is wood. Their suite walls are covered with a pattern material that looks like a heavy duty woolen wallpaper. There is a bidet in the washroom. Also a teeny washing machine. No dryer. They place their clothes on an inside drying tree. The stove is gas. The windows open toward the canal. There are no screens. Decorative curtains are tied back. There are wooden shutters. The traffic below is surprisingly quiet -- not like in the high-rise at our friend, Michelle's, in Mississauga where it was so noisy 18 floors up. The table was already set for our petit-dejeneur. I guess they had already eaten? The utensils are placed upside down -- the tines of the fork face down, the bowl of the spoons face down. There is a large spoon and a small spoon. A small glass for juice. A large blue ceramic bowl is at each place. I thought it was for cereal or porridge, but it turns out to be for a hot drink -- either hot chocolate, which I had, or a combination coffee-chocolate, which Sharon tried. A baguette is cut off a couple of inches at a time, upon which butter and strawberry jam are placed. Baguettes are chewy; my teeth and jaws got a workout. After breakfast, at 10:30 AM, Ange took us across the street to the bicycle repair shop. Sharon held forth her wobbly bicycle touring wheel while Ange explained to a bike mechanic that we were bicycle touring and that we "could not wait one minute more." They looked thoughtfully at the bike rim, took it from Sharon, and told us to come back in an hour. Ange toured us to a tourist info centre where they loaded us up with accommodation info. They told us that most campgrounds closed in September. They were very helpful. It makes it much easier when one has a private interpreter. An outdoor market is held Wednesdays and Saturdays. We took a walk there. It is a visual feast with everything imaginable for sale from fleece jackets to all types of fresh fruit, vegetables, about a hundred different types of cheeses filled a display case twenty feet long (which Ange informed us all of the cheese on display are made in France), many types of fish are on display on a bed of ice grouped by type from sole to sardines and many kinds of fish I have never seen before. There are also clams, mussels, and oysters. A butcher shop has the usual types of meat, as well as pheasant -- both with and without feathers -- and both types come complete with heads! A rabbit, complete in every detail, including fur, is stretched above the pheasants with a price on its side. Yuck! No wonder the French eat very little meat. (Even the street butcher shops display their wares in the window -- which looks disgusting to me. Vegetarianism is beginning to look pretty good.) Past pastries and baguettes are lines of clothing -- some apparel is just heaped in piles on a square area of ground. Other clothes -- more expensive -- are hung on hangers. Baubles and decorative personal items fill the area, too. Frilly underwear in piles. Very interesting. Shoes and shoes and shoes. And, last of all, full-size mattresses lean against one another. Something for everyone. At 11:30 we returned to the bicycle shop. It also sells and services motorcycles too. All stores in France close at 12 until 2 for midi -- the biggest meal of a Frenchman's day. Restaurants stay open until 3 PM, but you can't order anything after 2:30. Amazingly, Sharon's front and rear touring bicycle wheels were ready. They had replaced four of the sealed bearing cartridges in both the front and rear rims. They didn't have front ones in stock, so the mechanic had driven to another town where there is a factory -- and had two new ones made. Total cost was 200 francs for parts and 160 francs for labour. With tax it came to a grand total of 400 francs ($125). Not bad for 15 years on one set of bearings. If these last half as long, I won't complain. Upon return to Ange's Sharon took her touring bike for a test ride. She says it fixed the wobble. It's a relief that her axle wasn't broken. She can go downhill again without her bike wheels shimmying. Midi, or lunch, at Ange's started with a selection of alcohol for aperitifs. Ah, great for the appetite. Port was the strongest at 45% alcohol. Then we sampled an anise-based drink, both with and without alcohol. Sharon chose a white wine with 15.5% alcohol content which Ange served with an ice cube. Very smooth she reported. Cheers! We started with a ham and olive pizza. They felt it necessary to explain to us that it was Italian. Next, a whole chicken breast was served to each person, which was delicious cut into bite-sized chunks. A vegetable dish with a combination of cooked zucchini, squash, tomatoes, and rice were all served at the same time. We had a glass of rosé with our chicken and veggies. Salad came next. Then, a baguette, with camembert cheese and red wine, of course. And then, fruit -- pears and apples, along with glasses of water. They peeled their fruit, explaining it was because the fruit had been touched by too many hands. Sharon and I -- barbarians that we are -- ate ours with the peel on. At last, yogurt, to aid in digestion, they tell us. Bon appetit! No wonder so many consider France a bicycle touring heaven! Sharon spoke to their daughter, Christen, on the phone. She has three children, ages 5, 9, and 13 years old -- which she home schools. After our bountiful meal, we asked Ange and Jacqueline if they would accompany us outside by the canal so we could take a farewell picture with them. Our bikes rested on the side of their house, leaves floated gracefully on the canal. A few ducks paddled about. Ange quacked in perfect imitation and they immediately headed for him, but I didn't wait for any ducks to get into the picture. We thanked our gracious hosts (what a welcome to bicycle touring in France!), crossed the street on our fully loaded touring bicycles, waved good-bye once more, and headed down Rue la Gare to D40. It was 3 PM. Rain began shortly afterward. We donned our bicycle rain jackets, which had a calming effect on the rain gods. We passed fields with mountains of turnips Farmers, on tractors, tilled the earth. The brown soil smells heavily. Leaves are burning. In a village we cycle through, an old woman with a gnarled face, pushes a wheelbarrow through the tiny streets. Ivy, turning red, climbs stone sides of buildings. Lots of churches. At a T intersection, a crucifix is on the side. Drivers continue to welcome us and our touring bicycles to France. They wave, clap, honk, blink their lights, and verbally offer encouragement. Some gape open-mouthed. In towns, we hear people say "Canada," as we pass. We lose our route in Montagis and ask a woman who is waling across the street. She speaks English. After going through the complex directions twice, we head off on our touring bicycles. At a corner, much farther along, we are surprised to see the same woman in a car stopped on the side of the road. "I just noticed your Canadian flag," she says, pointing to the red and white Canadian flag atop my bicycle touring pole. "Are you Canadians?" "Oui." "I'm Canadian, too," she smiles. "From Chicoutamie, Quebec. Follow me," she says. We pedal our little touring bikes, following after her car until she leads us to Route 93. Ursula gives us her phone number. "If you need a place to stay, give me a call," she says. Wow. I could really get to like bicycle touring in France! We cycle another ten kilometres. In failing light, we stop at a farmhouse. I knock on the door and ask a woman if we can camp in her yard. She doesn't know any English, but explains to us in French that her husband goes to school in Paris and he will be home at 6 PM. She will ask him if it's all right for us to camp by the barn on a section that's fenced in and sports a growth of six-inch high grass. When her husband arrives home, he says no problem en francais, and here we are, inside our tent, listening to the occasional falling rain drop -- our first free camping spot in France. We didn't stop at any stores, so the only thing we have to eat is a Nutrageous chocolate bar that I had bought in the States and a block of chocolate with nuts from Jacqueline. We did see a couple of open food stores though, so that's good news. For a while there I thought I was going to be eating nothing but baguettes. For our total bicycle tour distance for this trip, we hit the 5000-mile mark today. |
