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May 5 Friday sunny 30º C Bicycle touring France It is darker inside the forest where we have set up our compact bicycle touring tent -- people out on the sunlit road can't see in. When we go a few steps outside the trees, it is hard to tell where we set up our biking tent. And we know where to look. The ride this morning was through beautiful secluded stands of large evergreens. On this clear, bright, and sunny day the ravages of war seemed very far away -- that is, until a short time later I passed cemeteries filled with rows and rows of simple black crosses. We pulled our fully loaded touring bicycles to a halt at a small store and bought yogurt and chocolate pudding. The store owner was from Holland. "English is one of the languages I speak," he said. He has visited relatives in America before, he informs us. "In Dallas, Texas?" I ask, pointing to his T-shirt. "Ah no," he responds, "I bought this in Holland." An old guy on the edge of town was dumping grass clippings onto his lawn as we cycled past. Strange. At home we pick them up. As we were cycling past a country house, I saw a van selling bread at the house, so I wheeled over and bought bread called a flute. We were cycling on an N (national) road for a short distance by Longuyon. Enough trucks passed me to make me glad we're usually on D (departmental) roads. We cycled a D road to Vivier sur Chiers, a scenic stretch above the river with a forest on one side and meadow down by a little river. I asked a fella in town for water to fill my cycle touring water bottles. He asked some questions and as soon as he found out we spoke English he rushed us over to his neighbor who knows how to speak English (slightly). We arrived just in time to interrupt his and his wife's lunch. Bet they were glad to see cycle tourists from Canada, eh? We cycled out of town for a ways and found a grassy spot by a bridge over the Chier River on the edge of town. We found a shady tree and escaped the direct rays of the 30º C sun. We took our cycling clothes off the back of our bike rack and spread them out to dry, draping cycling shirts and padded cycle shorts over our bike frames. By the time we finished lunch -- in a mere three hours -- our cycling togs were crispy dry. Cycling out of town we passed a logging road and decided to call it an early day. Sharon left me holding our touring bikes and went off to look for a free camp spot. When she returned, she announced she was scratched, hot, and bothered. (I'll have to send her to look for camp spots more often.) But, as it turned out, she was scratched from thorns; hot from the blazing sun; and bothered by the insects that found her sunburned skin an irresistible barbecued flavour. We pushed our overloaded touring bikes to an overlook above the valley. I can see the white line on the blacktop stretching off into the distance. I can see a church steeple looming on the horizon from the next village; an S-curve portion of the placid river; a train track with a little two-car yellow train every few minutes; and I can hear the joyous shouts of people swimming in the river, enjoying the hot day. Sounds much better than riding fully loaded touring bicycles on this hot day. |
