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Good Weather We travelled through secluded stands of evergreens. On that bright and sunny day the ravages of war seemed a distant memory. A short time later I passed cemeteries filled with row upon row of black crosses. At a small country store I stopped and bought yogurt and pudding. The owner was from Holland and struck up a conversation. "English is one of the languages I speak," he said. He said he had visited relatives in America. Pointing to his tee shirt I asked, "In Dallas, Texas?" "Ah no," he replied, "I bought this in Holland." An old man on the edge of town was dumping grass clippings onto his lawn. At home we usually picked them up. We were on an National road for a short distance by Longuyon and enough trucks passed me to make me glad we were usually on Departmental roads. We took a D road to Vivier sur Chiers. It was a scenic stretch above the river through forest and meadow. A man was out washing his stoop. I asked him for water and as soon as he realized we spoke English he rushed us over to his neighbour's to speak English. Interrupting his neighbour lunch we found he only slightly knew English, but put up a brave face to keep from disappointing his friend. A grassy spot by a bridge over the Chiers River provided a shady tree to escape the rays of the thirty degree Celsius sun. Draping my clothes over my bike frame, I spread them out to dry. By the time we finished our three hour lunch my clothes were crispy. Just out of town we passed a logging road and decided to call it an early day. Sharon went off to look for a camp spot. When she returned she announced she was hot and bothered. I thought I would have to send her to look for camp spots more often. But it turned out she was scratched from thorns, hot from the blazing sun, and bothered by the insects that had found her sunburned skin an irresistible barbecue flavour. We pushed our bikes up the steep logging road to an overlook above the valley. The white line on the blacktop far below stretched into the distance. From our vantage point I could look out the tent door and see a church steeple looming on the horizon; a gentle S curve on the placid river; a rail track carrying a little yellow two car train every few minutes. And I could hear joyous shouts from teenagers swimming in the river enjoying the hot day. |
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