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32 Winos During the night it poured. Mud was everywhere. I looked out and boldly predicted sun was on the way. A shy sunbeam peeked from the cloud cover. We cut through a path along the vineyard, rather than take the muddy track we came in on. A bird with a machine gun voice scolded us for encroaching on its territory. A magpie with glistening white wing tips looked as if it had had an affair with a paint can. Just up the road were a couple of dandy camping spots along the river We crossed a hydroelectric plant. Those areas were strikingly manicured--to appease the environmentalists no doubt. The Rhone River was high and muddy from all the rain. Even the surrounding land was soggy. We were cycling on a gravel road and a large puddle laid across the entire road. Thinking I would be smart, I detoured around it on the grass, and immediately found myself in six inches of water. I prayed I wouldn't come to a mucky stop--the water was well over my shoes. We spent our last francs on groceries and were down to a few centimes. The beggars outside the store wanted it. Near Mon Viviers we crossed a small clear tributary and set up on the opposite bank away from the masses of townsfolk. I bought beans with a picture of wieners on the label. Sure enough, there were odd tasting wieners inside. Strawberries from Spain. Pasta and tuna. Camembert cheese and bread. A bottle of red Cote du Rhone complemented the meal. That was, if one didn't mind sucking wine through a hole in the cork. |
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