|
9 French Etiquette Brrr! Chilly. Frost. Frozen water bottles. We were at 2400 feet elevation. Sharon hung my shorts on my flagpole, and they were as stiff as a board. My legs were still tired. Slipping on frosty leaves we pushed our bikes to the main road. We were having an endless autumn. Dropping through a misty gorge was magical. We crossed steaming Dordogne River. Cruising through the vapour had a serene mythical quality. France's loveliness charmed me: forests, streams, rivers, old towns, quiet countryside. Brown cows with long curved horns, donkeys, horses, goats, sheep, and chickens in little pastures beside stone houses. Three elderly folks with sticks herded cows. The pace of country life could definitely be considered slow lane. Sitting on a stone bench in Aurillac we breakfasted. Shutters flung wide, bedding comforters aired from second story windows. A cement fountain gurgled in the background. An old man in rubber boots, earth on his withered hands, came out of his garden carrying a basket of lemon yellow flowers. Folks went about their business as if it were not uncommon to have two foreign cyclists boiling water with a gas stove in the middle of their village. "Bonjour," one said. "Bon appétit," said another. The French populace acknowledged us, but didn't intrude. They gave us our space. I liked that. A woman came over and said we could eat inside the community hall. At that moment the sun was shining; I graciously declined her offer. I went over and looked inside. It would be a great place to spend a cold night. A woman busily cleaned flower boxes, throwing blossoms out. The blooms still looked charming, but November was considered winter. She had a huge multicolored load in her wheelbarrow. Two old chaps walked along the road. One pushed a wheelbarrow full of moss; the other rested a garden fork on his shoulder. In Mauriac Sharon discovered she had misaligned her new brakes. The sidewall of her new tire was worn through. That girl never failed to amaze herself. We would have to find a replacement tire. I could see my breath. Supper was frozen pizza heated in our frying pan. When I bought the pizza the clerk said, "You need an oven for this you know." Drinkable wine was two bucks a bottle. |
Book Info