July 4, 2003. Epernay to St Dizier
Hello all,
pardon moi while i grasp these french keyboards.
It is nice to be able to communicate entirely in english, even if it via the rare opportunity to check email - i have yet to come across a native english speaker since arrival in france four days ago.highlights of the past few days and other commentary:
departure of confidence
After staying with the Marist Brothers in Paris on Tuesday night, it didn't take long for word to spread of my pending plans. Brother Carlos from Mexico was so excited in fact he planned to join me on the train out to St Denis, the unofficial start of Stage 1. However, after consultation with the map, I realised that the tour meanders through Paris, passing not far from the 14th arrondissment. I decided to just ride across to meet up with the route straight from the Brothers place. Bro Carlos was super pumped, and with little to do began hanging around to 'sew hope'. Me, on the other hand, was beyond nerves. I wasn't even sure if the bike would hold me, the rear pack and the front pack. But with the pressure of an audience I just had to pretend all was ok. With everything secured, and with a massive wobble, I waved bro carlos off and zigzagged down the road, both from the new weight sensation and from forgetting which side of the road I should be on.
The first day was filled with fun-filled adventures that included:
The day concluded with camping at a farmhouse with a famille who spoke no English whatsoever. despite this, I understood completely when the wife went on and on about 'the English' who travel to France yet cannot speak french. At one stage, the husband said to me, 'le mere cest la fiest!' (the old girl is pretty fiesty!) I stood my ground and won her over, and in the morning used the 'language barrier' as a means to avoid paying for staying there.
Burning ring of fire
Day 2 started well, with the rear pack better secured. although the first day's discomfort had meant sitting far too forward, which resulted in some serious arse discomfort. To relieve the pain I was singing 'Burning ring of fire' at the top of my voice as I cruised into Mauperthuis, an intermediare sprint point on Stage 1. I heard a strange low humming noise, and suddenly I was swamped by 10-12 pink and black men - Thomas the tank and friends. It was the entire Team Telekom out on a training ride, followed by their team car (they are a team riding in the Tour de France, including Eric Zabel (sprint king) and Cadel Evans (an Aussie who is injured). The shock of the sight momentarily removed the devastation that they had witnessed me singing about my arse at full volume. As we were on a downhill and nearing 60k/h I was unable to pull the camera out - I needed a spare hand in case I hit a bump and lost the rear load again.
After a long day which included an afternoon of rain, I was pretty keen for an indoor stay. The last 50km had been travelling along the Marne river in the Champagne region, splendid views along the valley with the river surrounded by fields and fields of vineyards, which in turn were filled with hundreds of workers in full wet weather gear trimming the vines. Despite the tourist flavour, there was no accommodation apparent. Each village I passed left me more and more frustrated, and when the rain finally set in fully at Port a Binson I had had enough. I pulled into a pub, asked if anyone spoke English, and then asked for directions for accommodation. One guy in the pub could help me out with communication, and after a beer and a bit of a chat, offered his 'spare house' for the night. The 'spare house' was a magnifique three storey, four bedroom home at least 100 years old, complete with two cellars underneath. Great view of the Marne valley and surrounding vineyards. It was unfurnished, so I stayed in the kitchen with my bike and had water and light, so I couldn't complain - fantastique! We shared some champagne home brew which every local dabbles in with him and his girlfriend, Du Du. It was terrific to hear how things are from a local: 'this region is shit. the people are shit, the weather is shit, it is nothing..' and I in turn taught them important things about Australia 'no, its not 'A'ku'bre', its 'ArrrkuuuBraaaa'!'
I am now in Epernay, home to Moet Chandon and all the big name Champagne labels. Was heading onto St Dizier tonight, but Kirsten isn't coming over to meet me now so I think I might start heading south towards Troyes and Nevers.
Hope all is well
au revoir
Monas
pardon moi while i grasp these french keyboards.
It is nice to be able to communicate entirely in english, even if it via the rare opportunity to check email - i have yet to come across a native english speaker since arrival in france four days ago.highlights of the past few days and other commentary:
departure of confidence
After staying with the Marist Brothers in Paris on Tuesday night, it didn't take long for word to spread of my pending plans. Brother Carlos from Mexico was so excited in fact he planned to join me on the train out to St Denis, the unofficial start of Stage 1. However, after consultation with the map, I realised that the tour meanders through Paris, passing not far from the 14th arrondissment. I decided to just ride across to meet up with the route straight from the Brothers place. Bro Carlos was super pumped, and with little to do began hanging around to 'sew hope'. Me, on the other hand, was beyond nerves. I wasn't even sure if the bike would hold me, the rear pack and the front pack. But with the pressure of an audience I just had to pretend all was ok. With everything secured, and with a massive wobble, I waved bro carlos off and zigzagged down the road, both from the new weight sensation and from forgetting which side of the road I should be on.
 |
| Day 1 - Leaving Paris |
The first day was filled with fun-filled adventures that included:
- Losing the rear load at the first cobblestoned roundabout (I blame Harry for panicking) and in doing so putting a slight bend in the rear wheel,
- Falling off after losing the rear load a second time,
- Getting lost numerous times beyond belief,
- Having the front pack dip onto the front wheel - twice,
- Rain
The day concluded with camping at a farmhouse with a famille who spoke no English whatsoever. despite this, I understood completely when the wife went on and on about 'the English' who travel to France yet cannot speak french. At one stage, the husband said to me, 'le mere cest la fiest!' (the old girl is pretty fiesty!) I stood my ground and won her over, and in the morning used the 'language barrier' as a means to avoid paying for staying there.
Burning ring of fire
Day 2 started well, with the rear pack better secured. although the first day's discomfort had meant sitting far too forward, which resulted in some serious arse discomfort. To relieve the pain I was singing 'Burning ring of fire' at the top of my voice as I cruised into Mauperthuis, an intermediare sprint point on Stage 1. I heard a strange low humming noise, and suddenly I was swamped by 10-12 pink and black men - Thomas the tank and friends. It was the entire Team Telekom out on a training ride, followed by their team car (they are a team riding in the Tour de France, including Eric Zabel (sprint king) and Cadel Evans (an Aussie who is injured). The shock of the sight momentarily removed the devastation that they had witnessed me singing about my arse at full volume. As we were on a downhill and nearing 60k/h I was unable to pull the camera out - I needed a spare hand in case I hit a bump and lost the rear load again.
After a long day which included an afternoon of rain, I was pretty keen for an indoor stay. The last 50km had been travelling along the Marne river in the Champagne region, splendid views along the valley with the river surrounded by fields and fields of vineyards, which in turn were filled with hundreds of workers in full wet weather gear trimming the vines. Despite the tourist flavour, there was no accommodation apparent. Each village I passed left me more and more frustrated, and when the rain finally set in fully at Port a Binson I had had enough. I pulled into a pub, asked if anyone spoke English, and then asked for directions for accommodation. One guy in the pub could help me out with communication, and after a beer and a bit of a chat, offered his 'spare house' for the night. The 'spare house' was a magnifique three storey, four bedroom home at least 100 years old, complete with two cellars underneath. Great view of the Marne valley and surrounding vineyards. It was unfurnished, so I stayed in the kitchen with my bike and had water and light, so I couldn't complain - fantastique! We shared some champagne home brew which every local dabbles in with him and his girlfriend, Du Du. It was terrific to hear how things are from a local: 'this region is shit. the people are shit, the weather is shit, it is nothing..' and I in turn taught them important things about Australia 'no, its not 'A'ku'bre', its 'ArrrkuuuBraaaa'!'
I am now in Epernay, home to Moet Chandon and all the big name Champagne labels. Was heading onto St Dizier tonight, but Kirsten isn't coming over to meet me now so I think I might start heading south towards Troyes and Nevers.
Hope all is well
au revoir
Monas
