First ride, Bonjour, Nakedness

Dear friends and family,

” Dear, I’m off to the gym to ride the exercise bike for five and a half hours”

Spouse responds ” shouldn’t you work your way up to that volume?”

Me: ” just six months ago I could ride all day, so I’m sure I have muscle memory”

” It probably wasn’t so bad or I’d remember it more vividly ” I replied.

Well, it wasn’t at the gym, but on a trail, but the five and a half hours for a first day proved that MY muscles have no memory over six months.

Well, here’s the invite to you local readers; if I propose another long tour, remind me ( as I seem unable to remember) that long training rides are necessary.

We rode our first long day from Bordeaux entirely in bike lanes, separated from traffic. It seems a very bike friendly city and these bike lanes are well used. Once in the country the ride was on a dedicated hiking/biking path through the mostly dry leaved oak trees. Flat riding, misty 60 degree F weather, made for perfect conditions. 

Still, post ride, once I sat down to eat my reward pizza, it was difficult to get up to walk and those hamstrings locked into a painful knot in bed. Since I’m in my youth I’ll probably recover rapidly though!

Who’s “we”?

Liz is joining me on the first portion of this tour so we can enjoy Europe together. 

As we were  enjoying of the fall ride, we came across a barrier blocking the trail with a warning sign. A couple of runners stopped to tell us in our combination of their poor English and my poor French that the trail was closed because hunters were hunting a wolf. That’s what we thought was said.

Further down the detour a couple of police clarified for us that the wild pigs were devastating local farms and a mission to cull the numbers with hunters was underway next to the trail, so it was blocked. It seemed that runners were still using the trail, but bicyclists prohibited so we got use of our imaginations as to why. Pigs attracted to bicycles?

I’m enjoying using the bit of French that I know, and locals seem happy to help me. We were told that most young people speak English, which we experienced as true, but oldsters much less so.

A fun example was when Liz suggested we try the local swimming pool for a dip into the local culture and water. We Ubered over, paid our entrance fee and approached the turnstile entrance. There was an older man with no English watching for pass violators and he showed us how to use our day passes through the turnstiles. He then mentioned that we were to remove our shoes ( which I self-translated to “clothes”) in the big communal area. With a combination of my French and dual miming he gathered that we were telling each other it seemed very French for both sexes to undress in public together but ” while in France” and he rushed over in a bit of panic to clarify that “No, not clothes, just shoes come off in this big room and we get into a tiny cabinet to change into our suits”

The ” cabinet” is indeed a tiny room for changing. Once changed, we enjoyed the beautiful pool and atmosphere. We even immersed ourselves into the public tram for a ride back to our hotel.

How much French do I know?

Well, I did have formal training: fifty six years ago I took a half year class in French in high school, so, as we all remember from our own high school language classes how fluent that got us.

I took up mountaineering quite seriously in my twenties. Career in accounting too. When I applied for my first job with an international accounting firm they told me that as a tax accountant I would have to work crazy long hours all winter, with little work in the summer. I asked if I could take “comp” time off in the summer in the form of an extra long vacation instead of overtime pay. I was told that comp time wasn’t really legal, but I noticed the eye wink and later did enjoy the extended time off in summer to climb in Chamonix, French Alps. And practice French. 

Ten years later, on my sailing sabbatical, I spent three winters sailing the Caribbean, much of the time in the French speaking island. More practice.

Later yet, it was in French Polynesia to practice again while sailing.

Add in a couple of vacations hiking the French Alps and you have my resume of “restaurant French”.

Writing this, I wonder how I managed to fit in a career?

It’s fun hacking away at this language, interspersed with the Spanish words learned last winter. They usually don’t understand a sentence of three French words, two Spanish words, and a Frenglish ( made up based on what it should be). Maybe I’m not speaking loud enough?

I’m posting this from our ancient hotel room on the third floor facing the surf of the Atlantic Ocean. Good place to recover from a hard ride! And just a good place to enjoy life. Jeez am I lucky!

Sending love,

Charley