Cycling In Italy – Finale

Ciao,

It had to come to an end. From making lists of what to pack, to riding in Switzerland, to getting the new bike, to climbing Mount Grappa, to meeting Mr. Pinarello, my cycling adventure is over. It’s both sad and happy and I know I’m still in the transition stage. I’m clinging to the memory of a great vacation while diving head first back into my job and the responsibilities of being a husband and father.

Since this is a blog and not a novel, I had to leave out most of the images and impressions from my trip. To include them all would have been overwhelming for both you and me. As I reflect back, cycling in Europe was not about the number of miles or the mountains we climbed. It was about the small things. What I’ll remember is the great espresso in the cafés, the rides through ancient towns and villages, the wonderful conversations at lunch and dinner, and getting to know friends even better. It was about cycling in someone else’s country and getting a glance at their culture.

For those of you how have inquired, the new bike made it to California unharmed thanks to Gaylen’s hard case. She is now reassembled and ready for a little fine tuning. Her inaugural ride in California will probably be on Thursday. Like me, she needs a little rest until then.

Many thanks to all who made this cycling adventure possible. Without the help of family and friends, I would still be looking at maps and dreaming of cycling in Switzerland and Italy. Instead, I’ll have memories that will last a lifetime. Thank you.

Cycling In Italy - The Surprise Trip

If you have read these blogs, you know I purchased a new Pinarello bike in Italy. Some have called her my Italian mistress. Only kidding, Rosey.

Even before this adventure began, I was thinking it would be fun to visit the Pinarello bike factory and store. After making an inquiry and even trying some whining earlier in the week, I was told it was too far to go by taxi. Even yesterday, I made a last minute plea to go, but no deal says the “camp” director, it would cost too much.

After our ride and during lunch, Mike offers to drive his rental car to Treviso where the Pinarello store is located. The only hitch is that I would have to navigate. It’s a deal. After lunch and getting our bikes packed, we head out. Dan loans us his GPS which probably saved us hours of driving around in circles. We make it to Treviso and drive right to the front door of the Pinarello store. We park illegally and I almost run in. I'm acting so much like an American tourist it even scares me. 

In the store we not only meet Mr. Pinarello, the founder of the company, but also Carla, his daughter. Both are charming and I discovered, good sales people. After calling VISA to have my credit limit raised, I walk out with a new Pinarello kit and a few other things, including pictures and an autograph from the man himself. Carla even throws in Pinarello hats for Mike and me. I catch Mike eying a new bike.

Mike not only made my day, but gave me a memory that will last a life time.

Cycling In Italy - Stage Six

Blog Note: Sorry this was not posted last night. The Internet connection at the hotel had crawled to a stand still. I’ll try to post it on Sunday during one of my layovers.

Stage six (Saturday) of our cycling adventure in Italy was, in California terms, pretty gnarly. Because of the number of people in the bike “camp”, three ride groups were once again formed. At about 8:24, my group left the hotel and headed east into the rising sun. The first town we came to was Forte. Like many towns in this part of Italy, it has an old section and a new. We went through a piece of the old and were able to glance at its baroque period church. Perched high on a hill with a long set of wide stone stairs leading to its front, the walls of the yellow stone church seemed to glow in the early morning light. 

What was different about this ride from the very beginning was that we had to share the road with lots of other cyclists. Italy’s food culture is based on olive oil and pasta and it’s national pastime has to be cycling. We couldn’t go a kilometer without seeing at least one cyclist, if not an entire term. At one point, we passed the national Pinarello term all kitted-up in their blue, orange and white kits. No time to count as we rode by, but we all guessed there must have been about 40 of them. I learned later that the team competes in the Italian national GranFondo. 

 

The first part of the ride was fairly flat. After maybe 35 km we stop for espresso and pastries. After all, we’ll need nourishment for the climb ahead. It may not be universal, but I sense there is a common bond among cyclists; riding and coffee shops go together.

After the stop, we start the climb of a medium sized mountain.  By comparison to the rest of the week, this one was pretty easy. After five days of riding, I was fortunate enough to still have some climbing legs. Up and over the top we go. On the desent, we decided to take a new route for everyone, including our guide: road 19. It was basically a farm road about as wide as a Volkswagen beetle. We had some speed going down and I was close to the back of the group. Suddenly, I heard the familiar cry, or in this case, scream of “car up”. I immediately look up. Hell, it was no car, but a massive corn harvester complete with trailing truck. It’s giant V shaped blades heading right for us. I’ve never seen bikers jump off their bikes and onto the side of the road so fast in my life. We literally had to move into the trees to let the two vehicles pass.

Back down in the valley, we head for Asolo. We rode toward the medieval center of town on a one-way street which enters on one side of town and then exists on the other. It’s so narrow, that there are traffic lights on either side to control cars (and bikes). You have to wait until all the cars are through town before the light turns so you can proceed. Over more cobblestone and brick paved roads.

As we get ready to leave Asolo and head back to the hotel, we are given two choices; the flatter road with more cars or the steeper road with fewer cars. We choose the steeper road. What we didn’t know is that the road of choice ran between huge ivy covered walls and climbed a grade I’m estimating to be 12-14%.  It’s amazingly beautiful, but there is no dancing on the peddles, rather just grunting it out and hoping you don’t fall over. 

As we got closer to Borso de Grappa and our hotel, reality began to set in. This would be my last ride in Italy. Did I really have to pack up my bike for the trip back to California? Yes, but surprisingly for me, one of the highlights of the entire trip awaited later in the afternoon. Stay tuned.

Cycling in Italy - Stage Five, Recovery

By popular demand, two recovery rides were offered today along with a climbing ride. Two people from our Atascadero group chose the climbing ride; an engineer and an attorney. Guess who? The mortals among us chose one of two recovery rides. The ride for my group was planned for about 60 miles. Instead, we convinced our leader that a cafe and pastry ride would be more in line with our physical state. We won.

Nothing unusual about the ride for this part of Italy. We rode through a medieval walled city, along the river, on country roads the same size as the Bob Jones Trail, and again experienced the joy of cobblestones. Our first stop was for espresso and pastries. More country roads, ancient churches and lush green pastures. Back to Bassano, over the 15th century covered bridge and a stop for gelato. A little people watching, and back to the hotel for lunch. A total of about 40 miles. It felt great. Did I mention they serve vino rosso, prosecco, and bier with lunch? Somehow, I just don't think lunch back on campus next week will be the same.

Later this afternoon it's off to a couple of bike shops and then shopping in Bassano so we can help keep the Euro strong.

Here's a few more pictures. Sorry they are not in chronological order. The mountain shot is Mount Grappa in the winter.
Ciao

By popular demand - a few more pictures

Cycling In Italy – Stage Four: The Queen Stage

I woke up before the alarm went off with a sense of fear and dread. The elephant in our group's psyche for the last few days had also awakened. It’s Mount Grappa and we climb it today. The mountain itself is over 1,775 meters (5,823 ft) high. Besides being legendary in the annals of cycling, Mount Grappa is also the site of an historic battle in World War I between the Italians and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. If the Italians lost the battle, Italy would become part of the Empire. Over 30,000 Italians died during the battle and are buried on Mount Grappa. We would be riding to holy ground for the Italian nation.

The breakfast discussion focused on which of the three routes up the mountain everyone was going to take. Each route had advantages and disadvantages. I’m also wondering if I should bring a jacket and how many bananas and pastries I should eat. It could be a long day without food. As we all meet outside the hotel, routes were still being discussed, but the time to choose had arrived. I was one of three TTT’s who selected the “new road” route which is straight up and straight down. The other options were the “old road”, straight up, shorter, but steeper and the “back side” route which was longer and supposedly less steep. The TTT “new road” group joined six guys from Auburn, CA and we started the ride.

It took us about 2.5 km to reach the base of the mountain.  We suddenly made a right hand turn and I knew immediately the climbing had begun.  We had been told earlier that there were approximately 27 km of climbing at about an 8% grade and it would take about 2 hours. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep that data in my head.

 

As is typical on Italian roads, the major turns (switchbacks or hairpins) are numbered. By the time I reached number three, I was already sweating pretty hard. I sort of remembered someone saying that there were 21 of these switchbacks. Could that be right? At number 8, my shoes were so soaked they began to squeak, water was dripping from my glasses, and my jersey was glued to my back.

I tried to stay in the saddle, but I realized that standing at least once every kilometer relieved some of the cramping that was developing in my quads. Slowly, we ascended the mountain. Trees of the valley gave way to pines, then to small scrub, and then to barren rock pastures. About 10 km from the summit, I began to hear bells. Is this it, had my time come? I had expected the bells of the afterlife to be in tune; perhaps a perfect C.  No, these were bells from several small herds of cows. Each herd’s bells had a different tone. As a cow bent over to munch on grass, its bell would ring. These poor creatures must be deaf from all the clanging.

At 7 km from the summit, I couldn't care less about the damn cows. I was feeling pretty bad. Just then, I made another turn and there, off in the distance and seemly straight-up, was the summit and the memorial to the Italian war dead. I had two choice:; bonk or continue. Digging deep, I pushed on and made it. It was the longest and hardest climb of my cycling career; 5,300 ft in about 2.25 hours.

Our group began to assemble at the summit. After an espresso and the best chocolate pastry I ever tasted, we started the descent. Steve, Jim and I came down together. It took about 30 minutes and thankfully it was not as technical as yesterday. I was lucky in that for about a third of the descent, I followed a small truck which honked at each major turn whereby clearing the way. The cool temperatures on the summit of Mount Grappa gave way to the heat of the valley. Vests and arm warmers were pealed off.

For me, climbing Mount Grappa was a great sense of personal accomplishment. It will never be forgotten. I am now a cyclist with the right, but not the obligation; the right to shave my legs.  

Cycling in Italy – Stage Three

As the week progresses, the weather improves with each passing day. The rains on Monday washed the air to a pristine crispness. This morning everything seemed to be in sharp focus. It felt warmer and vests and arm warmers, if worn at all, were quickly removed.  

Our group of cyclists ventured in the opposite direction than yesterday. Like most days, the ride started on relatively level ground as we followed the river that runs through the valley. After a couple of hours, we started to climb to the town of Fazo. It was at the base of the climb that I touched wheels with another rider and basically laid down my bike. My new bike. I was close to a small stone wall and used it to brace the fall. It all happened very fast, but I was able to unclip and throw my body under my bike. She came out unharmed. I think an extra chain rub down is in order.

The climb to Fazo was divided into two stages. The first stage was long, but not a sharp incline. The distance between the switchbacks was manageable and the curves themselves pretty wide allowing oncoming cars and trucks to pass.

I’ve run out of adjectives to describe the vistas in this part of Italy. For today’s climb I’ll use majestic, stunning and glorious. Northern Italy does not have a Mediterranean climate like the southern part of the country, so the landscape is very green. 

We stop for coffee about half way up. After coffee, the real climbing begins. We begin to pass through a pine forest, but the trees become fewer and fewer as we near the summit. In the distance, we can see the rugged Dolomite Mountains; their bare sharp granite peaks sticking up like fingers pointing toward heaven.

It was near the summit top that the second crash occurred. We were going through a construction zone and the road was down to one lane. The lane open was closest to the cliff. A car came by and brushed one of our riders. She went down hard, but luckily was able to continue and finish the ride. Her right hand, however, will need some TLC and lots of ice tonight.

We could not climb forever and so the descent had to begin. To put it in perspective, the descent on Monday was nothing compared with today’s. It was over 17 km long with 18 sharp hairpin turns. These don’t include the usual turns and curves in the road. It involved going through tunnels and riding inches from sheer rock cliffs. The hairpin turns are numbered so we could count how many there were down to the valley. At number five, my hands were cramping. After the road began to level out, I realized I was shaking. Strange I thought, it should be warmer down here. Then I realized it was from the adrenalin that I was pumping through my body. We stopped near the river to regroup and then headed back to Bassano de Grappa and then to the hotel for a warm shower, lunch and a liter of beer.

Cycling In Italy - Stage Two

Today’s blog will be shorter than usual. After many days of riding in Switzerland and now Italy, it’s time for an early night. I’m going to try and post some pictures of the last couple of days. I hope you enjoy them.

Today’s ride took us to the heart of Prosecco wine country. As we rode from town to town, I kept thinking, does it get any prettier than this? At one point, I said yes. We had stopped to help out a local Italian couple who had a flat tire. On the other side of the road from where they were standing was a magnificent vista of terraced vineyards. The land sloped into a gentle valley still lush and green. The grapes yet to be harvested. As we rode lower into the valley, the harvest had begun and we could smell the crush. We continued to descend to the valley floor from which we had climbed earlier in the day. The closer we got, the warmer it became. Not hot, but a warm autumn heat that made it perfect for riding. I tried to count the number of towns we passed through, but it became impossible. Each one was unique and reflected the ancient culture, architecture, and the sense of place that is only Italy.  

Cycling In Italy – Stage One

The alarm went off at 6:30 AM which is not unusual if I’m starting a ride at 8:00. I listen. Is that wind and rain or the hotel’s air conditioners? Not being sure, I drag myself out of bed, open the door to my balcony and peer outside. Still not sure because it’s still dark, I pull on a pair of shorts and walk out. Yep, it’s rain and now I’m wet and awake. At dinner last night, William, the owner of the cycling tour company, said we would not be riding if there is rain. I fall back into bed, but sleep doesn’t come so I imagine the options. The rain could stop. We could ride later. Around 8:00 I venture down for breakfast. An announcement is made to the group of anxious riders. No ride this morning. Instead, we are heading to a ceramics factory. Really?  A ceramics factory? The girls try not to smile. The guys are speechless.

Okay, so the La Ceramica VBC factory was pretty cool. Not what I expected and besides, while we were there, the rain stopped and the sun came out. We headed back to the hotel for lunch and the announcement was made that we would start today’s ride at 2:00 PM. Not our normal start time, but at least we’ll be on the road.

The ride began with many twists and turns down typical narrow Italian roads that must date back to the middle ages. I’m not sure how cars navigate some of these. Along the way, we hit a section of cobblestones. I'm thinking how glad I am for bringing my comfy saddle. We ride along a river, over a covered bridge (which also had cobblestones as a surface), and then out into the countryside. It’s beautiful. Almost every village we ride through has a church and a separate bell tower. I’m not an architect, but to me many seem to be modeled after the bell tower in St. Mark’s Square in Venice. We also see many 16^th and 17^th century church steeples and towers with onion shaped domes; a sign that this part of Italy was once the crossroads for trading for the western world. 

We start a climb of about 7km and then stop at a cafe for coffee. We’re high above the valley and it’s starting to get cold. The sun no longer lights the village square and the café. We pull on arm warmers and vests or jackets. Several of us gather in front of a rococo period church which is still illuminated by the sun. The church’s stones almost seem to glow in the fading sunlight. They are still warm and give comfort.

The group leaves the village. There is still a two steep climb to the very top of the mountain.  We reach the summit and start the descent. Nothing could have prepared me, and I expect others in the group, for what we were about to experience. I lost count of the switchbacks about halfway down. Sharp, hairpin turns that make you slow to almost a stop if a car is coming the other way. The only way to judge how far left to go is to glance down to the valley below. It’s a long way down. I’m praying that we’ve adjusted the brakes on the new bike correctly. We finally make it down, stop to regroup, ride through Bassano de Grappa and back to the hotel. It's almost 7:00 PM. Time for a quick shower and then dinner. I hope they are serving pasta and lots of red wine.

On To Italy

I’m starting this blog in Geneva as I make my way to Venice. There is a short connection in Munich where I plan to stock up on necessary liquid refreshments for the week ahead. It’s Sunday morning here (7:41 AM) but still Saturday night (10:41 PM) in California. I’m wondering if Rosey is still up and I should call?

There was a little extra bonus yesterday when my niece, her husband, their daughter and I went sightseeing in Gruyere. After a wonderful fondue lunch at the Chalet Gruyere, we started walking back through the ancient mountain top village. I noticed a crowd had gathered while we were eating. The cobblestone road had been semi-blocked off and climbing up the mountain were guys (and a few girls) on mountain bikes. There were caked in mud, panting and looking very tired. It was the 22eme OpenBike Haute Gruyere. It was quite a spectacle as the lead riders made it over the top and started the descent on the other side of town. Most had so much mud on them that you couldn’t see their faces. 

In Italy. 

I arrived in Venice pretty much on time. However, the flight from Geneva to Munich was the roughest I’ve ever experienced – EVER. I’ve never flown through wind sheers, and hope I never do again. Let’s just say anything that wasn’t being held or in a seat belt flew around the cabin. Was that me screaming or the woman next to me? In that moment, as the plane dropped, no one cared. We finally landed and I expected people to kneel and kiss the ground, but we all ventured forward; some to baggage claim or connecting flights and others I expect directly to church or the closest airport lounge. 

Our group of cyclists is assembling at the hotel which serves as the “base camp” for our Italian biking adventure. It’s located at the base of Mount Grappa about an hour north of Venice. By prior arrangement, four of us took the same taxi from Venice or the airport to the hotel. We talked about our experiences in Europe thus far and what lies ahead.

As we got closer to the hotel, I was trying to hide my excitement about the new bike. I was holding back until I was asked, “want to see it?” After all these months and seemingly endless emails, decisions, and bank transfers, I’m not sure I even answered the question. With my cycling colleagues beside me, we descended to the basement storage/bike room where, in a large box and wrapped in tons of plastic, tape, and tubing, was the new bike. My new Pinarello. With lots of help, the bike was assembled and I took it for a quick test ride. Do dreams really come true? To me they do because it’s Christmas morning and I’m eight years old again.

Mad Dogs and Englishman

During the night it rained. When I got up, the roads were wet, but the sky looked promising. Little hints of blue were peaking through the clouds. Not wanting to miss my last day of riding in Switzerland, I quickly dressed and headed out the door. It was the normal Zoo Group and TTT start time of 8:00 AM so there was little traffic in town. Through the roundabouts and out of town in a flash. The roads already seem familiar.

About 10 km out of Le Mont, I felt the first drops of rain. Not to worry, I say to myself, it is but a passing shower. I’m talking to myself in a horrible fake French accent; think Inspector Jacques Clouseau.  As I pedal further down the road, the rain starts to fall in broad bands. A couple of kilometers further and the first claps of thunder rattle over head. This is probably not a good thing. The rain has a sharp bite, the first of the fall season. What did they use to say, “only mad dogs and Englishman stand out in the noon day sun.” Perhaps I should modify that to, “only mad Americans cycle in the Swiss rain.”

I find a barn with a wide overhang and pull off.  It’s a typical Swiss barn with a large door for the tractor and firewood neatly stacked on the side. The cows in the pasture next to the barn have bells on their collars which ring with every step.  As I wait for the rain to subside, a red Ferrari passes. The woman in the passenger seat points to me, smiles, and says something to the driver. I know what she is saying, “did he not know it was going to rain today, silly biker.”

The rain lets up and I proceed. I’ll cut the route short, but still want to get in a few more kilometers. I proceed just a little further, but the clouds open-up. Would I be riding in this at home? No way. I turn around and head back toward Le Mont. As I get closer, the rain continues to pour down. The ditches are now filling and the puddles on the road get larger. I speed up, but what’s the use? I’m already soaked, it’s not all that cold. And it’s my last ride in Switzerland. Enjoy.

Le Petite Tour de Suisse – Stage One

Today’s route began by following the same course as the prologue. I started out this morning around 9:00 AM and headed back toward the village of Poliez-Piette. With everything else to think about yesterday, I forgot my camera. Poliez-Piette is so pretty I wanted to return to get a few pictures.

Since it was earlier in the day than my ride yesterday, there was considerably more traffic in town. As I approached the series of roundabouts, I remembered that car drivers would probably appreciate me signaling to which road I would be exiting. It did seem to have a good effect, although I’ll have to practice how to make a sweeping left hand turn and still control the bike as I extend my right arm just prior to exiting. This skill will come in very handy when I get to Italy.

Back out in the country, all seemed well. A bright sunny day with not a cloud in sight. The weather was a bit cool, but warming with every passing kilometer. No wind. This part of Switzerland is comparatively flat so there are lots of farms and there were many tractors on the road. Many of them were pulling trailers with freshly cut grains. The smell was both earthly and golden.

Without a specific route mapped out, I meandered through the Swiss countryside. The pace was easy as I rode through several villages. There always seemed to be one more village just a few kilometers away worth investigating. I would arrive in a village, ride to the center, and then take several of the side roads that branched out.  The roads are very well marked so when I left a village, it was easy to find a road leading back home.  It was a near perfect day on the bike.

Tomorrow’s forecast is for rain. I hope not.

La Petite Tour de Suisse – Prologue Stage

I’m getting ready to clip-in, and my heart is beating like it was my first time on a road bike. Am I really doing this? Riding off to places unknown in Switzerland? My niece has given me good directions to get out of La Mont. All I have to do is get through a couple of roundabouts, maneuver around some construction, fight a little traffic, and relearn how to use campagnolo components. Nothing to it! I try to clip-in and realize I forgot to take off the clip covers. I look around to make sure no one was looking, pull them off, take a deep breath, and start pedaling. 

When I’m driving, I sort of enjoy roundabouts. They’re a great way to manage traffic without stop lights. I assume the same procedures for getting in and out of the roundabouts that apply to cars also apply to bikes. And more or less, they do. But, what I quickly learned is that many car drivers believe that cyclists are not going very fast, so they try to beat them into the roundabout. First in the roundabout gets the right away. First lesson learned: cars and trucks will speed-up to get into the roundabout ahead of a bike.

After the roundabouts and a small industrial/commercial section of road, I’m in open country on a beautiful, but narrow road with no shoulders. Swiss venues spread out in all directions. Little villages seem to appear everywhere. The anxiety of getting out of town fades as I relax and start enjoying my first ride in the beautiful Swiss countryside. I see a café as I near the village of Bossons. A little rest stop with a vino blanco might be in order. I decide it’s not a good idea and don’t stop. 

After a few more kilometers, I spot a village on a hilltop off to my right. Do I dare venture away from my prescribed directions? Why not.  So I head for Poliez-Piette. Drawing closer, I realize I have made the right choice.  Poliez-Piette is picture postcard perfect. One of the first houses I pass has a sign that says it was built in 1664. The village’s main church looks even older. There are flowers everywhere. Some are in large pots in front of houses, many houses have flower gardens, and most have window boxes full of flowers that seem to explode in color. I circle the village several times just to make sure I capture the full experience and then turn to head back toward La Mont and Lausanne.

On the way back, I spot a biker in front of me; a Swiss biker.  He’s maybe 0.5 km away. The other side of my brain kicks-in and I say to myself, “target.” My casual pace picks-up and I realize he’s catchable. I’m no diplomat and Swiss neutrality aside, he’s mine. The ugly American emerges and I pass him. A’ gauche I say in hopes he realizes I’m on his left and he doesn’t actually pull left. A quick bon jour and I’m past.

I approach La Mont and home with a new sense of accomplishment. Only two more roundabouts and the prologue stage of my Petite Tour de Suisse is complete. It’s been a great ride.

In Suisse

Today is my first full day in Lausanne, Switzerland. As I noted before, my niece’s father-in-law, a fellow cyclist, has secured a bike for me. This morning I put on my pedals and made a few adjustments. This was pretty easy because next to the bike, all the necessary tools were lined up. The pedals were already loosened and the wrench already on one. He knows my mechanical abilities are not my strong point. By having the wrench on the pedal, he was hoping I would know what to do with it. What is that saying again;  “lefty tightly” or something like that.  Despite my lack of mechanical skills, all was not lost. I did remember to measure my bike before I left and even thought to bring a small tape measure.  My diagrams even make sense.

I was hoping to ride with my niece’s father-in-law, but just as I was coming from France to cycle in Switzerland, he was leaving Switzerland to cycle in France. For those of you who have forgotten your European geography from high school, France and Switzerland share a common border. Here in Lausanne, you can look across Lake Geneva and see France. 

My plan is to head out, on my own, in a few minutes on my first bike ride in almost two weeks. Probably best to carry my phone and the address of my nieces’ house since I don’t speak any of the four official languages of Switzerland.This is going to be fun.

It's On To Phase Two - Time With Family

Several people have noticed that I have not commented on the places Rosey and I visited while in France. So here goes: Day One, Fontaine de Vacluse, Gordes and L’Isle sur la Sorgue; Day Two, Chateauneuf du Pape and Gigondas; Day Three, Avignon, Villeneuve les-Avignon and Pont du Gard; Day Four, St. Remy and Les Baux; Day Five, Cadenet, Lourmarin and Bonnieux; Day Six, Aix-en-Provence and a private tour and tasting at Chateau Simone.

It’s been a wonderful adventure in France. Our group of nine intrepid travelers would leave the house about 9:00 AM every morning. We would usually drive to another town or village to sight see, have lunch and on three days, visited wineries.  I think the best part was just sitting in a sidewalk café and watching people. The French know how to live life – and how to dress.

Touring around Provence has been one of my more unique driving experiences. In the small villages, it was narrow roads and unmarked signs. In the larger cities, it was massive traffic circles (roundabouts) and honking horns. By the second day we had a system down. Each car had a driver (my car was Team A) and a navigator. Our car even had an advanced form of navigation: a “gsc.” Of course, that stands for girl scout compass. You would not believe how handy that became when I would ask the question, “what direction are we going?” The gsc was never wrong.  

In France, they have very few winery tasting rooms like we do in California. For two of our visits, previous arrangements had been made, complete with letters of introduction. Robert Haas from Tablas Creek in Paso Robles was instrumental in getting us appointments. The wines were some of the best I’ve ever tasted and the Chateaus were right out of the movie sets – picture perfect.

Our group separates today. Rosey and the others return to California and I go on to Switzerland. We just arrived at the Marseille airport and were greeted by a group of airport workers wearing orange and semi-marching around the main lobby of terminal one. It seems that the baggage handlers have decided to go on strike. Several necessary items have now been moved to my carry-on. I may never see my luggage again. Oh well, it is the French way.  

PS - Just landed in Munich on my way to Geneva. Free WiFi. I'm connected again. 

Back At McDonald's and I Miss My Bike

The original plan was that I would be renting a bike in l’isle sor la Sougue  so I could take  some short rides from the rental house.  Not so much so I could stay in shape, but just for the experience of cycling in another country.  It would have been one more country off the bucket list of places to bike. I’ve concluded, however, that it’s not going to happen.  There is just not enough time in a day. Each day is packed full of sightseeing, driving, sightseeing, driving, wine tasting (for the passengers in my car) and  eating . As one of the designated drivers, wine tasting for me has to wait until we are back at Mas Agrade.

What’s been interesting is that on every road I’ve driven and every town I’ve stopped, I’ve seen cyclists. They are very lucky guys who are not in a car, but on a bike. I think I spot more cyclists than my passengers  and have finally given up saying “biker” every  time  I swing widely to the left to avoid my own Tour de France bike vs car accident.  I figure we have to look out for each other even if we don’t speak the same language.  I probably slow down and give more space to cyclists than the average European, which I believe gives more space than most Americans.

Not being on a bike for a little over a week has made me twitchy.  In addition, I have not  been able to run because of either being too tired to get up at pre-dawn , not wanting to run on roads I don’t know, or being afraid of getting shot in the early morning light by an over aggressive French hunter. Yes, hunting of some type of woodland creature started this week.  One morning there were so many hunters around the house I thought we were under siege. Perhaps the second French Revolution was starting.

It is now less than a week before my new bike and I finally get to meet.  Because of the time all this has taken, It sort of feels like a pre-arranged marriage or even a marriage. I’ve seen pictures, have paid the fees, but what if it doesn’t work out?  What if the bike is not what is promised? I guess in six days I’ll know.

Trying To Catch-Up

For a guy pretty tightly wired, both in terms of technology and personality, it’s been a very stressful three days. On one hand, our group has done a lot of sightseeing and tasted some of France’s great wines.  However, I’ve now experienced French culture in its purest form.

 Meet Jaques, the very man who three nights ago saved us from spending the night in our rental cars. Jaques is the handyman, caretaker, and “go to” guy for Mas  Agrade, our rental house. The group speculates that Jaques lives on the property somewhere, but we’re not sure. Mas  Agrade is pretty massive and there are parts of the house completely cut off from the section we occupy.  But, we rarely see lights in the other parts. Sometimes Jaques’ car is the driveway in the evening, sometimes not.  I’ve concluded that Jaques has the ability to appear and disappear at will. Why else could he simply appear in Les Vigneres on Wednesday night and pull up next to my car? Last night, we had just finished dinner on the patio, it was completely dark, and poof, Jaques is standing there.  It’s French magic.

 I’ve been complaining to Jaques that both the phone and the WiFi in the house are not working. When he appeared last night, small case in hard, I was hoping he was coming to fix it and reconnect me to the rest of the world.  He opened the case, pulled out a small laptop, and then began to plug-in, unplug and then connect a multitude of wires. He was very thoughtful in this process.   And then, with a mournful look, he began a long monolog that involved lots of hand jesters and shacking of his bald head. Jaques had concluded that the Internet was down throughout the district and it would be another 24-48 hours before it gets fixed.  He stressed that his concerns have gone all the way to Paris and that officials are working on the problem that very night. Maybe sooner than 48 hours it will be fixed, but if it’s an emergency that I connect to the Internet, I should find an Internet café in one of the nearby villages.

Welcome to France. Good thing they make great wine.

PS- Just found a McDonald's with internet connection! This is where I'll be eating the rest of my meals after our planned lunch at Ousteau de Baumaniere in Les Baux.

It's Been A Long Haul

I’m starting this blog in Frankfurt as we wait for our last flight which, of course, is delayed. It’s been a long day. SLO to LAX, LAX to Frankfurt.  We’re getting closer to Marseilles.  There is a nine hour difference between California and most of Europe and I’m feeling every one of them. We’re already pushing 30 hours of being awake.  The flight from LAX to Frankfurt was long and uncomfortable, especially in cattle class where the space between me and the person in the seat in front of me is about 14 inches. I could count his hair follicles. Thank heavens there’s no charge for drinks.

On to our arrival in France.

Getting to our house last night was an experience not to be forgotten.  We landed in Marseilles, picked-up the rental cars, and headed to the house which is in the minuscule village of Les Vigneres. The sunset was beautiful, but  it meant it was going to get dark soon. If only the plane had been on time. Getting to the rental house looked pretty easy on the map and Google maps said it would only take an hour from the airport. Of course, what Google maps didn’t say is that they don’t light highway signs in France.  After several  unsuccessful attempts to find the A7, the scenic route became the default. By this time, it was completely dark. Two cars, driving in a caravan, trying to find a farm house near, but not in, Les Vigneres.

By luck or divine intervention, we found the village; ancient and beautiful in the warm glow of the street lamps. It was both welcoming and yet completely deserted. Though a window we saw the light of a TV. Should we stop for directions? There is not another living person in sight. After yet another U turn, a car behind suddenly appears, flashing its headlights.  It then pulls up next to our car and stops.  I’ve angered a native!  A man jumps out and says, in French, are you looking for Mas Agrade? (the house we’ve rented) . Are you the Americans? It was the caretaker of the house looking for us.  I breathed the biggest sigh of relief of my life.  He instructed me to follow him and in 10 minutes we were at the house. We were saved.