Le Retour

1/3/07

The contrast between the slate sky and the jade green hills west of L'Etang la Ville brings out the wonder in the day's ride to Feuchrolles. Janet and I coast down the familiar route first climbing into the foret domianale and then descending through Rennemoulin and the quaint edge of Villepreux before climbing up the cobbles in Chavenay.

The wind is blowing out of the west, but the temperature is a moderate 46 and damp air feels much warmer than what we've grown accustomed to on our late December rides in Iowa and Wisconsin. I warn my wife about the rond points, that the accumalated diesel exhaust makes the tarmac greasy, but then realize the winter rain has rinsed everything and the traction is fine.

We are both enjoying the sensation of blood moving through our stiff legs and the feeling of moist air filling our lungs. We've fallen deeply in love with the movement of cycling, a familiar handhold as we venture into an unknown three month adventure to a new place. Bicycle as locomotion between villages; bicycle as movement internally, a cleansing of the self; bicycle as movement together, bringing us closer; and, bicycle as a bridge between cultures, a lingua franca to form relationships in a new place.

We have to endure a less than idyllic sojourn onto the D309 to Feuchrolles, but then jump off to take the Rue de Poissy through the centre ville. This was my big discovery on my last ride in France and Janet loves our narrow road overlooking the Seine and the edge of Paris.
A short reunion with the 309 through the Foret Dominial de Marly and we take a sharp right, leaving the tempting descent to Poissy, and head to Aigremont. 'Eagle Mountain' is a more suburban village, but still has the feel of the traditional architecture. The road climbs and curls and we turn back towards the forest at my nephew's school campus, passing the horticultural center and finding the old royal hunting road, the Route de Princess.

It's curious that just a few minutes from the bustle of one of the world's largest cities, is a forest with numerous paths and small, carless roads, but it's one of the legacies of the French monarchy's need for hunting grounds and their ruthless protection of them for their own hunting pleasure. Now they're a gift to the people of France.

We're past the gare de St. Nom and coast down narrow cobbled streets to my sister-in-laws home. After a long, sleepless flight and 14 hours of sleep in a darkened room, we are recovered, refreshed and feeling a bit like we're coming home.