A rhythm has developed over the past four years of travelling with my velo to France. Of course there's the drive to Chicago, the black hole that is sitting in a 747 seat for seven hours when one is normally sleeping (just a step above sitting on a Greyhound on a cross-country trip).
The food is pretty good on the Euro airlines I take, mainly British Airways and Air France, and a couple of bottles of vin rouge can make things much better. Arrival at Charles de Gaulle can be an adventure, riding on a bus for 15 minutes after landing to get to a gate, waiting for the velo bag that doesn't come on its own, or trying to shake that over-friendly couple from Texas that befriended me while sitting across the aisle in 24A and 24B.
Inevitably, I land; I get my luggage and bike;
I pickup the rental car and enter the Peripheric, the wild, unpeeling onion of lanes that make up the Autoroute encircling Paris. And then the drive to the western suburb of L'Etang la Ville to stay with my inlaws for a few days to get my euro legs.
So today is a bit of a fog, four hours of sleep in a 36 hour day, but the fog dissipates with a short one hour ride. A quick climb up into the Foret de St Germain, several rondpoints and a dip to Rennemoulin, Villepreux and Chavenay and then a climb up to Feuchrolles. The traffic is heavy with mothers picking up their kids from school, but not one angry horn, yell, or finger salute.
I'm just spinning today, no big effort needed right now, just enough work to flush the system. I take the 307 back towards St Nom de Bretech and take the forest road that dives past the train station back in L'Etang l
a Ville. As I roll under the turning trees, bright with orange and yellow leaves and feel the contradictory cool breeze and bright sun on my skin, it feels good to be back.
The food is pretty good on the Euro airlines I take, mainly British Airways and Air France, and a couple of bottles of vin rouge can make things much better. Arrival at Charles de Gaulle can be an adventure, riding on a bus for 15 minutes after landing to get to a gate, waiting for the velo bag that doesn't come on its own, or trying to shake that over-friendly couple from Texas that befriended me while sitting across the aisle in 24A and 24B.
Inevitably, I land; I get my luggage and bike;
I pickup the rental car and enter the Peripheric, the wild, unpeeling onion of lanes that make up the Autoroute encircling Paris. And then the drive to the western suburb of L'Etang la Ville to stay with my inlaws for a few days to get my euro legs.So today is a bit of a fog, four hours of sleep in a 36 hour day, but the fog dissipates with a short one hour ride. A quick climb up into the Foret de St Germain, several rondpoints and a dip to Rennemoulin, Villepreux and Chavenay and then a climb up to Feuchrolles. The traffic is heavy with mothers picking up their kids from school, but not one angry horn, yell, or finger salute.
I'm just spinning today, no big effort needed right now, just enough work to flush the system. I take the 307 back towards St Nom de Bretech and take the forest road that dives past the train station back in L'Etang la Ville. As I roll under the turning trees, bright with orange and yellow leaves and feel the contradictory cool breeze and bright sun on my skin, it feels good to be back.
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