Two things to know about Terminal 2E's boarding gate area at Charles de Gaulle aeroport: the baguette avec thon is pretty good and the café au 
lait is really bad.
Other notes to self: do not take Air France again unless they drop their ridiculous bike fee (150.00 from the US and free back--due to a flim flam of a new check-in person. I figure it was a karmic break even). As far as I know, British Airways still flys bikes for free, as a piece of baggage, but I won't take that for granted anymore.
Eight hours on the flight back is plenty of time to think about the fabulous ride to Thoiry and Mantes I had yesterday. Seems like a week ago already, must be the effect of all of that couscous, wine and rugby last night.
And where are those stewardesses now? Plotting some new form of subtle torture for all of us strapped into our tiny seats? Sure, fill us with saumon and truffle and yoghurt and baguette and a couple of tiny bottles of vin rouge and then make sure there's no toilet paper in the toilet with the impossibly small door. (Oops, I was just trying to wipe; I didn't mean to call for help).
Lots of folks on the roads after Chavenay, but none that were friendly or going my speed, so it was a pass and a wave and a 'Salut' or 'Bonjour' depending on the mood. The temps had dropped a few more degrees into the w
ear-long-sleeves range and I got to try out my new, black Campagnolo Retro Next jersey. The man in black! Not Johnny Cash (or Johnny Holiday, the ubiquitous hybrid of Cash and fat Elvis looking so french and so stylish in those new glasses from Optique, 2 pairs for 79 euros), no not those guys in black, but maybe Vinoukorov in black... Would anyone confuse me with that dude? 
Not if they saw me climbing out of the Seine valley at Mantes. Just to the top of this hill and then... the road continues upwards. Just around this town square and up this 22 percent climb on cobble stones and... this is just ridiculous. The wind climbs with me, now out of the northeast and the combination of elevation gain and wind drop me down to a robust, buy thigh-burning 13mph. Vinoukorov I'm not.
lait is really bad.Other notes to self: do not take Air France again unless they drop their ridiculous bike fee (150.00 from the US and free back--due to a flim flam of a new check-in person. I figure it was a karmic break even). As far as I know, British Airways still flys bikes for free, as a piece of baggage, but I won't take that for granted anymore.
Eight hours on the flight back is plenty of time to think about the fabulous ride to Thoiry and Mantes I had yesterday. Seems like a week ago already, must be the effect of all of that couscous, wine and rugby last night.
And where are those stewardesses now? Plotting some new form of subtle torture for all of us strapped into our tiny seats? Sure, fill us with saumon and truffle and yoghurt and baguette and a couple of tiny bottles of vin rouge and then make sure there's no toilet paper in the toilet with the impossibly small door. (Oops, I was just trying to wipe; I didn't mean to call for help).Lots of folks on the roads after Chavenay, but none that were friendly or going my speed, so it was a pass and a wave and a 'Salut' or 'Bonjour' depending on the mood. The temps had dropped a few more degrees into the w
ear-long-sleeves range and I got to try out my new, black Campagnolo Retro Next jersey. The man in black! Not Johnny Cash (or Johnny Holiday, the ubiquitous hybrid of Cash and fat Elvis looking so french and so stylish in those new glasses from Optique, 2 pairs for 79 euros), no not those guys in black, but maybe Vinoukorov in black... Would anyone confuse me with that dude? 
Not if they saw me climbing out of the Seine valley at Mantes. Just to the top of this hill and then... the road continues upwards. Just around this town square and up this 22 percent climb on cobble stones and... this is just ridiculous. The wind climbs with me, now out of the northeast and the combination of elevation gain and wind drop me down to a robust, buy thigh-burning 13mph. Vinoukorov I'm not.
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