Arrivè!

Day 1

Blurred. That's what traveling forward in time feels like. Life seven hours ahead of the body's clock, the loss of those seven hours is the problem.

I flew on British Airways this time because, it seems that not only is France imitating the Americans politically (see Sarkozy) and gastronomically (see the McDo at Charles de Gaulle), but Air France, like every American carrier, now charges poor cyclists 150 bucks to bring their bike along. Each way. Of course, I found this out the hard way last year and only saved half of the round trip cost (and lost my eternal soul) by lying to a new AF check-in person. As a heads up for other folks flying to cyling's Promised Land, you still can fly Lufthanza, British Airways and Air Canada and have your bicycle treated as a piece of luggage. BA has always done well with my bike.

During our transfer at London Heathrow, I had a chance to experience Teriminal 5. BA had been sending, me email for weeks reminding me that I would indeed be experiencing Terminal 5, it's brand-new, state-of-the-art terminal. The plane landed and we exited into a pod-like structure and began walking. I'd been told that the old system of the Maze had been replaced. It had. Instead of walking back and forth through a windowless hallway for a mile, we got to walk down a cold unheated hallway for a quarter of a mile. There were indeed windows on one side and an endless series of posters advertising a single bank, HBSC I think (see, the posters didn't work!) with identical pictures with contradictory statements or words: A closeup of an elderly man with "Old" on one poster, and "Wise" on the second poster. Each group of four would have two pictures alternating followed by the very clever slogan that someone on drugs at HBSC (or was it HSBC... HCBS?) "Life would be boring if everyone thought same way."

A quarter mile of these posters had me wishing that some other company would run adverts in that hallway, even a pic of a greasy Big McDoo would be better than "Classic" "Boring" or "Liberator" "Mass murderer". Ok, I made that last one up.

After the ad maze, we are herded into a security check area manned by British TSA types who have obviously been hired for a special combination of skills: boorishness, a beginning level of English proficiency, boorishness, and being a relative of the older Sikh gentleman accousting the overweight couple from Cinncinnati. We are being rushed to remove all of our clothes that have metal in them. The young non-practicing Sikh with the awful haircut that made him look like a local Iowa meth user, yells "put shoes in box, put shoes in box, move up, take belt, put shoes, here, here, go, go, next put shoes, don't pick box, put shoes, now, now." A cluster of Brit TSA workers who actually speak English are using their skills to shout "no more than three ounces of liquids are allowed" waving plastic sandwich bags over their heads. They don't yell in unison, but with the Sikh fellows it made a surreal chorus.

Through the security, stumbling to put my clothes back on with the other passengers from my flight who used to be strangers, the herd is prodded into a maze of those movable lines strung from post to post. I'm not making this up. They were changing the lines as we walked through, back and forth, Mr. Singh's son-in-law suddenly moving the strap so that you have to walk all the way to the far wall and then back to the other wall, and back, and back, and back, past your friends from the plane, again and again and again, until we reach... the escalator.

Take the escalator up, but watch out the beams overhead have the same clearance as the doors in my grandmother's basement. Upstairs I look for the departures boards, a sign assures me they're 150 meters ahead. People are running now, not sure that we'll make our connections. The sign lists a hundred flights for the day, only the first two have gates assigned. My flight leaves in an hour, and the sign informs me that there is a policy to not post the gate assignment until 45 minutes before departure. Fine for gates in the A section, but if your gate is in the B section ("20 minutes with transportation") or the C section ("30 minutes with transportation"); it occurs to me that this is obviously a security ploy to prevent terrorists with less than " ounces of explosives to make their flights. I carefully look at the terminal map and choose a bathroom that is centrally located, resolving to finish my business exactly 45 minutes before departure to maximize my chances of making the plane.

Day 1.5

Actually that should be Day 1.75 as I've effectively travelled into the future, skipping the trivial parts of the day when people sleep. I get my passport stamped by a friendly French customs officer, get my bag and bike and roll towards the section of the airport in Terminal 2 where voitures location are handed out. The man at the Budget desk is great, even as he realizes I mistakenly arranged for my rental car to be picked up the day before. Penalty? No way, it's 42 Euros cheaper (that's 150 US dollars with current exchange rates)! Decline insurance, agree to the deposit, and voilà, my card is declined. I'm defeated, but the Budget guy offers me the phone to call the States, one disconnection, and twenty robot commands later, I'm talking to Larry and he's assuring me that Capitol One just wanted to be sure it was me using the card.

I won't tell you about making a wrong turn off the Peripheric into the bad section of Paris, but I have arrived and I celebrate with an easy spin through the Forest of St. Germain and a wonderful dinner with my in-laws in L'Etang la Ville. Tomorrow is the big ride from Versailles to Chambord. 216k with Jean-Manuel and 650 other folks who share my passion for the le velo route.