The People You Meet

Nick and I have just returned from a lovely week in France – 4 nights in Paris and 4 nights in the Loire Valley. Last year we did a big city tour of the world spending time in Berlin, Rome, Paris, and New York, so we were keen for some proper R&R while in the Loire Valley. For this reason we deliberately did not hire a car and found (well at least we thought we had) a gite within easy access to all the requirements for a relaxing holiday (fromagerie, boucherie, boulangerie & patisserie).

Our hosts mentioned that while these ‘necessities’ were not on our doorstep they were certainly within easy reach and offered us three possibilities: a) hire bikes from the town nearby; b) use the bikes they provide for guests; or c) ask then to collect provisions for us when they were in town (and they would be happy to oblige). On arrival our hosts informed us that they would be away for most of our stay. This meant of course that we would not be able to rely on them to pop into town for us. The ‘nearby’ town with bike hire facilities was actually 7km away and the bike hire shop was not open when we needed it to be. This left us with option b, use the bikes provided, which would have been a perfectly acceptable option had the bikes been in working order. The bikes however were not– the breaks on one did not work and the tires on both were flat. Lucky for us, Nick misspent many of his younger years repairing bikes so was able to fix the breaks, but short of using our breath, we had no way of blowing up the tires. (This story has a point, I promise).

Nonetheless, on our first day, desperate for food* we had no option but to cycle to the nearest village on the barely functioning bikes. Anyone who has cycled with flat tyres would know that not only is it not particularly good for the bike (we didn’t care about this of course, they were not our bikes, and as far as we were concerned our hosts should not have offered them as an option) but also, and perhaps more importantly, it makes it virtually impossible to cycle. We eventually made it into town but were quick to declare that this was not an option for the following days. We went to the local pub for an ice cold beer to reward ourselves for our efforts. Incidentally enjoying a pression from an unpretentious rural pub is Nick’s absolutely favourite thing to do (you can take the boy out of Grafton but you can’t take Grafton out of the boy).

Enjoying a 'pression'

It was while enjoying our second beer, discussing our disappointment that we could not buy fresh bread everyday (I also had romantic visions of slow meandering cycle rides along quite roads stopping by the river for a swim and some cheese and wine but of course this was now impossible given the state of the bikes), or indeed travel anywhere, when a local came out from the bar. Quite abruptly he said ‘are you Americans’. Never wanting to be associated with our dear friend’s state side, we quickly replied ‘no, we are Australians’. A strange but pleasant ‘drifter’, he sat down with us and we chewed the fat for a while. It transpired that he was from Manchester originally (though sounded exactly like Paul McCartney) but had moved to France a long time ago. He was a photographer who rode a ‘fixie’. We were discussing the state of our bikes, when all of sudden he shouted ‘hang on a minute’ and ran away. He returned with a bike pump (kept always in the boot of his car to pump the tires of his wife’s wheelchair**) suitable for pumping the tires on our bikes. So with pumped tires and some suggestions on what to see in the area we were on our way. And thanks to Ed we were able to enjoy fresh bread everyday and (my plans for slow romantic rides along quite country roads were fulfilled).

Fresh bread

*I tell a little white lie. We were not actually desperate for food – we had sufficient food – but we were desperate for the fresh bread that the French are so famous for.

**Ed said that we could use the bike pump whenever we needed it. It was always in the boot of his car which was parked ‘just over there’ and which he never kept locked.