Lost in Loire

Let me first state that France is RIDICULOUS! The food is ridiculously good. The French are ridiculously gorgeous (and thin), especially, Parisians. The environs are ridiculously beautiful and scenic. This place is ridiculously historic. French (the language) is ridiculously beautiful and romantic. And yes, France (particularly Paris) is ridiculously expensive. “Ridiculous” seems to be the only superlative to describe my sense of France. Every meal has been over-the-top good. We have been dining at great restaurants and bistros, unlike our EF Tours trip to France with the kids in 2004. The standards are so high in France that it’s hard to get a bad meal, but somehow EF Tours found a way. I swear, they must have searched all of France to find the only lousy chefs to feed us. Go figure?!

While Sheila has been taking cooking classes at the Walnut Grove Cooking School in Livre (near Laval), I have been bike riding. We are in the Loire Valley, a UN Heritage site. It is ridiculous in every way. Supposedly this is a birthplace of French cycling. However, by the looks of my loaner bike you would never guess that. The bike I rode to deliver newspapers circa 1967 was infinitely better than the “grandma bike” loaned to me by Benedict (one of the chefs at the school). I shouldn’t complain, but I’m trying to cover some serious ground here in order to make it to certain sites, and this behemoth of a bike is most definitely cramping my style. Hey, at least it has three working gears.

Yesterday I decided to ride to Châteaux XVIII in neighboring Craon. The Châteaux was beautiful to say the least. There was a wedding dinner taking place at one of the outbuildings on the property and the side door to the Châteaux was left open. Seriously what would you have done? In the Southern States people leave their side and back doors open as an invitation for friends and family to enter and make themselves at home. Since I am an American and naturally have an historical bond with the French (yes, we are brothers of the revolution and our sons fought and bled together in two World Wars), I felt it would have been discourteous of me, as a friend, to decline this invitation. Of course, I didn’t go upstairs, didn’t use the bathroom and didn’t forage in the kitchen for tasty treats; nor did I have the audacity to break out my camera and start taking pictures of the spectacular decor. After all invited guests shouldn’t gawk, and typically don’t take pictures when invited into your home do they? However, I thought it a ridiculously generous invitation by this anonymous French friend to invite me into their home, don’t you think?! I felt appreciative to be sure.

I set out from Craon (without map) to explore the French countryside heading generally in southwesterly direction. It was my intent to make a 20 Kilometer loop and back to the cooking school in Livre. I got ridiculously lost. However, because everything was so ridiculously scenic, I didn’t really care. I stopped to take pictures when motivated, picked a couple of apples for lunch, tried to speak French to some French brothers at a village festival in La Selle, and gasped at almost every turn in the road at the ridiculously amazing scenery. I ultimately found my way back to Livre having experienced the French countryside in a most intimate manner. Later that evening the She-wolf noticed the small apples in my backpack, “Where’d you get the apples? Kind of small don’t you think?”

“I borrowed them.”

“How do you borrow an apple?”

"Okay, I stole them.”

“I thought you loved France and viewed yourself as traveling Ambassador of goodwill?”

“Well, I was hungry. I spent 6 hours on my bike and forgot to take any money.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Okay ‘Ms. Judgmental,’ haven’t you read Les Miserables? They had a revolution here a few years ago; they don’t imprison people anymore for stealing to sate extreme hunger. I’m kind of surprised you didn’t know that.”

To set the record straight: The apples that I “borrowed” were not from a commercial orchard. It was a old tree on the side of a sheep pasture. Most of the apples were on the ground already and it was obvious these small, wormy apples were going to go to waste if I didn’t eat them. Besides I was really, really hungry.

I have two more historic rides on my riding agenda: Chateaubriand and Laval. Rides of 80 and 50 Kilometers, respectively. These rides are only impressive when you consider what I am riding. Regardless, the French countryside on bike has turned out to be a ridiculously rich experience--one that I will always cherish. If I get lost in France while on my bike and perish somewhere in the French countryside, my dying request is that the following be placed on my headstone: “The Most Ridiculous Human Compass,” preferably in French.