Wednesday, May 28, 2008
What I did on my trip to France, by Carl Cooke. Remember those essay’s we had to do every summer in grade school? Maybe they did away with them by the time you got to school. However, every summer it was expected, sometimes having to be ready on the first day of class. Which leads me to talking about living in the past, and what exactly does that mean? Now to me living in the past mean allowing all those nasty things that happened to you while you were growing up to affect the way you live today.
But, just maybe it has to do with the nice things that happened, or maybe just attempting to fine some connection to something or someone. Going to Austria is an attempt to connect with my grandparents, the people who raised me, my mother’s parents. Going to Liverpool is an attempt to connect with my father’s parents whom shared a very small part of my life. So what would visiting these places accomplish? Is it at all productive for people search for their “roots” for so many different reasons?
What will touching the past do for them today? Maybe nothing or will it help give them a better sense of self. For me it is not, I don’t think at this point, holding on to the pass. At this point Austria will have to wait, which my trip over to France made clear. I will move on to Liverpool this year to see if I can see what that connection will bring.
Wednesday, May 21: After a night at sea the Ferry arrived at La Havre on time at 8 am. Being the first to the deck that held my bike I rode confidently in to France. Having found that the Information center was not yet open, east along the Seine was my direction of travel. Soon the flat gave way to a small slop, which just kept going up. This was not right; looking to my right I see flat level land. After a bit I’m back on the level riding along just fine.
Arriving at the first town I head to the “Information” center. It took a bit to figure out and unmarked building was the “Information” center. Upon entering I asked “English?” The answer was “Little.” After asking for a map I request that she show me where I am. “Only that far?” My answer to the question of a railroad station was answered with “Le Havre.” She puffs “But of course.” It is clear that I’m not going to get a lot of information here. So riding east is what I do. Most of the ride was along the Seine, looking up at the high chalk cliffs glad of not having to ride up them. Finally it is time to find the campground listed on the map. Stopping again at the Information center directions are drawn to the campground.
Arriving I find that no one is in the office, or the house. Finally after about an hour a car pulls up with the campground owner, she wants francs, I only have Euros. After setting up, off to the bathroom. Low and behold the toile has no toilet paper, or toilet seat, must have run out. The show has a pay box in it, so I put 10 cents in and nothing happens back to the office. She speaks no English so through hand signals I want a Douche. No don’t think so I motion washing myself. “Lava.” She says, “Follow” we walk to the buildings that hold the showers, and she points “Douche.” I smile.
Thursday, May 22: After having breakfast in a local café I ask the owner the best way to get to my next destination. She stands next to me, very close; I smell her perfume, which is very light. I inhale deeply looking at her not the map she is pointing to. She smiles, as do I, then off to the next stop. This will be one of the longest rides to date. The map tells me that it is a 66 km to Rouen where I’ll hook up to the railroad. Riding along smoothly until the bike become sluggish. This is the tell tail sigh of a flat in the making. Get off and pump up the tire then ride on which lasts about 20 minutes. Each town passed through is searched for a bike shop; there are none to be found.
Finally it is time to unload the bike and fix the flat. This takes about an hour to complete the unpacking, taking apart, putting back together, and packing. The tire is holding air that is a good sign. Ahead I see, sticking out of the treetops, the tip’s of a bridge’s towers miles away. Sticking to the flat land is for me, beginning to fear I’ll have to go over it. Traveling through traffic circle has become old hat, this one is no different, however choosing the wrong road sends me riding up hill. The hill is steep the road shoulder is narrow I’m on the way to the bridge.
As Indy would say “I don’t like this.” Looking over my shoulder a road sign tells me I’m heading the wrong way. Managing to cross four busy lanes with trucks flying by and getting back on tack is a bit harrowing. “Ah that’s better.” But it is time to pump up the tire again. Under the bridge is much better then going over it, yet still no bike shop? Now I’m heading up hill again mmm which would mean another wrong turn somewhere did shorten the ride my 20km. After a long ride Rouen comes into view, along with a bike shop where I have a new tube put on. After reaching the campground and settling in it is time to relax.
Friday, May 23: Time to spend some time exploring Rouen and getting information on the train I’ll need to take from here. There is a 9th century catherdral, which was bombed by during the war. You can see where it has been rebuilt. Rouen is where Joan of Arc was held captive, tortured, tried, and then burned at the stake. It is interesting to me that someone who was burned as a heretic, was later made into a Saint. A meal sitting at a café is so relaxing. A stop at the railroad information center for more being told, “You can’t do that.” Silly people should not be telling me that something is impossible. I am looking for a way to get to Strasbourg by train without having to box up my bike. I plan for a trip by train to Paris tomorrow to see if there is a way to do such a trip. Now back to the campground for a long nights sleep.
Saturday, May 24: Like London trains to Paris stop at one station then you have to get across town, so there are different stations to get to different parts of France. After purchasing my ticket to Parris it is time to stand and wait for the railroad to decide the arrival platform for my train. Now you may be use to knowing ahead of time what platform to go to if you are taking a train somewhere, not France. Five minuets before the train is ready to board they post the platform number then everyone have to make a mad dash for the train.
After asking where the bike car is the conductor gives me a shrug of the shoulders. “If you don’t know, who the hell does?” I think to myself. I hold a second-class ticket to they shoo me to the back of the train. The conductor blows the whistle, yells something that clearly means get on the train, so I do, but not in the bike car. After a bit an older woman comes out of car, there are automatic doors with compartment at the end of each car where the bathroom is, puffing away. She begins to tell me in French about the rider across the aisle from her who is “Blab, blab blabbing on the cell phone. She put hand in the shape of a mouth taking. She goes back to her seat; I watch her sit for a while then yell at the guy using the cell phone. Now he comes out in the compartment I’m standing.
Now this compartment I’m in is not that big, maybe 6’ by 10’ and I’m taking up most of it. This guy now stalks around like an animal in a cage back and forth, back and forth all the while attempting to call someone on his cell phone. He talks, the train enters a tunnel, and he loses his signal, back and forth, back and forth. The tunnel ends back on the phone it seems he can hear the person he is talking to. I wonder if anyone would miss him if I threw him off the train. Finally he goes back to his seat smiles at the lady who yelled at him, puts his phone away, takes it out, fidgets around. I’ve seen addicts go through withdrawal behaviors over the years; his were up there with the worst.
A nicer lady conductor manages to convey that I should sit the bike will be fine. She even gets me a seat right next to Mr. Wired. I sit he says something in French, I smile back and say “English.” He smiles and goes back to fidgeting with the phone not daring to make a call. The train arrives at St. Lazars station, after getting a map along with some brief directions, jumping on the bike to ride to the next station, mushy ride. “What the ----.” Looking down at the flat tire. Pushing a bike through Paris is not great fun let me tell you. Nor does my travels take me past any bike shop.
My destination reached, the information needed gathered that tells me the guy in Rouen did not tell me the truth. It is quite possible to travel by bike from Rouen to Paris, and then get a train from Paris all the way to Innsbook in Austria. Don’t tell me it can’t be done, there is always a way around. Wasn’t that the spirit that created America? Doing what people said could not be done. Now it is time to walk back to the other station. Without the flat I had enough time to do a little tourist stuff now I just had enough time to make the train back to Rouen.
As I’m walking this guy comes along side me and starts talking to me, just what I’m in the mood to do is chat. So he starts in French, I say “English.” “Oh” he says, “I’m German, but I speak English.” “How wonderful for you.” I think as I smile. He begins to tell this long sob story about how his car is broken down, his business is closed, and so is his bank. I look at him “You got to be kidding me. I was born and raised in New York, and your going to try to hit me up for money. This is tooooo funny.” I listen to his speech trying not to laugh. The he tells me somewhere they have him 20 pounds, which he shows me. I’m nodding my head, smiling “Really tell me more.” His smile broadens as tell me he doesn’t like to beg, but could I give him 200 euros. I stop walking turn and look him in the eyes “I’m from New York.” His smile disappears and he walks away. “Gimme a break.”
Walk all the way from the train station to the campground that is about 3km. Have dinner and fix the flat, no I’ll use the second tube I bough in England. “Oh yes, that’s right wrong stem, so that will not work.” Back to fixing the flat that when done holds air, take a little ride, yep holds air. Time to Sleep.
Sunday, May 25: Should I get to Austria or return to England. The sort of timetable was to be in Austria by now. The plan was to spend most of May traveling to Austria, however procrastination has now put me close to June which I had planned riding in the north of England. After mulling over the information gathered to this point I decide it is a great day for a ride. There is a way to ride along the Seine for quite away upon reaching the furthest point the bike becomes sluggish. “You got to be fucking kidding me.” Yep another flat, no problem I’ll just fix it, no problem at all.
Finding a nice place to sit and work well out of the way I begin to work. While working cars begin to pull up and park all around me. Put on the patch and pump up the tire. While pumping away the tire pops like a balloon. Looking up at all the faces now turned in my direction. “Oops.” “I’ll just fix another flat, what the hell.” While removing the pump from the valve, the valve breaks off. “Guess I’m not fixing the flat.” It is another nice walk back to the campground only 5km today. Tomorrow I’ll get two new tubes from the bike shop then head back to England. This year my ass isn’t killing me it is my feet.
Monday, May 26: By 9am the bike is packed up ready to be pushed back to Rouen only 3 km away. “My the town is quiet. Is it a holiday or just weird French working habits?” My plan was to reach the bike shop when it opened hopefully at 9 am. So much for plans, as it is now 10 am with no signs this place is going to open anytime soon nor where any of the other stores around. The train station is uphill on a cobble stone street, how quaint; it is also 2 km more. Purchasing a ticket to Le Havre I ask if it is a holiday. The ticket agent looks at me with a frown like what a stupid question. “No” “just asking.” I smile saying nothing.
This train is different for the one that was used to go to Paris it has bike signs on a few doors so there is no need to ask. The train reaches Le Havre in an hour and a half, it had taken me two days to ride the distance and the train did not get a flat. From the train station it is about 5 km to the dock and the Ferry. My feet are in bad shape at this point having developed some really nice blisters. Finding the dock and purchasing the ticket allows me just enough time to get something to eat at the terminal. My bike is in line nine with about nine motorcycles and two other bikers.
Returning from the terminal there are now about thirty motorcycles and about twenty bikers, mine is the only one with a flat. The Ferry begins to load, the man points to the bikes to go on. Hobbling toward the Ferry the bike riders’ wiz by me. They are held up so are still waiting to board when I reach the ship. We all have to walk the bikes on anyway so no rush. The bikes a stowed in a small area I head to, as this is the same Ferry that brought me over, to the same seat.
The Ferry arrives an hour late back in Portsmouth so it is now 10:30 pm, and about 11:00 pm when I finally limp on to the streets of Portsmouth. It is at least 7 km to the campground, 4 to the railroad terminal. On the Ferry I have doctored up my feet so it is a bit easier to walk, but very slowly. Shall I stay or shall I go back to Salisbury? I reach the platform and ask if it is possible to get a train to Salisbury, he checks. ”With two changes you’ll get there at 1:20 am. If you miss a connection there are no more until morning. Both connections give me about 10 minuets to change trains if the connecting trains are at stations without tunnels or lifts I spending the night there.
Arriving in Salisbury at 2 am with out being charged for the ride it is time to walk to the campground, which is now closed and I’ll have to tent outside until morning, or walk to the YHA. Both are about 4 km from the train station in opposite directions and it is now raining. I’ll take a chance on the Y that they will have a bed for me. Walking down the deserted street a fellow on the other side calls to me. “Are you OK buddy?” Answering in the affirmative I wait to get hit up for more money. “You looking for a place to stay?” He asks. I explain that I’ll try the Y, then the campground if necessary. He offers to give me his telephone number so I can stay at his house if there is not room at the Y. He suggests one of the hotels might be open, but that would be about it.
Trudging on through the disserted streets. “Hotel? The Y is probably not gong to let me in this late, setting up the tent in the rain is not that appealing either. Hotel?” My knock on the door of the Red Lion, an inn built in 1250, brings the night person who tells me they have no rooms. He suggests The White Heart around the corner and up the block. Another knock brings me an answer of “Yes we can accommodate you.” I point to the bike. “Bring it around back we’ll lock it in the garage.” Twenty minutes later I’m in a room with a bed, TV, shower, all those wonderful things. After soaking my feet in hot water I sleep until 10 am the next morning. .
Tuesday, May 27: My friend Mark would be proud of me. I think “What the hell.” and spend a second night in the hotel. Then I’m off for breakfast and to buy a tube for my bike. After both my travels lead me pass the movie, which is a building built in 1300 as a theater, now renovated. Entering for the heck of it I’m informed that Indian Jones starts in five minuets; it was meant to be. Back at the hotel I check out the dinner menu. “Should I?” I do and have a wonderful three-course meal. Back in my room another hot shower, more soaking of the feet, a little nosh, I sleep
This morning with a firm decision made I inform the clerk that I’ll stay yet another night. The man has gone wild his lost his marbles! He informs me there is no room at the inn I must vacate. He calls down the street to another hotel that can accommodate me, but the spell is broken, my sanity is back, thanking him as I head for the Y. The whole hotel thing is going to set me back close to $450, something I’d never, ever done before, but it was worth it. Tomorrow it is time to ride north.
What I did on my trip to France, by Carl Cooke. Remember those essay’s we had to do every summer in grade school? Maybe they did away with them by the time you got to school. However, every summer it was expected, sometimes having to be ready on the first day of class. Which leads me to talking about living in the past, and what exactly does that mean? Now to me living in the past mean allowing all those nasty things that happened to you while you were growing up to affect the way you live today.
But, just maybe it has to do with the nice things that happened, or maybe just attempting to fine some connection to something or someone. Going to Austria is an attempt to connect with my grandparents, the people who raised me, my mother’s parents. Going to Liverpool is an attempt to connect with my father’s parents whom shared a very small part of my life. So what would visiting these places accomplish? Is it at all productive for people search for their “roots” for so many different reasons?
What will touching the past do for them today? Maybe nothing or will it help give them a better sense of self. For me it is not, I don’t think at this point, holding on to the pass. At this point Austria will have to wait, which my trip over to France made clear. I will move on to Liverpool this year to see if I can see what that connection will bring.
Wednesday, May 21: After a night at sea the Ferry arrived at La Havre on time at 8 am. Being the first to the deck that held my bike I rode confidently in to France. Having found that the Information center was not yet open, east along the Seine was my direction of travel. Soon the flat gave way to a small slop, which just kept going up. This was not right; looking to my right I see flat level land. After a bit I’m back on the level riding along just fine.
Arriving at the first town I head to the “Information” center. It took a bit to figure out and unmarked building was the “Information” center. Upon entering I asked “English?” The answer was “Little.” After asking for a map I request that she show me where I am. “Only that far?” My answer to the question of a railroad station was answered with “Le Havre.” She puffs “But of course.” It is clear that I’m not going to get a lot of information here. So riding east is what I do. Most of the ride was along the Seine, looking up at the high chalk cliffs glad of not having to ride up them. Finally it is time to find the campground listed on the map. Stopping again at the Information center directions are drawn to the campground.
Arriving I find that no one is in the office, or the house. Finally after about an hour a car pulls up with the campground owner, she wants francs, I only have Euros. After setting up, off to the bathroom. Low and behold the toile has no toilet paper, or toilet seat, must have run out. The show has a pay box in it, so I put 10 cents in and nothing happens back to the office. She speaks no English so through hand signals I want a Douche. No don’t think so I motion washing myself. “Lava.” She says, “Follow” we walk to the buildings that hold the showers, and she points “Douche.” I smile.
Thursday, May 22: After having breakfast in a local café I ask the owner the best way to get to my next destination. She stands next to me, very close; I smell her perfume, which is very light. I inhale deeply looking at her not the map she is pointing to. She smiles, as do I, then off to the next stop. This will be one of the longest rides to date. The map tells me that it is a 66 km to Rouen where I’ll hook up to the railroad. Riding along smoothly until the bike become sluggish. This is the tell tail sigh of a flat in the making. Get off and pump up the tire then ride on which lasts about 20 minutes. Each town passed through is searched for a bike shop; there are none to be found.
Finally it is time to unload the bike and fix the flat. This takes about an hour to complete the unpacking, taking apart, putting back together, and packing. The tire is holding air that is a good sign. Ahead I see, sticking out of the treetops, the tip’s of a bridge’s towers miles away. Sticking to the flat land is for me, beginning to fear I’ll have to go over it. Traveling through traffic circle has become old hat, this one is no different, however choosing the wrong road sends me riding up hill. The hill is steep the road shoulder is narrow I’m on the way to the bridge.
As Indy would say “I don’t like this.” Looking over my shoulder a road sign tells me I’m heading the wrong way. Managing to cross four busy lanes with trucks flying by and getting back on tack is a bit harrowing. “Ah that’s better.” But it is time to pump up the tire again. Under the bridge is much better then going over it, yet still no bike shop? Now I’m heading up hill again mmm which would mean another wrong turn somewhere did shorten the ride my 20km. After a long ride Rouen comes into view, along with a bike shop where I have a new tube put on. After reaching the campground and settling in it is time to relax.
Friday, May 23: Time to spend some time exploring Rouen and getting information on the train I’ll need to take from here. There is a 9th century catherdral, which was bombed by during the war. You can see where it has been rebuilt. Rouen is where Joan of Arc was held captive, tortured, tried, and then burned at the stake. It is interesting to me that someone who was burned as a heretic, was later made into a Saint. A meal sitting at a café is so relaxing. A stop at the railroad information center for more being told, “You can’t do that.” Silly people should not be telling me that something is impossible. I am looking for a way to get to Strasbourg by train without having to box up my bike. I plan for a trip by train to Paris tomorrow to see if there is a way to do such a trip. Now back to the campground for a long nights sleep.
Saturday, May 24: Like London trains to Paris stop at one station then you have to get across town, so there are different stations to get to different parts of France. After purchasing my ticket to Parris it is time to stand and wait for the railroad to decide the arrival platform for my train. Now you may be use to knowing ahead of time what platform to go to if you are taking a train somewhere, not France. Five minuets before the train is ready to board they post the platform number then everyone have to make a mad dash for the train.
After asking where the bike car is the conductor gives me a shrug of the shoulders. “If you don’t know, who the hell does?” I think to myself. I hold a second-class ticket to they shoo me to the back of the train. The conductor blows the whistle, yells something that clearly means get on the train, so I do, but not in the bike car. After a bit an older woman comes out of car, there are automatic doors with compartment at the end of each car where the bathroom is, puffing away. She begins to tell me in French about the rider across the aisle from her who is “Blab, blab blabbing on the cell phone. She put hand in the shape of a mouth taking. She goes back to her seat; I watch her sit for a while then yell at the guy using the cell phone. Now he comes out in the compartment I’m standing.
Now this compartment I’m in is not that big, maybe 6’ by 10’ and I’m taking up most of it. This guy now stalks around like an animal in a cage back and forth, back and forth all the while attempting to call someone on his cell phone. He talks, the train enters a tunnel, and he loses his signal, back and forth, back and forth. The tunnel ends back on the phone it seems he can hear the person he is talking to. I wonder if anyone would miss him if I threw him off the train. Finally he goes back to his seat smiles at the lady who yelled at him, puts his phone away, takes it out, fidgets around. I’ve seen addicts go through withdrawal behaviors over the years; his were up there with the worst.
A nicer lady conductor manages to convey that I should sit the bike will be fine. She even gets me a seat right next to Mr. Wired. I sit he says something in French, I smile back and say “English.” He smiles and goes back to fidgeting with the phone not daring to make a call. The train arrives at St. Lazars station, after getting a map along with some brief directions, jumping on the bike to ride to the next station, mushy ride. “What the ----.” Looking down at the flat tire. Pushing a bike through Paris is not great fun let me tell you. Nor does my travels take me past any bike shop.
My destination reached, the information needed gathered that tells me the guy in Rouen did not tell me the truth. It is quite possible to travel by bike from Rouen to Paris, and then get a train from Paris all the way to Innsbook in Austria. Don’t tell me it can’t be done, there is always a way around. Wasn’t that the spirit that created America? Doing what people said could not be done. Now it is time to walk back to the other station. Without the flat I had enough time to do a little tourist stuff now I just had enough time to make the train back to Rouen.
As I’m walking this guy comes along side me and starts talking to me, just what I’m in the mood to do is chat. So he starts in French, I say “English.” “Oh” he says, “I’m German, but I speak English.” “How wonderful for you.” I think as I smile. He begins to tell this long sob story about how his car is broken down, his business is closed, and so is his bank. I look at him “You got to be kidding me. I was born and raised in New York, and your going to try to hit me up for money. This is tooooo funny.” I listen to his speech trying not to laugh. The he tells me somewhere they have him 20 pounds, which he shows me. I’m nodding my head, smiling “Really tell me more.” His smile broadens as tell me he doesn’t like to beg, but could I give him 200 euros. I stop walking turn and look him in the eyes “I’m from New York.” His smile disappears and he walks away. “Gimme a break.”
Walk all the way from the train station to the campground that is about 3km. Have dinner and fix the flat, no I’ll use the second tube I bough in England. “Oh yes, that’s right wrong stem, so that will not work.” Back to fixing the flat that when done holds air, take a little ride, yep holds air. Time to Sleep.
Sunday, May 25: Should I get to Austria or return to England. The sort of timetable was to be in Austria by now. The plan was to spend most of May traveling to Austria, however procrastination has now put me close to June which I had planned riding in the north of England. After mulling over the information gathered to this point I decide it is a great day for a ride. There is a way to ride along the Seine for quite away upon reaching the furthest point the bike becomes sluggish. “You got to be fucking kidding me.” Yep another flat, no problem I’ll just fix it, no problem at all.
Finding a nice place to sit and work well out of the way I begin to work. While working cars begin to pull up and park all around me. Put on the patch and pump up the tire. While pumping away the tire pops like a balloon. Looking up at all the faces now turned in my direction. “Oops.” “I’ll just fix another flat, what the hell.” While removing the pump from the valve, the valve breaks off. “Guess I’m not fixing the flat.” It is another nice walk back to the campground only 5km today. Tomorrow I’ll get two new tubes from the bike shop then head back to England. This year my ass isn’t killing me it is my feet.
Monday, May 26: By 9am the bike is packed up ready to be pushed back to Rouen only 3 km away. “My the town is quiet. Is it a holiday or just weird French working habits?” My plan was to reach the bike shop when it opened hopefully at 9 am. So much for plans, as it is now 10 am with no signs this place is going to open anytime soon nor where any of the other stores around. The train station is uphill on a cobble stone street, how quaint; it is also 2 km more. Purchasing a ticket to Le Havre I ask if it is a holiday. The ticket agent looks at me with a frown like what a stupid question. “No” “just asking.” I smile saying nothing.
This train is different for the one that was used to go to Paris it has bike signs on a few doors so there is no need to ask. The train reaches Le Havre in an hour and a half, it had taken me two days to ride the distance and the train did not get a flat. From the train station it is about 5 km to the dock and the Ferry. My feet are in bad shape at this point having developed some really nice blisters. Finding the dock and purchasing the ticket allows me just enough time to get something to eat at the terminal. My bike is in line nine with about nine motorcycles and two other bikers.
Returning from the terminal there are now about thirty motorcycles and about twenty bikers, mine is the only one with a flat. The Ferry begins to load, the man points to the bikes to go on. Hobbling toward the Ferry the bike riders’ wiz by me. They are held up so are still waiting to board when I reach the ship. We all have to walk the bikes on anyway so no rush. The bikes a stowed in a small area I head to, as this is the same Ferry that brought me over, to the same seat.
The Ferry arrives an hour late back in Portsmouth so it is now 10:30 pm, and about 11:00 pm when I finally limp on to the streets of Portsmouth. It is at least 7 km to the campground, 4 to the railroad terminal. On the Ferry I have doctored up my feet so it is a bit easier to walk, but very slowly. Shall I stay or shall I go back to Salisbury? I reach the platform and ask if it is possible to get a train to Salisbury, he checks. ”With two changes you’ll get there at 1:20 am. If you miss a connection there are no more until morning. Both connections give me about 10 minuets to change trains if the connecting trains are at stations without tunnels or lifts I spending the night there.
Arriving in Salisbury at 2 am with out being charged for the ride it is time to walk to the campground, which is now closed and I’ll have to tent outside until morning, or walk to the YHA. Both are about 4 km from the train station in opposite directions and it is now raining. I’ll take a chance on the Y that they will have a bed for me. Walking down the deserted street a fellow on the other side calls to me. “Are you OK buddy?” Answering in the affirmative I wait to get hit up for more money. “You looking for a place to stay?” He asks. I explain that I’ll try the Y, then the campground if necessary. He offers to give me his telephone number so I can stay at his house if there is not room at the Y. He suggests one of the hotels might be open, but that would be about it.
Trudging on through the disserted streets. “Hotel? The Y is probably not gong to let me in this late, setting up the tent in the rain is not that appealing either. Hotel?” My knock on the door of the Red Lion, an inn built in 1250, brings the night person who tells me they have no rooms. He suggests The White Heart around the corner and up the block. Another knock brings me an answer of “Yes we can accommodate you.” I point to the bike. “Bring it around back we’ll lock it in the garage.” Twenty minutes later I’m in a room with a bed, TV, shower, all those wonderful things. After soaking my feet in hot water I sleep until 10 am the next morning. .
Tuesday, May 27: My friend Mark would be proud of me. I think “What the hell.” and spend a second night in the hotel. Then I’m off for breakfast and to buy a tube for my bike. After both my travels lead me pass the movie, which is a building built in 1300 as a theater, now renovated. Entering for the heck of it I’m informed that Indian Jones starts in five minuets; it was meant to be. Back at the hotel I check out the dinner menu. “Should I?” I do and have a wonderful three-course meal. Back in my room another hot shower, more soaking of the feet, a little nosh, I sleep
This morning with a firm decision made I inform the clerk that I’ll stay yet another night. The man has gone wild his lost his marbles! He informs me there is no room at the inn I must vacate. He calls down the street to another hotel that can accommodate me, but the spell is broken, my sanity is back, thanking him as I head for the Y. The whole hotel thing is going to set me back close to $450, something I’d never, ever done before, but it was worth it. Tomorrow it is time to ride north.
Great post. Wow, you're busy! I think the hotel was a wonderful choice!
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ReplyDeleteeygirl1Umm...you gonna do this for 29 more days? Glad you got to stay at a hotel!
ReplyDeleteUmm...you gonna do this for 29 more days? Glad you got to stay at a hotel!
ReplyDelete