OK, so all of you are "eagerly" anticipating this latest entry, huh? It's been ... what can we say ... an adventure? A nightmare? A little of both? I wanted to write the short version, but it's already been a week. Here goes...
We leave GB uncertain that the bike will be going with us. Something about the bike case not fitting in the plane. Dave is fit to be tied. He will go out and stuff it in himself if he needs to!! We watch as the baggage is loaded and yes, the bike goes on. Whew. We arrive in Nice at 11:30 a.m., on time, bike in tow, all the luggage but neither of us slept - even though both of us took Ambien (Lisa, it didn't work!). So we're exhausted. We get phones at the airport, which takes us about 45 minutes, and catch a cab to the mo-ho place ... which is closed until 2 because, yes, as we had been warned, the French take a 2-hour lunch break. I take a little nap on the sidewalk.
Laurent arrived and gave us a tour of the mo-ho, which to me is HUGE!! But it looks comfy - 2 double beds to sleep 4 (one is a table that folds down), lots of closet space, a bathroom with a shower, a fridge, a stove. We get in the mo-ho and Dave takes off. I just grip the door handle and hold on for life. Now, anyone who hasn't been to France (like me) wouldn't understand, but all the warnings about narrow roads, fast cars and horrible traffic were absolutely correct. We drove the short distance from Nice to Monaco, trying to take in the sights when I had my eyes open!!
Monaco is an interesting city. It's built on a mountain. The entire village goes up the mountain with little, little winding roads coming down - straight down - to the marina and the sea. We made our way down (oh, did I tell you that parking is horrible, scarce and nothing like we've ever seen before?) and wound up at the end of the marina in a bus spot next to where they dock cruise ships and the other bazillion-dollar ships. We parked, set up shop and took a nap, hoping no one would disturb us. No one did, though Dave did speak to a woman helping board the ship who said motor homes were not allowed in Monaco (whoops) and that we'd likely be told we had to move (double whoops). We hoped no one would see us, closed up the mo-ho and went to dinner along the waterfront - a place called Bars and Stars. Good food, but the best thing was that they had pictures of "stars" with the owner and we got a good laugh out of the picture labeled "Greg LeMond" when it really was Olympian Dan Jansen!
Walked around town, took pictures of the casino and the palace, got home and fell fast asleep... and this is where things take a turn...
Dave woke up the morning of the 30th ready to ride. 7 a.m. - bike out, get on, walkie talkies in place. He takes off and not two minutes later, he radios me. "I just crashed. I did an endo and am down. Can you come get me?" Thinking he was joking, I told him to knock it off. "Not joking," was the response. I look out and sure enough. He's down and some dock workers were walking over to him. He had apparently hit a grate that connects the docks and his tire completely stopped, but he didn't. We walked back to the mo-ho, where he took a deep breath and I heard a pop. Yup, he had to have broken one, if not two ribs. He collected himself, however, and went out and rode the 17 1/2 km route of the time trial around Monaco. I took a walk ... an anxious walk. When I arrived at the mo-ho, it was surrounded by tour buses and gas tankers (for the ships). I stayed away, hoping we didn't get towed and no one would connect me to it!
Dave finally returned, exhilarated but convinced that someone was going to crash in the TT. Difficult, difficult stage. We piled in the mo-ho and quickly made our exit, intending to get to the outskirts of town so Dave could get Stage 2 from Monaco to Brignoles in on the same day. We leave Monaco and, unfortunately, I get a taste of the roads. They are tight, winding, narrow, full of cars and drivers who are absolutely crazy, scooters, road directions that are very different than in the U.S., and this damn mo-ho is HUGE!! We get to a point just past a small town called Grasse and Dave asks if I want to try driving. OK, I'm going to have to at some point. I get in and am immediately struck by terror. I drive about 20 minutes, a little past Grasse, where there is a parking area and pull in. Dave decides to ride back toward Grasse to get mileage in - no way he'll get all the way back to Monaco. Then he'll come back to me and go onward while I drive. That's fine.
He puts in 42 km, knocks on the mo-ho door, I take a deep breath and start to drive by myself. I don't get more than 10 miles down this narrow, coast road before I take a wrong turn and try to correct it, only to go over a curb and mangle the step to the mo-ho and hang the whole vehicle up on the curb. I, of course, can't get out of this position, have blocked off traffic in this little town in the middle of a roundabout and, yes, the people come out of the shops and the "gendermane" approach. Luckily, they were extremely nice, spoke a little English, I asked them to drive the mo-ho for me and Dave happened upon this scene. All I said was he needed to drive and that was the beginning of my panic attack.
Needless to say, I couldn't get behind the wheel again, so Dave drove the whole way to Brignoles. We found a parking lot to park the camper, set up, and he tried to calm me down, with very little luck. We called Mike that day and explained the situation. He, too, bless his heart, tried to calm me down, but also took control and made some calls for us ... to our good friend Fred Shepard, who we were meeting in Barcelona on the 6th, and to the mo-ho company to see if there was any way to get a smaller vehicle or even a car/van.
We decided the 1st would be a rest day for me. I wasn't doing well - mentally or physically. Dave decided to ride the route back toward Grasse to get the mileage and then back to Brignoles. He did an awesome job - about 176 km. I slept and worried. The motor home company tried, but had no solutions. Fred, on the other hand, decided he would move his trip up and fly in on Thursday, the 2nd, and meet us in Montpelier on Friday, the 3rd, to give us some relief, sensing the urgency of the situation.
We drove to a small town outside of Marseilles that night and went to a pizza place. This is the third day that I've not eaten, but thankfully Dave is feeling great and has a good appetite. We camp in a shopping mall parking lot and are awakened by a truck unloading at 6:30 a.m.!
I decide I must drive, so Dave gets me to the highway, rather than the small roads, and he goes off on Stage 3 from Marseilles. I leave in the mo-ho, sweaty palms and all, and promptly get lost, go through towns I shouldn't, but finally get to the destination I'm suppose to meet him at and park. And wait, and wait. He calls, but he's lost, too. This isn't an easy thing to do the Tour before it's marked! He finally gets going and I move down the road. After about 5 hours, we finally meet up again. Of course, I sob in relief. He still has about 40 miles to go, so he sets off and I set off. Success. I make it to the end - having made several wrong turns and having gone through the town. He had a fabulous day, saw incredible scenery and put in the entire 180 km, having cut some off not leaving exactly from Marseille, but outside it, but adding mileage for being lost!
We drive on to Montpelier, where we park outside the tourism office with some other camper. We make our way across the street to be greeted by a beautiful central area where people are ambling about, playing frisbee, walking their dogs. There's a fountain and eateries. We go to a hamburger place. I'm still not hungry, but Dave is famished. We sleep well knowing Freddy is near!
Friday dawns only to discover that Fred actually got in on the train Thursday night after some issues, but we missed his call. We go to the train station and are very happy to see him. We eat at a Thai place and discuss plans for the mental health of Julie, as the trip has been quite stressful. Fred decides to take over driving for the next couple days, Dave will continue his successful rides and we'll talk about where this goes.
Montpelier is a beautiful city, but the traffic was horrendous and we decide, for safety sake, that there is no way Dave could safely navigate this route. The roads weren't marked and the maps weren't good. We decide that it's best to take a rest day and move on along the Mediterranean coast toward Stage 5, which starts in Cap d'Ange and goes to Perpignan. We stop along the way to experience Auchon, which is a shopping mart and has everything from fresh fish and cheese to clothing to TVs. An experience. We stop in a small coastal city called Sete, which is your typical fishing village, and take a walk around. Fred has some experience with the language so he's take it upon himself to begin teaching us and turning our trip around. We drive a bit further south and find a camping spot with other motor homes along the Mediterranean in the middle of nowhere. We walk along the beach and find it very calming ... finally. Dinner - mac and peanut butter in the mo-ho for Dave, wine and cheese for Freddy, I'm still not there (hey, it's a way to diet, but I don't recommend it).
We arise to the sea air, pack up and move along to Le Cap d'Ange where Fred and I deposit Dave along the side of the road. We get our maps and set a meeting spot. We move along the roads, seeing vineyards, olive groves and canals. I'm still holding tightly to the door handle as the roads are again country roads, small and narrow, but luckily not full of traffic. Luckily again, Fred is driving! We find our point to stop, and wait. And wait. Again, wrong turns (by both of us) and Dave goes out of his way. Somehow he gets past us (we still haven't figured this out), but he gets to a small town called Fieully. We tell him to wait and catch up. The little town is at the bottom of a Category 4 climb. We ask if he's done, as he's about 120 km into the ride, we're near the Pyrenness and we're seeing lightning over the mountains. Hell no. He takes off and climbs like a goat up the mountain. You'd never think he just rode 120 km in 85-90 degree heat. Awesome. We get to the top, tap off his water bottle and he wants to finish the ride. Again, hectic roads, but we meet near the cusp of the cap, deciding it unwise to ride into Perpignan. He finishes the day with 190 km.
Tonight we got a hotel in this very cute, touristy seaside village. I can't remember the name, but it's just to the west of Perpignan, on the Mediterranean. It's got lots going on. Went to dinner and Dave had steak, Fred had salmon, I had salad.
We made some decisions today. We decided that there was no way I could safely navigate the roads in France. The size of the motor home, the fact that it's stick shift, the small roads, traffic, signs, etc. Fred put out the word to some of his buddies and a fabulous friend of his, Jerry, from Halifax, is flying over on July 9 to meet us in Toulouse to help us continue this trip. He will take over the wheel as Fred is traveling back to Barcelona to do some business. Jerry will remain with us through July 23, navigating, while Dave will continue to ride and I, fortunately, may begin to eat again. And perhaps we'll all begin to enjoy some wine that France is so famous for.
By the way, Dave's ribs hurt, but aren't stopping him.
More soon. Keep us in your thoughts. By the way, my husband is awesome!! And Fast Freddy has come through for us and we can't tell the guy we love him enough!
- Julie
