When you do anything alone, you meet random folks along the way. Petrol stations, on the side of the road, campsites. I met people who thought I was crazy, inspiring, or both. I met a French man who told me tales of cycling from France to Greece with a friend in 1985, camping on farmland in the Eastern Block all the way. His eyes sparkled wild with adventure. If his wife wasn’t there, I think he would have jumped on a bike and rode off into the distance with me just to reclaim the spontaneity of the road.
Walking around searching for dinner in Amboise, my eyes gravitated to a sexy yellow bike. (which happens to me everywhere. Like italian men’s eyes gravitating to blond women.) The man with the bike seemed a bit flustered and sweaty, but he didn’t have touring gear. As our paths crossed, I could help but make eye contact as I tried to figure out what he was doing. An awkward hello. “Hello” “Hello” “Are you touring?” He was, in fact, touring. Touring for 100s of kilometers with a messenger bag… which is one of the crazier things I’ve seen. Masochist–no whips, but a messenger bag. He was even carrying the large Lonely Planet to Europe, which is the size of a brick. We sat down for a drink. I turns out he’s an American living in Paris and the tour was so last minute he packed like he was going to the office.
The Loire as it passes through Amboise is delicious, especially at sun rise.
Lisa Lucas: cycle adventures 