When I think back to my travels in the French Rivera I see palm trees, sunny beaches, beautiful salt water waves, and that one curb that ruined it all. It has now been a month since I flew off of my bike onto the pavement below and slowed my pace to a record low- stationary. A minor concussion, scrapes and bruises have since healed, but a tear to a small muscle in my leg has made me switch gears and paths for this trip.
Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? It’s a long story but worth sharing I think, and mostly true…
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It’s like cats and dogs. They can get along just fine, and many of us have both, but when they meet “out there,” there’s often trouble.
Just the other morning while I was journaling outside I heard a honk, and looked up. On the bridge in front of me I could see an early morning cyclist who was now stopped in the middle, and he was trying to communicate something to the driver behind him who had honked. Although I am not French, I thought his communication was quite clear. He was using some universal signs and gestures, and from where I was his muffled yells might as well have been English. I also noticed he was using another effective tactic–stopping in the middle of the lane to force impatient drivers to wait. He stood there staring down the driver for about 35 seconds, while a line of cars stopped behind him on the bridge. Then, when he had had enough, he got back on and kept biking.
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