4 posts tagged “bike”
Today was an excellent day. While I still have some serious jet-lag, I was able to wake up only 2.5 hours after my alarm went off. And then I trotted off to Mike and Rion's old house, to pick up my new bike! Mike and Rion, and most importantly, Dante, just moved to London on Sunday. While I'm happy for them that they're starting a new adventure, and a new job for Mike, I'm definitely sad that they're gone.
Okay, so I only *really* care about Dante, but it can't hurt to let Mike and Rion think they're part of it too, right? Seriously, who could compete with this face:
But in the midst of the craziness, Mike forgot to tell the movers to pick up their three bikes in the shed. Off all their belongings went to London, leaving three lonely bikes behind. And, lo! Sophie saw that it was good.
So I got my lazy butt over to the 6th, to get one of the bikes from the gardien. Only he had already left for the day by the time I got there. I knocked on someone's door, asking if they would let me into the bike shed. The woman was very nice, but said she didn't have a key. She suggested I go try directly above her. So up I go.
There, the woman who answers the door is on the phone. She beckons me into her apartment and signals me to hold on while she finishes her call. When I explain the situation, referring to Dante's adorableness as a mental cue, she says she'd be happy to help, but her husband has the key and won't be home till later. She suggests I try the man upstairs. I tell her I don't want to bother any more people, but she insists that it's no bother. So up I go.
The man who answers the door is a bit grumpy, but willing to help. We head down to the bike shed, and I make small talk on the way. Did he know Mike and Rion? The did live in the building for three years, so it's not a silly question. He tells me that he knew who they were, but since they didn't speak very good French they never talked. Hm. Okay. Mike's French definitely improved this last year, but whatevs.
He then adds that they kept their baby stroller in the lobby with a padlock on it, "comme si c'etait le Bronx ici! On n'est pas dans le Bronx!/As if this were the Bronx! We're not in the Bronx!" I thought this was particularly amusing, since he was, for all intents and purposes, helping me take a bike that he had NO IDEA was actually mine for the taking. Not to mention the fact that I'm sure the padlock was not intended for the building residents, as it's a very nice building in a very nice neighborhood, but rather for the delivery and service people who come and go. Dante's stroller is pretty snazzy, and I could imagine a pizza man (were there any pizza men in Paris) getting the wrong idea.
I did not relay any of this to the grumpy man who was helping me, however. He was trying to adjust the seat to the right height for me, but since it's a folding bike, he kept flipping the wrong switches and it was just a disaster. I told him not to bother, that I wouldn't ride it home anyway, since I don't have a helmet yet. To which he replied, "T'as pas besoin d'une casque! On n'est pas à Los Angeles!/You don't need a helmet! We're not in Los Angeles!"
There are several flaws in this argument: 1. What the fuck is up with this guy's pointing out what American places we are NOT in? 2. One should always wear a helmet. 3. The streets are currently completely covered in black ice, due to the utter lack of post-snow clean-up in this city, making a helmet even more necessary. 4. Who the hell rides a bike in LA, anyway?
I just thanked him again, said happy new year, and walked the bike about a mile home.
After a fun hour tutoring Prune, an adorable six year-old, I told her that it was time for me to go. "Déjà?/Already?" she asked. Aw. Makes me feel all warm inside. But I had places to go, and shopping to do! For today was the first day of the almighty winter soldes, or twice-yearly government sanctioned SALES. Whoop!
This year, unofficial sales started back in December, due to the shit-fest that is the global economy. But all the good stuff didn't get marked down till today. I had a very specific shopping list in mind, and stuck to it. I got the goods for 30-50% off, and am so psyched. I now would like the bonus of finding a new winter coat, a pair of low grey boots, and a new going-out top, since I'm so sick of all of mine. But even if I find nothing else, I've gotten the essentials: 3 new turtlenecks (heather grey, brown, and a color called "caviar,"), a very pretty grey silk dress for any wedding that doesn't permit cleavage, and a pair of black lace-up shoes.
And THEN! Anna's horoscope (I know, I make fun of her for this, too) told her that tonight is a good night for drinks with the girls, so she decided to organize drinks with the girls! I'm so glad she did. Anna, Lauren, Julie, Pauline and I got together at Le Pantalon for kirs and beers.
It was really good to see everyone together. The five of us, while all friends, have actually never hung out as a group. Normally it's any combination of 2-4 at a given time, but since we all split our lives between at least two cities, it's very rare that we're all in Paris at once. Here's to more apèros!
My faithful readers might remember that over a year ago I claimed to have learned to ride a bike. This was lies.
After the previously noted two lessons, I didn't get back on the saddle until yesterday. Well over a year has passed, and I still have not truly learned how to ride a bike. I explained how I managed to reach a ripe old age and still be completely reliant on others for my transportational needs in this post, back in May 2007. Not much has changed since then.
But since I'm living on Ile de Ré for over six weeks, not riding a bike is really just not an option. Checking out the island's website shows that one of the ONLY things to do here is tour the villages by bike. To quote the site: the bicycle is Ré's favourite mode of transport . . ." (bolding is original to the site.) And when clicking on the information for the particular village I'm living in, Loix, they have this to say: We advise you to explore Loix de préférence by bike!
So I was very intimidated coming here. Sarah and Omar both knew that I don't know how to ride, but indicated that my time off would be much more enjoyable if I learned how. Our house is literally a five-minute walk to the center of town, but the center of town has a church, a café, a market, and that's about it. There is always the merry-go-round, but I think the seats max out at like 50 pounds, so that's not a real option.
So, I needed, really this time, to learn to ride. Yesterday, given a few hours to myself, I decided to bite the bullet and rent a bike. At the rental place in town I was greeted by a 20 year-old with a poorly rolled cigarette dangling from his mouth and a rhinestone in one ear. His sidekick had freckles and a mouth that never quite seemed to close. I told the boys that I wanted to rent a bike, mais je suis vraiment débutante/I'm a real beginner.
Boy number one pulled out a maroon bike and said it should fit me, and to take it for a spin to see if it's good. I looked at him and said, mais je ne peux pas! Honnêtement, je suis débutante!/But I can't! Honestly, I'm a beginner!
Understanding finally dawning in his eyes, he told me not to worry, that he has a friend who's 82 and doesn't know how to read or write. Um, thanks? Is this supposed to make me depressed or motivated?
Still refusing to completely believe that I, an adult woman, cannot ride a bike, he told me to just get on and try it out. When I stalled, claiming fear and inability, he just wouldn't take no for an answer. He told me, Si on ose pas, on arrivera jamais/If we never dare to try, we'll never achieve anything. Big words from a small-town boy.
Promising to hold the back of my bike, he handed his damp cigarette to the gaped-mouth boy, and convinced me to climb aboard. After pedaling for a few seconds, I guess he let go, cause suddenly I was turning circles around the parking lot. Alone. On a bike!
I signed a rental contract and rode home. RODE HOME! ON A BIKE! I only ran into one small post, and had to restart twice. When I got back here, I instantly called my mom, who was shocked and told me to go for a ride. So I did.
I found myself on one of the island's many bike paths, although it turns out I probably picked the wrong one for my first day. After sliding down the bank of a small creek, landing in reeds, I turned around and headed for home. Where I ran into one more post and one woman. Both of them were very understanding.
Today, after an evening trip to the beach en famille, I figured I better ride a bit or I would lose my momentum. So I took off, salty and damp, for an evening ride. I passed chickens cooped up behind chain link fence, grandfathers tending gardens with their grandsons, salt marshes, farmland, and beautiful countryside. When my thighs started burning, I turned around and made my way home.
I noticed several improvements today. I'm now able to shift gears without stopping the bike and turning the pedals by hand. When a bike is coming towards me, instead of stopping and waiting by the side of the road, I just keep my eye on where I'm going and everything is okay. I'm able to relax my hands a bit, so they don't cramp quite so much. And I'm actually enjoying it. The feeling of pumping your legs and really letting go on a nice stretch of bike path is fantastic.
I still have a lot to learn, such as the intricacies of gears, and how to slow down without either stopping completely or riding straight into the vegetation, but I'm learning. And I'm sore. Is it normal to have crotchal bruises?
This past Tuesday I learned how to ride a bike. Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while know that this is a huge deal. Anna and I went to the Luxembourg, I strapped on a helmet, and after an hour and 20 minutes I had started the bike myself 3 or 4 times (that is by far the hardest part for me), biked 100 meters dozens of times, and stopped without falling every time. I did end up with massive inner thigh bruising, though. Anna is at least 10 inches taller than me, and although she lowered her bike seat as far as it would go it was still way too big for me. Every time I swung a leg over I banged myself, and had some impressive navy welts. I tried taking a picture, but the true beauty of the bruises cannot be captured.
I definitely need more practice, and if it ever stops raining we will go back out. But the main hurdle has been jumped, and I'm excited to get even better. That night I had delicious moules frites at my favorite cute-waiter-infested resto, l'Academie de la Biere, with Mike and some of his friends. Anna joined us for a bit, before a hot date.
The next day I got my last houseguest, Ward. We met at our hostel in Split, and since he's traveling around Europe for 10 weeks I invited him to crash chez moi when in Paris. He treated me to an evening at the Moulin Rouge, which was hilarious. The show was too long, but fun. There were more themes going on than I've ever seen on one stage. We had musketeers, India, Thailand, the circus, pirates, Siamese twins, comedic drumming, and some acrobatics. I might be leaving some stuff out. It went a little long, but the bottle of champagne helped things along. We didn't get home till ridiculously late and slept in the next day before going to the Musee du Quai Branly. It was completely overwhelming, but amazing. It's definitely the kind of museum where an audio or tour guide would be very helpful, cause there's just so much to look at.
I had dinner with the Lamberts after tutoring Benjamin and Juliette. I was so impressed that they spoke in English the whole meal! Although everyone in my family speaks or understands French, I just can't imagine talking to my parents in another language. The food was delicious, but even better was just talking to all of them. Benjamin is spending a few weeks this summer with a family in Nashville, and I'm really hoping they find a way to send him to New York for a weekend. I haven't corrupted any youth in a while, and have a quota to fill.
Here is the family, after dinner:
Friday Ward and I went to the Louvre, and walked around a bit. Here he is, a bit museumed out:
Yesterday Anna and I went to Tang Freres, an Asian supermarket in Chinatown. I got fresh sugar cane juice, which was surprisingly tasty. We went back to her place and made scallion pancakes, or rather she made scallion pancakes while I made hair and facial appointments for my return to New York.
Last night was Le Nuit des Musees, when lots of museums are open for free till late. I made my way to the Marais the long way, and watched the sun peek through some clouds for about 10 minutes from Ile St Louis.
Today I had lunch with the Augustes, before another knitting lesson with Lee Ann. Today I learned how to purl!
This coming week holds a lot of errands and packing (eek!), and just general wrapping things up. The weather has been really lousy, cold and rainy and pretty depressing. I hope I get a few more nice days before I have to head back to New York.
I'm actually really looking forward to going home. I'm ready. I don't want to go through the next 10 days of
goodbyes and packing and stress. I just want to be there. But I'm also still pretty set on coming back to Paris next year. I might even get desperate enough to look into au pair situations. I found one family with a house on the Adriatic who spends half the summer at the beach and the rest in Venice. How bad could that be?
I have always been what I like to refer to as “transportationally-challenged.” This is a nice way of saying that without public transportation I’m screwed. I blame this situation on outside sources, such as my mother or New York. Partially they are at fault, and partially I’m just a lazy fuck.
This was brought home to me this week when I presented my ID, as per usual, at the security desk of one of the big companies I tutor at. The hostess was new and therefore examined my ID more closely than normal. The other ladies recognize me now, and take my ID as part of standard procedure rather than a fact-finding mission.
This woman, however, took her job very seriously. After asking me what my last name is, mistaking my surname for my nationality, she proceeded to mark a little slip of paper with the date, time, the name of the man I was meeting, and my employer: Learner Permit.
Holding back the giggles, I realized that perhaps it’s time to do something about the whole not-knowing-how-to-drive THING. THING is in caps because that’s how I see it in my mind’s eye. It’s looming and big and scary. At 27, I’d rather give someone else the control over my safety than take that power in my own hands. Which is strange, because I’m otherwise a very independent woman. (I still don’t really think of myself as a woman. When will that change?)
This means that I might finally be ready to learn how to drive. But, walking before running, first I have to master the fine art of riding a bike. That’s where my mom comes into the picture.
I had a navy blue bike with training wheels. It was probably my sister’s before it was mine, but I don’t know. Neither of us was ever particularly attached to it. My mom would take me for rides around the block, until it was time to remove the training wheels. I blanched, and said I didn’t want to. Instead of insisting, as all other American mothers do, she just shrugged and said, “okay.”
Fast-forward roughly 17 years, and I have a whole list of things I’ve missed out on because of that shrug. My mom will say that it’s my fault, that I’ve had plenty of opportunities to learn since then, and if I haven’t I’m the only one to blame. And she’s right. But once you grow up a bit and realize that the whole business of balancing on a teeny edge of rubber is really scary, it gets harder to learn. That’s why we’re supposed to learn when we’re young and stupid. I missed that boat.
The summer I was 16, in Provence, I had to drive on highways with the counselor while the rest of my summer program biked through fields full of lavender and sunflowers. Visiting Julien in New Orleans I am kept at his mercy, only able to visit the French Quarter if he feels like driving me. In Italy, I can’t tour the wine country without a bus full of tourists.
Luckily Anna’s little old lady (i.e. her grandmother’s cousin) has an old bike from the 70s in her basement. Anna is going to fix it up, and teach me how to ride. For real this time. Because it’s time, because she’s relatively patient, but mostly because I finally feel ready.
Wish me luck on my travels.
