Preparingishalfthebattle

During my three-day stay with Daniel and Natalie, I had the chance to

leisurely prepare for my bike trip down the Marne Canal.

The first thing I did was to unpack my large box sitting in their

garage. Usually reassembling a bike is as easy as putting together a

set of Legos. Once, in fact, while I was taking my bike apart to put

it on a plane in Sweden, a large group of spectators gathered around

me. One gentleman in the airport crowd, impressed with my ability to

use a wrench, asked if I could repair kitchen appliances, too.

This time, though, I couldn’t figure out how to attach the brakes

to the front wheel of my new “top-of-the-line” KHS bike. Reading the

instructions didn’t help at all. (It usually doesn’t.) Finally I

called Natalie to have a look. She noticed immediately that I had

turned the handlebars the wrong way. Why is new technology always so

complicated? Shouldn’t it make things easier?

My second chore was to buy a train ticket from Paris to Strasbourg

where I would begin my cycling trip. Even though Daniel drew me a map

outlining the way to the train station, with so many, unmarked,

one-way streets, I still got lost. While wandering around the town, I

noticed Houilles’ many neglected, dusty streets and shabby-looking

stores. I suppose few people shop here when Paris is only 20 minutes

away by train. Houilles is actually a commuters’ town. People can

afford to live here in houses instead of in apartments in the city.

The last thing on my list was to buy a cartouche of camping gas

for my stove and some detailed Michelin maps. Since they weren’t

available in Houilles, Daniel drove me on Saturday to the Decathlon

Store, an amazing place with three stories filled with every kind of

sport equipment imaginable.

This trip to the shopping center was one I’ll never forget. Danger

loomed at every second, and an accident looked unavoidable. (I think

my prayers saved me.) All the way, Daniel took back, narrow streets

that had only one lane for cars going both ways. Imagine! The other

lane was used for parking. Cars constantly came straight toward us.

To avoid a gnarly, head-on-collision, Daniel would back up quickly

and wait behind a parked car until the other car passed. When I asked

him why he always yielded the right-of-way (and didn’t play chicken

just for the fun of it), he explained the rules: If cars are parked

on the right side of the street, the car on the right must yield to

the on-coming car. This rule changed every two weeks. Then the cars

must park on the left side of the street, and cars coming on the left

must yield. Since the French are such free-spirited souls, I’m

surprised this complicated rule actually worked.

Intersections were equally as frightening, because none of the

cross streets had stops signs. No, not one! The right-of-way belonged

to the car approaching on the right. It didn’t matter which driver

reached the corner first. Roundabouts were scary places, too. Here

cars darted toward us from every direction. Whoever arrived at the

circle first, either from the right or left, had priority.

After this trip, I realized why, when I lived with my family in

Flers, France, in 1977, our auto insurance cost the same amount as

our used 404 Peugeot: $500. Probably the officials feared that we

might stray into a small town and, without knowing the confusing

rules, endanger the lives of the local residents.

By Sunday all of my preparations were finished, so Daniel and

Natalie took me on a family outing to Giverny to see the gardens that

Monet painted in his paintings. As we strolled around the beautiful,

tree-lined ponds and lakes filled with lilies, it felt like we were

actually in one of his famous paintings.

From Giverny we visited another artist’s town, Auvers. Van Gogh

spent the last 90 days of his life here to undergo treatment from a

family psychiatrist. In Auvers, we saw a fascinating, impressionist’s

museum that illustrated how people lived in Paris during the 1800s.

We sat in a make-believe sidewalk cafe, attended a show in a theater,

pretended to ride on a train and walked around an open market.

Immersing ourselves in these Parisian scenes gave us a vivid idea of

the impressionist era.

This excursion ended my short visit in Houilles. The next day

Daniel loaded my bike into his van and took me to Paris. At Gare Du

Nord I caught a train to Strasburg and from there began my cycling

adventures. Wait till you hear what happened.

Next Episode: A frustrating first day on the Canal.

* This is the second of five pieces on Martha Marino’s travels by

bike.