Paris: Day 2

Up after 12 hours of fitful sleep I joined the boys on the street at the market just outside the apartment.  It was abuzz with people buying produce, fish, meat, textiles, and trinkets.  After coffee, Steve and I went to the market to picky up lunch while Billy and Joe sought out the magical skin cream that Billy had found 8 years before on his first PBP.  Back at the apartment we each had a quick panne au chocolate and then laid out a spread of jambalaya, chicken, potatoes, and wine (the latter a recurring theme).
After lunch we loaded up and headed to the metro to get out to the Saint Quentin en Yvelines for the check in and bike inspection.  We had to ride almost to the Eiffel Tower on the other end of town in intermittent rain and were all slightly soggy by the time we loaded onto our train.  As soon as we were out of the station in Saint Quentin we started seeing bikes everywhere and the chaos began in earnest as we approached the start.
The bike inspection was cancelled because of the rain, but we were able to pick up our packets and numbers.  The area was a mess with bikes of all colors and sizes.  Singles, tandems, recumbents; race bikes, touring bikes; bikes with full panniers and racks, bikes with little more than a spare tube in a saddle bag.
We scoped out the lay of the town for tomorrow and headed back to Paris around 5.  Back in town we struggled to make decisions about food as we were all fading with hunger.  We finally settled on a café near the Sorbonne where Steve and I were treated to fabulous tripe sausages.  From there we headed back to the Latin Quarter for crepes.  I opted for the relatively light “sucre et citron”, while Steve and Billy stepped it up a notch with Nutella and chocolate (respectively), bananas, and whipped cream.
Back at the apartment we’ve spent the night organizing and packing the bikes.  We leave from here tomorrow as though the ride has started and only take with us that which will come on the bike or go in the drop bag.  Its all packed, a spot check in the morning, a few last minute items at the store, and we’re off!  For now, sleep.

Paris: Arrival

I’ll add pictures when I have time.

An impromptu lunch meeting on Friday had me running a little late to get the last minute packing done: a quick trip to TJ Maxx for a cheap towel, BestBuy for a voltage adapter, and the grocery store for toiletries and food for Nita while she watches Sophie.  At 3 we loaded into the Jeep and headed out to the airport.  We got there with plenty of time, but the people ahead of me were baffled by the self check-in and set us back a bit.  The girl manning the checkout counter looked at the bike case and reckoned it weighed less than it looked, gave it a quick lift and proclaimed it fit to load without charge. Unfortunately, she came running over to get me just as I was checking through security and told me that I would have to be charged.  I cringed at the thought as I knew the bag was heavy.  It weighed in at 83 lbs but she let me through with only a $25 charge.  As I boarded I watched a burly guy at the back of the plane heft it up and I was off.
I sat in the back row and in Detroit we could hear the luggage handlers hollering in the bay as they unloaded.  They were hooting it up about how everything had been tossed around in flight.  After everything else was out we heard one yell, “Wait, I got one here in the back!”, and my case came sailing out the luggage bay and crashing down on the truck below as the “handlers” jumped out of its way.  Thankfully I got this second hand from the woman sitting at the window, as I may have not survived seeing it.
For the flight to Paris I sat next to a young woman named Sandrine whose voice dropped in disappointment when she asked if I was French.  She was returning from a month in Durango, her first trip to the US and her first experience with English.  Her English was surprisingly good after only a month, but a month of struggling to keep up with the conversation had left her tired and she was eager to get back to the simplicity of her native tongue.  She was greatly intrigued by my tale of two bikes in the cargo bay and waited with me in the baggage area to see the case.  It was a long, and nervous, wait, but I was reassured that all the other PBP riders on the plane were also waiting anxiously for the same precious cargo.  Mine was the first to arrive, and looked OK on quick inspection and we were off.  Sandrine and I were heading to the same part of Paris so we headed to the train together.  She was gracious enough to buy my ticket into town and headed to the tracks.  The first hurdle was getting the case through the turnstyle and I had to heft it over, and then down the stairs.  The latter required running the first bags down, leaving them, and returning for the bikes (note this).   We boarded along with another PBP rider from Seattle and breathed and sat back in our seats for the ride into Paris.  Within minutes there was an announcement (that I would otherwise not have noted) to which Sandrine exclaimed “Shit!”.  There was a bomb scare due to unattended baggage (recall my ferrying issue with the bikes and the stairs?) and they were shutting down the station.  I have no idea if it had anything to do with me, but we all had to leave, go up an escalator, up another, up another, down an elevator and into another airport shuttle train to the next RER station.  From there we had to maneuver more stairs and escalators and came to another set of entry turnstyles.  Of course, our tickets were no longer good.  Rather than buy new ones, we hopped in behind other passengers (no small feat with a double bike box) and snuck in for free.  Finally on the RER we headed in Paris and changed at Chatalet station, which entailed more stairs, more escalators, and a long set of moving walks.  The case was a great hit with the other passengers and drew non-stop looks of surprise and occasional outbursts of laughter.  Sandrine got off a few stops before me with a promise that we would try to get a drink later in the day before her train to Dijon, but the looks of exhaustion on our faces indicated otherwise.
Back above ground I found myself on the Avenue D’Italie.  Texts back and forth with Joe indicated that Billy would meet me but he was nowhere to be found and I headed up the apartment on my own.  Getting the case and bags and me in the tiny Parisian style elevator to the 11th floor was a bit of a feat but I emptied out in front of the apartment hoping to find someone home and was disappointed.  Joe and Steve texted that Billy should have been there long ago and they were on their way.  I proceeded to unpack the box and started building my bike, which went relatively smoothly except for the automatic light switch in the hallway that shut off every 3 minutes.  In transit from the airport, up and down stairs and escalators, I had managed to knock the brevet bike out of the fork mount, but it assembled well and seemed to roll true.  Just as I was finishing up, Billy arrived in his Moots skinsuit after a 2 hour detour through the streets of Paris.  As I mounted my new tires and did the more finicky tuning, Billy headed downstairs for wine and baguettes which finally made me feel like I was in Paris.  Joe and Steve followed soon after and we were able to toast the official start of the assault on PBP.
Once the bikes were together we headed out so that I could check the build.  We rode from the 13th to the Latin Quarter for a coffee and then a beer.  Fortified we headed to the Seine then across to the Academie de Music, then out to the Champs Elysee at the Arc de Triumph.  We took a couple of laps at pace in traffic, then headed straight down the Champs on the tour route.  At the far end we regrouped and picked a direction for dinner.  After a bit of winding through the backstreets on the right bank we ended up at a fabulous and cheap falafel stand for dinner and headed back to the apartment as night fell.