After we got in Jim and I got settled at the Giant house for the night, built our bikes and headed into town with the Giants for dinner at an Indian place (there are 3 here). Afterwards we met up with Dr. John for a quick beer, that turned into another, and another. Full updates to follow.
Today we got out for 3.5 hours through the highlands. Spectacular!
We were up at 6 and on the street boxes in hand at 6:30. We traveled as a train, me pushing one bag and holding one end of the cardboard box, Jim holding the other end and dragging his bike and second bag behind him. Stairs were a challenge and we pissed off more than a few Parisians.
We took the metro down to Chatelet and switched to the RER up to the airport. We arrived without much issue, though we did initially get off at the wrong airport stop and had to wait for a second train. Once in we mostly breezed through the baggage experience, though we had to sweet talk Jim’s bike onto the plane. We transited quickly through Heathrow and arrived in Glasgow on time. As we walked to the baggage claim we passed through a duty free liquor store (yes, welcome to Scotland) and were handed a sample of 12 year old Balvenie to ease the pain of the baggage experience. Little did we know we would need it. Our checke bags came through quickly but we stood around waiting for our bikes. As we stood we were approached by another gangly looking American with full sideburns who asked if we were heading to the race and introduced himself as Carl (Decker). His bags were also not appearing and we all headed into the claims area together to figure out what was up. Our bikes had missed the connection and were meant to be arriving on the next flight. Carl’s were there but on another belt. He was picking up a van to drive up to Aviemore but was waiting for Adam Craig, Kelli Emmet, and Elke Brutsaert who were arriving on another flight. He said they could wait for our bikes and take us all up to Aviemore together. We waited around while he got the van and met Adam et al, when their flight came in. These guys know how to travel and the offloaded 6 bikes to get them through single speed worlds this weekend and then the real worlds next week.
Our bikes miraculously appeared on the next flight and we headed out to the van for the ride up. And now I sit here writing this post from within the darkness of the windowless cargo area of a large panel van. Jimbo, Elke and I are lounging across the piled luggage trying to keep from getting sick as the pastoral Scottish countryside streams by us outside.
The last day in Paris was a flurry of activity trying to see if anyone knew the fate of the missing bike box, trying to procure a cardboard box, looking for packing material. We finally got everything sorted by around 4. The guys at Bastille Cycles were pretty helpful in getting us a box. Jim and I walked in and I said that I didn’t speak French, the one phrase I have got down in French, to which the owners replied, “sure you do, keep going.” There were some touch and go moments, but we managed to get a box and some spare cardboard and hefted it back to the 20th Arrondissement on foot. Jim and I met up again at 4 to head out on the town and enjoy a little Parisian life to distract us from the impending hassle of the transit through trains and planes the next morning. We went shopping in the Marais then hit falafel center for a taste test of the best falafel in Paris. Our decisions were mixed; Jim favored the crisp falafel balls and well mixed assembly of Las Falafel, though I was a fan of the more flavorful eggplant and heavier tahini at Chez Marianne.
Well sated, we went for a whirlwind tour through the Louvre, which is open late on Wednesday. We strolled through the French and Italian painters slowly, enjoying more the people watching and the setting sun pouring through the Louvre’s west windows and casting long shadows down the exhibit hall. At 9, we’d reached the end of the hall, in the southwestern most corner of the palace and realized that we’d have to hurry to get back to see the museum’s crown jewel, the Mona Lisa. Getting to her late gave us the advantage of a small crowd and we both hit the room and initially focused on the other works. I was first drawn to the enormity of the Wedding Feast of Cana. I approached the Mona Lisa with slow reverence and was immediately struck by the difference. Where all the other portraits we’d seen in the museum either looked away or stared forward absently, the Mona Lisa gazed out intently, almost inviting you to look longer. She stood in stark contrast the massive Christ figure opposite her in the Wedding Feast of Cana that stared blankly, inhumanly forward as though both transfixed and bewildered by the gaze of the woman opposite him.
From there we sprinted to the northern European painters to take in a quick Vermeer and headed back to the apartment, stopping to pick up beer, to pack the bikes.
