( If you have not read the prologue, start here ) The final morning of my four weeks in France had arrived. In Grenoble, a city ringed by the Alps, my fourth base, Nikhil and I had been living in an apartment, heading into the mountains every other day. This day was supposed to be an easy day, just a long, gentle climb nearby. But the evening before, as Nikhil and I talked it over, Nikhil somehow…
( If you have not read the prologue, start here ) It was the first time grime on a car had ever felt passionately alive. The dirt was all on the front, the kind that tells you this thing had been running and running. Maybe it was melted rubber from other cars’ tires. It was pitch black. During my first week in France, I visited Le Mans, a city already charged with anticipation for the 24-hour…
( If you have not read the prologue, start here ) I was holding a leek, and the supermarket cashier was telling me something in French. What? Was something wrong? I needed to finish shopping, get home, and start cooking, or I would never make dinner in time for the friend I was hosting. My friend, who had been waiting outside the checkout area, came over to rescue me and translated. Apparently I…
( If you have not read the prologue, start here ) Throughout this trip, I was always taking photographs. Even when I climbed a 2,600-meter mountain by bike, I carried a camera that weighed nearly a kilogram, and in the end I took about 6,000 pictures. And still, there was so much of France that never made it into them. Some things I simply could not photograph. Others I thought I had captured,…
( If you have not read the prologue, start here ) I was cooking ratatouille while pan-frying white fish in olive oil. The oil made a cheerful crackling sound. The tomatoes smelled wonderful. Then I glanced toward the glass door at the entrance and saw a dog looking in at me. This farmhouse outside Bordeaux had two dogs. Did she want to come inside? I opened the door, and in she came. When I gave…
( If you have not read the prologue, start here ) In the fourth week of my bicycle journey through France, I was based in Grenoble and riding in the Alps. Today was the day I would take on the biggest mountain pass of the trip: a 35km climb with 2,200m of elevation gain. The giant of the Alps, the Col du Galibier. My younger companion Nikhil wanted a little warm-up, so I dropped him in a town…
( If you have not read the prologue, start here ) In the third week of my bicycle journey through France, I was staying outside Avignon, a city in Provence. The day before had been a short ride, so today I meant to go far. I would leave while the morning was still cool, take the north wind known in this region as the mistral at my back, ride south to the port city of Marseille, and return by…
( If you have not read the prologue, start here ) In the second week of my bicycle journey through France, I had made my base for the week in Créon, outside Bordeaux. On the morning of June 10, I got up early. I meant to spend the day riding the Bordeaux Left Bank, the triangular peninsula held between the Atlantic and the Garonne River. First I would load the bike into the car, drive to a station…
( If you have not read the prologue, start here ) For the first of my four weeks in France, I chose Amboise, a small town on the Loire. It sits roughly in the middle of the country, about three hours from Paris by rental car. Sacha, my retired former boss who lives in Switzerland, joined me there and spent a few days with me. Living with someone for the first time is a fresh sequence of…
Watching the familiar California scenery slide past the car window, I tried to imagine the vast journey ahead. I had no idea what was going to happen. But one thing felt certain: when I came back here a month later, I would be a slightly different person. At the thought of setting out into the unknown, I felt a small tremor run through me. As I ate lunch at San Francisco Airport, a red-haired…