Last Sunday was so much fun, that I set out again on Wed. morning for another adventure. About a year ago, with the club, I was introduced to a really nice route from my house, along the equivalent to the Loveland Bike Trail. This trail is called the Bord de Marne and runs along the Marne River in about 15 miles in each direction. Well I didn't know exactly the route we had taken that day about a year ago, but I thought I would look for it.
I was looking for this really huge lake that I remembered from the first trip, and I had a couple of times since that first trip, ridden along to a point where I knew we had reached, but I hadn't found the right route to the lake on those other excursions. So this time, I followed the river along, past the early morning joggers, roller bladers and baby buggies, to the wooden foot bridge where I knew we had turned the last time. This time I followed what was marked as a dead end street (because I had tried the other directions to no avail in the past). The street was poorly maintained and the houses along it were reminiscent of the houses along West Rd. in the 1980s. Some were new, some really junky, a few condemned or under construction, dogs, laundry, cars in various level of repair, etc. And twice the street sign said it was dead end, but it was sunny, seemed safe enough and I kept pedaling.
So I get to the end of the road and sure enough, there's the lake. It's beautiful. It's actually a big park and a training course for kayakers and sailboats. The lake was full of school kids practicing their sports. I ate my crackers and fruit and watched the ducks and the kids, and then thought I would try to ride around the lake. One side was beautifully paved for my tiny wheeled TREK street bike, but the other side didn't look so sure.
As I crossed over to the wilder side of the lake I saw an old man peeing in the weeds, as biking men tend to do here, so I waited patiently before I pulled around to his side of the point(for my sense of decency, not his). As I came up he hailed me, and started chattering a mile a minute, in french of course. After some explanation, and a lot of consternation on his part about my thin tires and the unpaved route, he agreed that I could in fact follow the mud trail around the lake. Little did I know then that he fully intended to follow me -- just in case.
As I slowly and cautiously maneuvered through the grass, watching the birds and the little sailing vessels, I came to a fork in the mud path. As I headed towards the left, I heard shouting behind me (which I normally ignore, because it has never been for or at me before). Well of course, it was my new found friend who quickly informed me that I was about to miss the swan nests, if I went to the left, and he was just sure that the route to the right, though longer was much better quality. I suggested that I follow his lead, since we were obviously both going in the same direction.
We headed down a little slope moving closer to the lake, and around a tiny point, and sure enough there was a beautiful swan's nest with the female perched on top, just beyond the cat tails, and the male guarding her -- keeping a close eye on us. And another 100 feet or so along the bank was another pair. Mr Guide quickly pointed out that we were only allowed to get so close or we would be accosted. He also said the cormorants that were feeding and floating on the other side, as well as the wolves were true enemies to the swans, but that the swan chicks had a good chance at success because of the vigilance of the parents.
As we headed out of the lake area, I thought my adventure was over, but noooooo. He suggested (now mind you I only understand about 50% of all this) that I follow him to the other side of the river to see another park. I pointed out that I in fact didn't have a VTT (mountain bike) so we had to be careful of the terrain, and he showed me that there was a lovely paved route just to the left and over the river. About 4 other bikers and joggers had already passed and everyone seemed to know my guide, and of course, now they knew that he was showing the American around the park, so I thought, "pourquoi pas."
We headed over the river and then up the hill (he was really slow going up, but could fly going downhill) and we saw the back of what is now the NESTLE estate in a town I think called Charme. It's always been a chocolate making factory and the chateau of the original family once stood in the center of the park. The grounds surrounding this estate were incredible and were being mowed while we rode in; they looked like a golf course. It was all so green and beautifully maintained. There were big jungle gym and play areas with a bunch of school kids doing some kind of play, some guy chipping at golf balls, lots of dogs with owners nearby, tons of bikers, joggers, and the occasional set of walkers.
After making the whole circuit, he said, "Let's go this way" apparently to leave the park, and down he dropped, over the hill. As I said, he was fast going downhill, and this was hard packed gravel -- not exactly something I wanted to zoom downhill on, so I gently rolled down to the T-intersection where I thought I had seen him turn left. No guide in sight. Hmmm. I rolled another 100 feet or so, and came to another intersection, still no guide in sight, but I thought I could find the river again if I turned right. Just about that time, I hear him hollering -- he had ridden on to the left (likely to pee again) and then came back to tell me he had forgotten about me, and/or had forgotten he needed to turn right instead of left!
We headed out another 250 ft., downhill towards the river (as I had guessed) and he pointed out I was right back where he thought I had started. I wasn't. But that was okay. I was however now at 35km, and thinking -- this is at least another 15 miles to home -- and I am hungry. However, he said this was in fact the Bord de la Marne and if I just went straight I would get home -- eventually.
We headed off together in the same direction and eventually came to a point where he split off and I was very familiar. We said goodbye, and "a la prochaine" which means "see you next time."
As I was riding along though I had noticed a lot of other older men on bicycles along this route. As I rode on a little more, I came behind two in particular who were going pretty slowly. I passed them, and one of them seemed to mumble something about the speed on the route. A little further ahead though, I had to pull over because I heard something (mud in the derailleur it turns out) rubbing a wheel. I repeated this cycle of riding and stopping a few times before I got my bike back in shape, and nearly every time, they would pass me, and then eventually, I would pass them again. Finally, after I thought I had fixed the bike, I think they were picking up speed, and I was slowing down, and I decided just to stay behind them.
After we had ridden awhile, I saw up ahead a rather heavy set woman trying to gather up 4 or 5 little boys (about 3-4 year olds) who were all roaming around the trail. By now the trail was a lot busier with bikes, babies, and walkers, as it was nearly noon. It was warm out, and a Wednesday (kids don't have school on Wed.), and one of the first beautiful days this year. Anyway, the two old men didn't seem to be slowing down, and the trail was narrowing a bit as we approached these kids. Sure enough, just as the woman bent down to pick up one of the boys, another one turned back into the path and walked right into the grumpy old man on the bike.
The first thing the woman did was pick up the child and reassure him that he was not (and indeed he wasn't) seriously hurt and she said it was not the biker's fault. The first thing the old man did was complain that this was a bicycle trail and not for children! OH IF I COULD HAVE SPOKEN GOOD FRENCH! I watched to see the woman now heartily defend the child's right to be on the trail, as she carefully checked the sobbing child and her other charges. I waited in the background to see if she needed help, and then, as I knew I wasn't needed, and that this would not get any better (this guy obviously was going to have the last word, and she still had 4 little boys to collect) I pedaled around the mess and headed home.
But wait -- it's not over yet. You see, I often have this really David Lynch-esque feeling on these days when I am out alone. It's actually kind of surreal. You know you don't belong here, and none of my paradigms apply, so I have no power of prediction. I have learned that at any moment I will be completely surprised and everyone else will think the circumstances are completely normal. So... I headed around a bend, along a particularly narrow stretch now thinking I was really hungry, and I wanted to get some lunch, and should I get off the trail that I knew so well and head into what was surely some little town or just continue home? As I changed into the big front sprocket (to get a little more speed) I heard this high pitched chirping and thought. "What the heck is that?"
I looked around, over the knee high embankment wall, through the bushes and up on the slight rise overlooking the river --- where there were a few small shade trees and lots of freshly mown grass and there was a donkey quietly eating grass, standing in the shade. I think she had a bow around her neck. I nearly wrecked my bike doing a double take.
Of course, there was probably a perfectly rational explanation, like she belonged to the Italian Restaurant across the street, or there was a carnival in town, or I was hallucinating, but I really believe there was a donkey up there. I rode on, shaking my head and sipping my water. That chirping sound? Oh that was the mud in my derailleur, and it worked itself out as I wound my way home.
