August 6, 2017
Getting home: not a straight shot
The night was shattered by the sounds of a violent argument in the room next to mine. For a while while my brain un-fogged I thought it was outside so I closed the window. When the shouts became louder, I weighed banging on the wall, but then I heard blows start to land, I decided I needed reinforcements so I got dressed and went down to the desk. Nobody there, though the lights were on and the music playing softly. I went back to my room and called the night porter. He said he would try to calm the situation, and in a short while I heard the sound of someone leaving from next door and calm was restored. I was a bit taken aback by the fracas, as I had chosen the hotel based on it being a reputable chain hotel in an otherwise run-down part of Le Mans. The other hotels near the station were all older and starting to show their ages, so I had been a bit put off by them. Anyway, I got back to sleep and after breakfast I wheeled my bike into the station for the morning train to Paris.
On the train, a young fellow showed a lot of interest in my bike. I invited him to sit down and we passed the time chatting about bike touring, commuting from the country into Paris (he does it every day), the reasons I live in France (my accent is a dead giveaway that I am not native) and his trip to the USA. The usual, in other words. He got off before me by a couple of stops, but it wasn't long before I was in the Gare de Montparnasse. Trains come in here above street level. The way down to street level was by stairs or escalator, neither very easy with my load. There is an elevator that goes to the parking garage below street level, so I took that thinking that I could get out easily. The problem was that my bike wouldn't trigger the automatic door to rise. I waited for a car to come and dashed out after it.
Once on the streets of the capital, I had about eight kilometers across town to get to the Gare de Bercy, where the train for Dijon would leave. Taking the most direct rout I could manage, I still missed the noon train and had to wait three hours for the next one to leave.
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When I got bored with the ride, I went back to the gare and loafed around while the train was readied. Getting on, I helped a blind woman who was travelling with her tandem. She had been to the Semaine Federale in Mortagne with her ride captain who is Parisian, and was returning home to Dijon. We got her bike strapped in and chatted for a while about cycle touring. She has been all over France and the rest of Europe, and was planning for an upcoming tour in Thailand. Impressive way to deal with a "handicap", don't you think?
Another blind woman got on a bit later, and I found myself helping het get ready for her stop. It could have gone wrong because the door to the toilet was just in front of the door out of the car. When she opened the toilet door by accident, there was a young guy in it answering a call of nature. He was a bit flustered, but she of course didn't see anything. Two stops later we were in Dijon and the first blind woman's husband was there to help with the tandem and we got off quickly and in good order. The ride home was easy, of course, and I was showered, dressed and at the dinner table by 7:30.
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