BACK TO DANGER

That was it-- no more lights. I was somewhere on a road outside Narbonne and it was pitch black. I knew I was within 3000 meters of a campsite-- that was the last sign I saw. I searched desperately for another sign in vain. It was nearly 23:00. I slowed down to let cars light the road from behind me. They honked. My heart raced. I let another car pass. Was this the entrance? Yes. I was in front of the site! 20 euros a night? I'm not paying. I'm a brave, unorganized man who sleeps for free.

LEAVING GARRIC MANOR in Montreal was the worst and best decision I've made so far on my journey. It was the best because I I went out on top of two weeks of luxury culminating in some serious friendships and eye-opening experiences. Wine every night. Laughter. Children. Barcelona. All an incredible memory. I think I also gained my all wieght back. And then some.

It was the worst because I really could have stayed. It would have saved me the hardest two days of riding yet-- including a nasty spill down a gravel hill and 100 degree heat. I also could have been in a real bed, with real friends in a really comfortable zone.

But I've continued on. I headed east from Garric without getting lost to Minerve- a city built into a giant canyon in the black alps. It was spectacular. I decided to stay at the nearest site, which was up yet another giant hill (it was a very uphill day thus far). Nearing the site, I realized I had no money, food or water. The essentials. Back down the hill. Right before the city entrance I encountered some gravel. I didn't stand a chance.

I had to break and I did. Something turned and my weight moved. Then the slow motion started and I was sliding on my side down the gravel path. Onlooking Frenchies came to my aide. I waved them off with a laugh. Nothing broken. Bike in tact. Blood streaming out of arm. Throbbing pain in leg. Clothes ripped.

I went to a nearby outdoor sink to clean my wounds. I howled as I pulled a
large piece of gravel out of my arm. In the sink there were three coffee mugs and some dish soap. I rubbed the dish soap over my wound, snarling at the sharp pains. I watched the soapy water in the coffee mugs below me turn red. I felt eyes on me. I turned to see a woman holding a dish rag, waiting to wash her mugs now filled with bloody soap water. Oh and I was also at the threshold of the ladies room cursing like a banshee.

Ginger sustained little damage in the crash apart from a crooked drop bar and some ripped rubber.

Where was the nearest ATM? Twenty kilometers south. Where was the nearest campsite? Not far from there, actually. I pulled up to a large gate, money replenished, ready to camp. I pressed a button and a very relaxed, tan, man with long hair walked out to meet me. "camping?" I asked. "yes." he said. Then he asked: "are you a naturalist?"

It took me two seconds to realize what a naturalist was. The relaxed man in front of me had probably been nude just before walking through the gate and no doubt he was going to rip off those linen pants when he went back inside. He did send me off with a warning, though. "No camping" he said, pointing to my destination on the map. Later that evening, biking in darkness, I would regret not being a naturalist for one night.

I continued. And continued. I bought some bread and anchovies and beer in anticipation of the eventual campsite dinner. Nothing. A few miles from Narbonne I noticed the sun was going down. Headlights were on and people honked at me. "Thanks!" I'd scream, "I forgot I was on a bike riding down a French highway at dusk!"

Usually when I'm riding on the road I sing very loud. I come up with new songs and improve on old ones. I make dirty lyrics for classics. I have limited musical theater knowledge but I do my best renditions. The music died when the sun went down that day. I could no longer sing. I was starting to get scared.

When I did finally park my bike behind a tree in a far off campsite I vanquished an entire beer to cool my nerves. I showered and set my clothes out to dry. I asked a girl sitting at a table in the next campsite over if I could join her and she obliged. I ate a lemon and basil sardine sandwich with a peach soda and chocolate biscuits after. It isn't Garric quality- but I know how to treat myself on the road for cheap. I slept horribly.

I woke at seven and went to Biezers from Narbonne. The big jump in kilometers was from Biezers to Montpillier and that's when it got very hot. For one euro I bought a sack of old pastries from a bakery. After an hour in my bag they tasted oven fresh! By far the best thing that happened that day.

As I pressed on. The amount of old French men on bicycles started going down. I only ever encounter old men cyclists on the road. The heat would have killed the old men. My advantage!

Slowly the kilometers inched by and I found myself on the outskirts of Montpellier- a city I didn't care about for the time being. The train station was as hard to find as it was hot outside. I just wanted to be on a train with a cold beer in my hand- preferably nestled between the chilled breasts of a Swiss goddess who would invite me to stay at her party mansion.

Instead, I got on the train (no air conditioning) without liquid (beverage car closed, vending machines out of order) and sat next to a modern day French Aladdin who curled up under the seat when the ticket man came to avoid a $200 dollar ticket. I went to the bathroom and when I came back he had been caught. Stupid Aladdin.

The drink car was closed for some reason but a nice gypsy lady gave me some water. This allowed me to eat another sardine sandwich. I hope for the sake of the other passengers the smell of fish was a welcome addition from the smell of me.

Now I'm going to Geneva. My original reason for doing this was to meet up with Dylan Golden but apparently he picked up and went to Paris to hang out with some of his friends of a higher caliber. But now I'll make it for the international Swiss day thing that's tomorrow. Fireworks!

I haven't had time to get properly sad about leaving the manor Garric. Hold on. Ok.

Now I'm sad. Oh, Gusti, with your sugar addictedness and your smarts and your constant pestering to trampoline! Oh, William, with your insults and candid moments of genius! Oh, Joe, with your string bean stature and a Lego heart of gold! Oh, Jasmine, you future heartbreaker beyond your years! Oh Teddy, you opare wanna-be. You'll all reach your dreams! Touch the stars! Tan the leather hide of life!

Adults: you know where I stand. They will get hand written letters.

ALONE