The large white building loomed out of
the dusk as I passed. My bike was giv-
en shelter for the night in a wine-cel-
lar alongside a flashy red Ducati,
owned by a German couple who were
also travelling through France. I hope
it didn’t feel intimidated (the Ducati,
I mean.) I then headed to the hills
and found the prettiest place ever for
lunch. The outside dining area un-
der the trees overlooked a lake. Little
flowers from the trees dropped into
my rosé wine and on to the plate of
whitebait who looked surprised to be
showered by the tiny yellow petals.
The charming waitress replaced my
half drunk glass of wine as it had flow-
ers in it.
“This could go on all afternoon” I
thought dreamily as I finished off with
homemade alcoholic ice-cream.
I stayed nearby and explored this
quietly soft area, the Parc du Pilat
which led me all the way to Lyon.
After a night at a Formule 1 hotel,
I had a superb day with my daughter
whose meeting lasted only two hours
leaving us the rest of the day to eat,
drink and talk our way around the ma-
jestic city.
I wobbled my way to the Enfield
mechanic and explained the problem.
The work couldn’t start until the morn-
ing so I asked about nearby accommo-
dation. After a phone call to his part-
ner, I was whisked off in the owner’s
motorcycle racing sidecar to his home
an hour’s ride out in the country.
“This’ll be fun”, I thought as I
climbed in with my overnight stuff.
We tore along the dual carriageways
and through the underpasses of Lyon
with my nose inches away from the
car in front. Suddenly Francois would
dodge out and overtake and I found I
was gripping my bag with terror. My
early smile became a grimace of fear
and my eyes widened as I read the
makers’ marks stamped on the car ex-
haust pipes, so close and near the road
surface was I.
I’m not easily scared but I was ter-
rified, laughing insanely as one does
on a theme park ride you wish you
hadn’t gone on when it’s too late to get
off. He probably misinterpreted my
screams as enjoyment and cranked up
the speed. I was glad when this fair-
ground ride stopped in a village heav-
en knows where; road signs had just
TRAVERSE
83
been a blur. He and his partner lived
in a very large garage. With them re-
side dozens of motorbikes, an old car
and a St. Bernard dog.
The motorbikes were a mixture of
makes, some of them prototypes and
all of them unique or rare. He and
Adele raced at local circuits on Sun-
days and were building a new outfit.
Good for them but I’ll go slowly on my
Enfield, thank you! They were very
kind and I had a great evening with
them, looking at all the bikes.
Back at the workshop the following
morning, after driving more sedately
in Adele’s car, I learned that a com-
plete new steering head stock bearing
had to be sent from Paris.
Concerned about taking advantage
of their hospitality again, I wondered
out loud where to spend the follow-
ing days. My query was answered by a
handsome customer in the parts shop
who invited me to stay with him. He
said he would be happy to show me
the sights of the city whilst my bike
was being repaired. I accepted his in-
vitation and stayed with Christophe
for three days in his flat overlooking
the river.