Vive la vie!

My Dad once told me that in the middle of my Mum's first bout of cancer, they told themselves that if they got through this, they would relish every normal day that they had. They'd live life and appreciate it for all it's beauty. But, he told me, it's not long after you get through all the treatment that you begin bickering over the same trivial things. You forget all about your oath to relish. 

I've been thinking about that lately, as Mountain Dad and I have thrown ourselves into some epic battles of bickering over the most mundane of matters. It began in Norway with a passionate battle over the purchase of wool long johns and travelled with us back to Britain where we were miffed over such matters as the ipad battery, groceries and the location of the bank that I chose to go to. It crossed my mind that it would be ironic if we were to divorce because of our inability to travel together, right after having gotten through our own cancer craziness. 

What really set us in opposition was our ideas about equipment for the France bike trip. For months, we've been pursuing various French bike rental companies, suggesting they sell us some of their used gear. The responses have been, on the whole, lukewarm. Mountain Dad has persisted in pursuing this course of action as he's been convinced it is the way to get quality gear at a good price. At each dead end we've met, I propose that "there's always Decathlon." At Decathlon, a European sports good chain store, we could walk out with absolutely everything we require at a reasonable price. 

"TOO cheap, they're disposable!" despaired Mountain Dad, when we finally made it through the doors of a Decathlon and pored over their collection of panniers. And my head exploded because what I thought we were after was something budget. But there's a difference between cheap and budget, I was informed. I silently fumed over the realisation that we were committed to a drawn out search for just the right thing, despite the cheap option being so easy. And I continued to be cross as we crossed the channel by ferry, having relinquished yet another knife to international security measures (thank you to my Fo, for rescuing my pocket knife from the ferry terminal the next day). The kids were in tears again as we blundered our way through the knife issue; they are now well and truly traumatised by any signs of security measures.  

We did source ex-rental bikes in Orleans, France. And the same store sold us their ex-rental panniers. Ortileb panniers no less. The bikes and panniers, we'll have you know, are German made. Great quality. Good price.  

And Mountain Dad beamed. Through our first day of riding, a day made so intense because it started late, because we hadn't had lunch and because it was into a head wind. He beamed, though his bike and trailer are so heavy I can't move them myself. He smiled through the squalls of rain, one of which was so intense we had to shelter in a derelict barn. Happy in the knowledge that we have hardy gear. 

At a good price.

And I wonder now, what all the fuss was about. Of course it was going to work out. Why are those small things so inflammatory at times? Why did we let our spats ruin a handful of wonderful days together? Maybe it helps remind us of how great the good days truly are. That we are indeed, very rich and lucky people. 

I don't know, but for now, three days into our cycle tour, I relish the adventure. Auntie Skye is with us, keeping us on route and lodging in extraordinary gite's along the Loire route. The sun is shining, I have a beer. Life doesn't get much better.

And we have sick panniers. 

 Travelling lightly

Sheltering from a rainy squall.

 Chateau Chambord

 Getting our gear up to the apartment in Orleans.

 Portsmouth, UK

 With Fo and her Rosie at a Manor Farm

 Leonardo da Vinci’s house

 Day 1: before we’d ridden even 100m. Little did we know that the next 35km would be into a headwind

 Shea got to visit this ol’ geezer in Bristol before we left the UK

 Baguette vending machine! We love France