In both cases, a kind of meditation is taking shape on the bike. Maybe it's the flapping of the long sleeves and the breath of the wind, maybe it's the repetitive cadence of the pedaling, maybe it comes from the fact that September is the back-to-school month here in France, with it’s new energy gained through the vacations, it’s the month of new beginnings and resolutions, of neighborhoods to discover. What a time to be, for a moment, alone in landscapes open to the horizon. Some people like to engrave a quote or motto on their stem caps, others refer to emojis or a club’s name, just as we tattoo a badge on our forearm to give us strength. Me, I just force myself to take the first step, to get my bike out of the building no matter what. And then it all comes together. Novels I have read, the thrill of poems, conversations with friends, misfortunes or sorrows: everything can help us on the way, to assert our wakes whatever winds we encounter. The other evening, it started raining and I was already starting to complain that all this rain was getting to be too much, and that I was fed up with having swamps and basins of water dumped on my head all time long. Next to me, a guy on a bicycle fully equipped to do a professional stage time trial shouted at me with a big smile, “Not bad, the mudguards, would love the same at the moment!” We rode side by side for three minutes, and then he lets go by while he slowed down, sticking his tongue out of tiredness. That’s, for instance, a good reminder of what can give you wings for a few kilometers. Like the last cookie in a jar, it does makes me appreciate what I've got without getting used to it: the comfort of a sublime (admittedly a little heavy, but so efficient) randonneuring bike that lends itself to all roads and joys, in all weathers, and turns the heads of even the most well-equipped amateur with its water-sprayed back.
