Monday was a beautiful sunny day and I decided it was time for action. I hopped on the Metro and went to the Eiffel Tower, where the Fat Tire Bike Tours meet up. It was easy to find the right spot: there was a young Canadian with a sign. Greg is from Vancouver but had just graduated from Western. I was among the first to arrive, and it took about 20 minutes to collect everyone. Then the group went to the office and paid and got the bikes. From there, we rode in a herd, on sidewalks, garden paths and right across the Place de la Concorde, in front of a bus. The bikes are an odd shape and I had some trouble with seat height and wobbly handlebars, but there were no accidents. Greg pointed out places of interest at several stops and we had lunch in the Jardin des Tuileries before heading back. Quite a good idea, and not too strenuous, although I could feel the tension in my hands and legs from balancing on a strange bike, trying to get my feet on the ground when stopping, avoiding collisions with the rest of the group and animate and inanimate objects in our path, and being lectured by little old ladies about riding on sidewalks.
I soaked in the bathtub to cure these aches and had a call from Neil, inviting me to join him and Cynthia for dinner at a friend’s apartment. I was able to get there eventually, but only after getting a bit lost as I left this neighbourhood (one of the most confusing in Paris). Karen has a lovely apartment in the north of the city, and we had a great time talking, eating and drinking wine… a proper French dinner. I slept on the Metro coming home, hardly noticed the long walk to the hotel, and was still sleeping when Neil left in the morning, but that’s a story for another day.
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