I ride dirt bikes, no big deal

05/29/06
Holy poop. That was an adventure. So the American school of Milan was out of there as quickly as they came. Really nice kids, and VERY funny. They call everyone "Mista, Mista!" And they don't remember anyone's name. Some of my kids were still asking my name the day before they left and we'd spent the better part of 5 days together. The first shot is of some of the things you might see if you went caving here. . .We headed into town to rent our scooters, and lo and behold, when the owner got back from his siesta at 2:00 he told us he'd gotten rid of one, so only 2 scooters were left for six of us. Stupid me leaked somewhere along the way that I had once driven a mini bike (for about 1 hour, about 5 years ago). So the 125 cc Kawasaki Dirt bike they had left over went to me. Yes I learned, trial by fire, to shift and steer a dirt bike at 120 km/hr with Ann on the back on the way to the Mediterranean. What an adventure it was. The first night we pulled off a rural road into the woods and slept next to a diverted river behind some country properties. We drank wine, ate cheese, and contemplated life under the stars. It was a fantastic day. I was in high spirits as I'd survived the first 100 k or so incident free. Earlier in the afternoon between the high rolling hills and vast panoramas we pulled in to a small french village and got some groceries at a convenience store. The stores here carry fresh cheese, meats, produce, and bottles of wine for E1.75, very cheap. An old man who our friend Ward talked to was so elated that we were from Canada (where his daughter now lives) that he was moved to going inside the store and walking back out with a b ottle of Muscat for us. Muscat is a sweet, potent wine brewed from large green grapes. Tastes very different and very good. Even though by the time we consumed it it was hot. The wine and the weather that is. The next day we motored on, road after road, village after village, roudabout after roundabout. We went south, south south. Grasslands and vineyards turned to scrublands of rosemary, rocks, and the occasional olive grove. A sawtoowth range of hills erupted from the horizon and we roared up the turns, the smell of the pine-like evergreens filling our nostrils (along with the smell of motorbike exhaust). We hit a 10k or so straightaway, at which point I began to enjoy the power the motorbike had as Ann and I let the scooters pass us just so we could rip past them again and again, laughing all the way. We cruised down a huge hill and our first glimpse of the turquoise mediterranean greeted us. White rocks with castle ruins and small villages nestled in them surrounded us. We toured some beaches until we found one we liked, and there we wnjoyed the beach for the day. The water was unexpectdedly cold, progably 15 degrees, and crystal clear. The air was oppressively hot, and rediculous winds generated by the temperature differenence tore across the beach and in a matter of hours almost completely buried our stuff, and our crew, which was passed out from just one bottle of wine on the beach, sunburnt and sand COVERED. LAter that night, after Ann and I sped around a turn in tow of the scooters, we realised we had no idea which way everyone else went. We headed down the freeway we managed to get onto for 15 minutes before we could turn around, when we finally did we retraced our path through the town and went up over the massive skyway bridging one side of the rhone to the other, fighting dangerous crosswinds threatening to blow the bike off the road all the way. After touring the city looking for our friends for awhile we decided it wasn't worth it to drive till dark looking for them, as they were probably heading north anyway. They had planned to go home the next day. Ann and I checked into a hotel just for the hell of it. We enjoyed a sleep in and a cheap breakfast and it was off to Marseille for the morning. After enjoying a couple of pints of guiness at a cafe we walked around the Old POrt area for awhile berfore heading off to the beautiful town of Aix-En-Provence. We spent the afternoon there after a rediculously good lunch. We left the town of moss covered fountains and old cobblestone roads and buildings and headed north bound for Orange. We enjoyed the towns in between, driving sometimes on freeways, sometimes on smaller roads. We decided we could make it all the way back to camp in one night, so it was a push for home. Destination fever overtook us as we hit our first traffic jam in the town of Orange. Following the lead of the biker in front of us we swerved into the oncoming lane and ripped along the center line past the parked traffic, trying not to hit any side mirrors, no matter which way their owners were driving. We past about 5 k of stopped traffic, which took probably 45 minutes. We stopped after driving over a huge old narrow bridge in Pont St. Espirit, had a pizza and salad dinner at a small restaurant, and sped off for home. We followed the signs to the Gorges De L'Ardeche and the perfect ending to our trip ensued. We sped around the winding turns of the gorge road, up high to the streets overlooking the canyon, following the river. We had the whole road to ourselves, and after watching the sun go down we rumbled down into the valley, following the turns, asses hurting, driving by the highbeams. We zipped through the neighbouring towns of Salavas and Vallon Pont D'Arc and followed our memories back to camp. We pulled in around 10:00 last night, exhausted and exhilarated from a fantastic adventure. That's going to be hard to top on another day off. I do have this bike till 2:00 today though, so time to go into town for one last ride on the green demon, and to post this blog entry.
Hope everyone reading is doing well. Brit, I got a letter from you today, I'm going to go read it.
I'm off to enjoy the rest of the day off!