After I left the customs station, the mist had upgraded to a full rain. The shoulders that Spain and Andorra had allotted bicyclists such as myself to safely ride on had vanished. As I hugged the edge of the narrow roadway, I was scared off resulting in my cart tipping and spilling my stores of apples and snacks when a passing Frenchman blared his car horn at me as he sped downward. This was just the first ten minutes of my journey. From my planning months in advance, I found a quaint camping area outside of the village of Ax-les-Thermes. I had the directions handy in case I needed some guidance along the way. Soaking wet, cold to the bone, I had arrived to Ax-les-Thermes and found the most confusing convergence of bending streets at two traffic circles with a sign that labeled destinations but gave no indication which way they were. Being the signage was of no use to me I thought I would get some local assistance. In reference to the Wizard of Oz after about my fourth attempt to get help here, I mumbled to myself "Trevor, we're not in Spain anymore!" A little bit on the frustrated side, in the most polite voice I could muster, I asked an elderly lady which way was to Goulours in my basic skills from my French Handbook. I was ignored. I quickly thought to myself that Spain is right over there so give Spanish a try! Still nothing. Finally, at my wit's end, I gave my humble request in German. That caught her attention and then asked for my question again in French. Once I got out my inquiry again, she lifted up her hand and gave it a loose wave in the easterly direction and then continued on her way. Taking the most dramatic deep breath, I pedaled onward in that general direction in hopes of finding my destination. Subtly cursing to myself as I made each switchback uphill, I encountered an older man on a jog in the rain. He was smiling at me as we approached each other and I initially thought "how strange.... happiness." He eagerly greeted me which was a small ray of sunshine on this gloomy day. After the greetings I asked him if I was on the right way to Goulours in Spanish which he brimmed in more happiness, confirming I was on the right path and that I had great Spanish (for an American). He told me that he was from northwestern Spain and asked about my journey thus far. After a few minutes of conversation we parted ways but before we did, he told me that I would come a place where the road would split around a house (pictured at the top) and that I would stay on the downhill side and my ride would be beautiful from there on! Little did he know, he was the factor that made all that misery that I had experienced fade away despite that I was drenched, hungry, and ready to quit.
Keep in touch with Trevor as he makes his way across the world and read his story as each step is made!!!
Tuesday, December 19, 2017
Come rain or come shine - Pyrénées-Orientales, France
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