An inauspicious start

Quote: They'll kill you. They'll kill you because you're a gentleman.  (Italian waiter on the subject of Arabs living in the town of Evry)

Well I bought a bike at about 12 o'clock, and sat down at a cafe with all my maps for an hour or so, before saddling up and beginning the grand journey. At about 3 o'clock, I failed to anticipate a traffic light changing and slammed on my breaks. Unfortunately, I slammed on my front-wheel breaks, and, in contradiction to all my previous bike-riding experience and Clair's wishes for my trip to be filled with 'slippery adventures', the breaks worked perfectly and the front wheel stopped dead. I, on the other hand, went arse over tit. Flying over the handle-bars, I completed a neat flip, ducked my head under my arms and ended a commando-style role back on my feet. I immediately dragged my prone steed, along with all my luggage - hanging limply to one side - off the main road.

I sat for ten minutes taking stock of my injuries - cuts to the back, elbows and knees (not the face!), bruising to my right shoulder and a sprained right wrist. I then hopped back on and rode about a kilometre, before turning off the main drag to find somewhere to assess the situation. It was also about time to work out where I was.

Street in rural Etampes (all streets are sideways here - crazy, no?)

I sat in a cafe for an hour in Bourg La Reine, a suburb in the third district of Paris, watching my wrist swell up and the fingers on my right hand, for some reason, turn purple. For the last half-hour, the Italian waiter joined me, to discuss my plans. Every town that I suggested as a next stopping point, however, was soundly vetoed on either the basis that I would get robbed or killed. By the way he spoke, I was half-surprised that the two of us survived the whole conversation.

Eventually he left, pleading with me first to take the Metro and above all to return to Paris, where I would be safe. I considered my position for ten minutes, before climbing on to the bike to begin again. But it was no use. Without my right hand, I could crawl along the pavement at a snail's pace, but the thought of getting in a few good hours riding was out of the question. Accepting that I had failed my grand task on the first day of trying, I wheeled my bike to the Metro and took three trains to the farther-most-but-one station on the Paris metro system - Etampes, in the 6th district. This took about three or so hours of dragging my bike and luggage up and down rural train stations. It was mentally exhausting. Alone, injured and feeling out of my depth, every man travelling alone became a threat.

I checked into the cheapest accomodation - 40 euro for a bed at the local pub - and slept.

Upon waking I toured briefly this odd little town, which is basically the very cliche of 'french rural town'. There are two very old churches and some sort of decaying castle-thing with a french flag on the other side of the railway. I have no idea what any of them are, or how old they are (I'll google when I have the chance), but there they are. Also a bunch of the streets are cobbled and there are flowers everywhere. There's one butcher called 'la boucherie', one baker called 'la boulangerie' etc. You get the idea. Very lovely if you're in the mood for it.

I'm leaving on my bike now. Can't stay another night, though I would like to, because I'm leaking money like sieve. Also, I now have only 15 days left to get to Geneva and am still in Paris. Technically. Which still counts. Need to get on the trail and begin the bivouac proper.

Best wishes and let's all together agree not to print this one out for Mum, eh?

Michael