Dent in the Armour

Last night I lay on my sofa whacked out from my mammoth walk yesterday and had a few moments of self doubt. Not having the courage to tackle Parisian summer traffic had knocked a little dent in me. For a few moments I just wished I was this different person. Not too different you know, just one who was a little better co-ordinated, who didn’t trip over her own feet, who could signal she was turning left without the whole bike lurching left as well, who knew her left from right, who was a little ... Hang on I then thought, I’m not that bad, I chuck myself of high things every year, I’ve done a parachute jump, I enjoy all things watery. The difference is that I do the things I do because I know I’m safe, tackling the streets of Paris when you don’t even know the Highway Code is just stupid. But (the dent hadn’t quite popped out yet), I wish I could do a cartwheel. The little moth fluttering around the room searching for light heaved its wings in a shrug and rolled its antennae.

Then this morning I trawled through the news. I considered subscribing to the Guardian Weekly, but I think they need to do their maths. You get the four first issues free, yet a year’s subscription is still more expensive then buying it from them at their weekly rate of 2.45€!

Next up was the fact that Rasmussen the current yellow jersey holder of the Tour de France, had been chucked out by his team for suspected doping and that the whole team were thinking of pulling out too. Now I know this may not interest you, but hang on in there a second. I am not a huge sports fan, I watch big football competitions and I admire the stamina and endurance that goes into the Tour de France (and the scenery). Although I have very very little in common with these sports people, the one thing we do share is determination; we all want to do well in what we do. The big difference though is that writers can’t cheat, there isn’t a magic drug that will suddenly make their writing immensely better, we have to work at it. I shook my head as I read about the doping scandals that have plagued this years Tour. I’m wondering whether to even bother to go to the last stage on Sunday. The barriers are already being put in place, but it just seems silly, I’ve been routing for Chicken man (Rasmussen) and now it just doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

So I guess it was kind of cheering to read about 33 year old Luke Bream who is cycling the Tour de France on his own. He is doing each stage a day ahead of the main tour. His mum keeps him going from her camper van, feeding him Jam butties and Coca-cola! He seems to have the crappiest diet of any rider on the tour, but he’s giving it a go. Maybe I’ll look out for Luke on Saturday when he is due in Paris. In the meantime, I’m going to keep persevering; at the writing, I’ll save the bike riding for the Bois de Boulogne or Vincennes where there is no traffic.

Oh and if you need to persevere with your writing don’t forget that Jason Evans is running his 6^th Short Fiction Contest over at The Clarity of Night and that Maht at Moon Topples will open his 3^rd Contest next Wednesday (the day after a very important day). Oh and on the same day the First issue of Blagger by Opening Chapter (aka Skint writer) will be coming out.

Wheels Keep Turning

I’m alive!

And why shouldn’t I be? You may be asking. Did she have a near death experience?

Well the answer is no, although I could be accused of having suicidal tendencies.

See it started like this. In my neglected blog inbox I found a series of e mails which started very politely and dare I say complimentary and ended up somewhere along the lines of: ‘Are you reading my bloody e mails or what?’ I decided that truth was the best answer and replied that I had actually forgotten that I had the blog email, but I would put everything else aside and get on with the proposed task. Part I of the task did not involve a great deal of effort as I was sitting in the right place to do it. Part II involved taking pictures in 5 different locations around the city. Now normally this would not be a problem to one equipped with a navigo pass (like an oyster pass in the UK apart from one small difference) except it’s the holidays and it’s not charged up. Also, after my last venture on the metro these holidays I was a wee bit frightened. Before even getting on the metro the pongiest guy ever sat down next to me. I loitered as the train pulled in then rushed into the next carriage. BAM! It was like walking into a furnace. Mopping my brow, I happily got off to change metros and was pleasantly surprised when the next train was neither packed nor stifling. At the next stop I felt all the hairs in my nostrils curl up and try to retreat backwards as the cheesiest smell ever attacked me. As I turned to my right I spotted the offending feet in a pair of cheap rubber sandals. If it had been a French guy or English speaking tourist, I was so offended I may have told them the best thing they could do with those sandals was throw them away.

Anyway back to the point, so five locations, no charged up metro card, what could I do? And then in a flash of madness it came to me: Velib. Like I say it was a flash of madness, by the time I met Colleen yesterday evening for an aperitif after my afternoon constitutional I was already having second thoughts. I started: “I’ve been thinking about this Velib thing, I’ve looked at the map and to get from Concorde to St. Paul you have to go along the Quai (three lanes of traffic to you), there’s no other direct route.” The thing is there was a mad kind of zeal in Colleen’s eyes and I knew there was no way I was convincing her otherwise, she was going to do Velib tomorrow even if it killed me.

After many hours on spent on Mappy and staring at my Paris Pratique I realised that it’s absolutely impossible to drive around Paris (according to Mappy a bicycle is not a vehicle). I realised I didn’t know the road code (or whatever it’s called) and I remembered very clearly the terror of the last time I had ridden a bike.

When my alarm went off this morning (I was already awake), I sent Colleen a text telling her I was too young to die (even if Adrian Mole has decided that I am middle aged – bastard!) Unfortunately Colleen didn’t get it until she was already on the metro with the bike helmet attached to her bag.

I took the first set of pictures and the dreaded moment arrived. I decided to go first up seeing as to be honest I didn’t even know if I could still ride a bike, but in the end it turns out it’s like sex, you don’t forget. One of the waiters in the restaurant by the bike stand even came out and said I looked charming on the bicycle. So I made damn sure that after I had cycled round the block he didn’t see me slamming the bloody hulk of a thing back into its holder.

There is no way I am ever going to cycle around Paris. Colleen met me at Odeon after I had walked a bit then got over my temporary fear of metros. She said cycling was fine and the biggest danger was pedestrians. I think I tripped over at that point.

Anyway, I’ve done it, I’ve tried it. The bikes are easy to hire, easy to ride, but ... I’m a pedestrian and proud of it.

So other news on the bloggernet is that I can’t leave comments because Blogger is playing up and Jason Evans over at The Clarity of Night has just opened his 6^th Short Fiction Contest. Right, where’s the wine?

Velib' ouch

I think I’m being a bit grumpy, but then I think it’s because I ride a bicycle like a pissed goldfish. The last time I went cycling was on Isla de Mujeres to a Turtle Sanctuary. Because I was on an island I thought there would be no traffic. There was a part of my brain that was blocking the fact that there was an airport on this island and outside of our hippyesque traveller enclave the 20^th century had marched on. So, en bref, by the time we got to the Turtle Sanctuary I was terrified and had almost cycled into a moped.

On July 15^th 2007 (on the day when Paris empties itself of its citizens like a haemorrhaging artery) the Velib’ scheme will begin. The idea is that you borrow a bike from one place, cycle off to another place and leave your bike there. The first 30 minutes are free and after that you pay 1€ for the first half hour, 3€ for the second and 4€ for the third and every half hour after that. The system is already in place in Lyon and seems to be working well. You do have to pay a membership to borrow the bikes, but it’s 1€ for a day, 5€ for a week and 29€ for a year.

Now apart from the fact that I ride a bicycle very badly these are why I think it’s a good reason:

· Bicycles get stolen all the time in Paris, so this is one way of avoiding having your bike stolen.

· As a cyclist you will not have to pay for the maintenance of the bike, or have to worry about where to store it.

· It’s environmentally friendly.

At this point I am struggling. You see every aspect of me is saying this is a great idea, but, it’s all well and good installing thousands of free bikes, but where are the bike lanes? I haven’t seen any extra ones being painted around the city recently. Every cyclist I know has had an accident at one point in time or another and frankly for me to get to work directly I could go round the Arc de Triomphe (if I was crazy) or I would have to ride parallel to the Peripherique (the Paris ring road).

Secondly my journey time would be longer, it would take me ten minutes to walk to my nearest post at this end and fifteen minutes at the other end. It takes me twenty five minutes to get to work at present. Nevertheless, when I was really considering this, before I realised that I would be seriously endangering my life, I did think that for the sake of not getting my metro line it would be worth it.

Which is when I realised who the people who are going to be renting these bikes are. It won’t be M. Blogue in his new range Twingo. Why would he battle the elements when he has a city efficient car with power steering and a car stereo? The amount of traffic is going to stay exactly the same. Some commuters might give up on the metro and cycle around and rush hour could turn into a scene straight from Beijing, but I mean that in the loosest sense.

Now looking into my crystal ball I look into the future and predict several things:

1. I will be run over by a cyclist;
2. A congestion charge will be imposed on Parisian drivers. I don’t know where the congestion zone would be, but perhaps instead of doing it by zone it will be done like the motorways and during red times you pay more than say green times.
3. More cycle lanes will be created.

If number two and three happen, then I foresee that this scheme will be very successful. As for number one it’s just inevitable.

Oh by the way I am now on holiday 65 days of freedom. Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah...