Paris to Amsterdam

As promised: the last chapter.

I left Paris singing "time is on my side", even though it wasn't. I was unreasonably happy and wasn't quite sure why. This feeling would only intensify over the next several days as I approached the end... or the beginning, depending on how you look at it. Amsterdam is both for me.

I took a train to get out of the thick of the city and got off in the small town of Arras. I left Arras at about noon, keeping myself company with a lively conversation about the finer points of French cuisine and Parisian women. I can be quite entertaining for myself. I rode directly north, more flat French landscape whizzing by. I rode hard into a slight headwind. I sang some more as I rode. It doesn't matter if people think I'm crazy - they will never see me again!

I was still uninspired by my surrounding - I admit I had even stopped taking pictures - but the freedom of the open road filled me up like nothing else can. I could feel the North Sea in the distance and I decided not to stop until I got there. By 8:00 that evening I had ridden the 130 km to the sea and got to savour my accomplishment.

I slept in the next day and then started east, into Belgium. Belgium only has about 80 km of coastline, so I could've covered it in one day but I decided to let off the gas a tad and try to enjoy my new surroundings more. The sea here is open and windy and wild. No matter which direction I ride my bike I am riding into the wind. I still haven't figured out how that's physically possible, but that's how it worked. Gulls scream, kitesurfers practice their figure 8s, kids make sand castles, old ladies walk along the boulevard. It was fall. The sun shone warm but the air was cold. Colours had suddenly altered all around me. Change was everywhere I looked.

Maybe it was the salty air, but I couldn't keep the smile off of my face while riding the coast of Belgium. My cheeks were hurting from the goofy grin I was wearing. I stopped using my maps, choosing instead to follow random pathways through the dunes, often with beautifully surprising results. And often with dead ends. Didn't matter. I felt like a kid. I stopped and set up my camera to take pictures of me posing with various statues around the towns I passed through. To escape the wind, I rode my bike behind a police van for several km along the boulevard. My first police escort. Having passed me a half hour earlier, they were surprised when I came out of nowhere and passed them. I guess they didn't realize I was back there. Some escort!

My constant smile and crazy antics earned me many looks of concern by people who obviously take life much too seriously. But they also allowed me to brighten some peoples days - many of my smiles were returned. Riding through Belgium was a very welcome respite from the mental tumult I had been feeling for too long. I could let it all go and just ride again. More than once I found myself laughing out loud for absolutely no reason at all except that it had to come out, and it felt good. Recently someone asked me if I had ever felt true happiness. Being as lucky as I am in my life, I could easily respond yes, many times. And now I have another such instance to add to the pile. In almost every case where I felt true happiness, it was connected with being free. And even with my deadline looming so close, free is what I was.

I visited the ancient city of Brugge and drank some tasty Belgian beer. It was weird being in a country where I couldn't even say hello, thank you or goodbye. But I wasn't really there long enough to make it worth while learning Belgish. So I kept going. I realized I was much closer to Amsterdam than I thought I was and would be there ahead of schedule. Everything was looking up.

Then, after riding through Belgium and into Holland, something happened. Don't worry, nothing life threatening. But I lost something. Something very precious. My swiss army knife. That may seem small to you, dear reader, but this particular knife was imbued with extreme sentimental value. It was given to me over 10 years ago by my great aunt Velma, who has since passed away. It has been with me for so long, solved so many problems and even made me many friends (everyone at a French party is your friend if your the only one with a corkscrew!).

Recently, after some events that were left out of this blog for the sake of my mothers peace of mind (tell you later mom) I prepared my First Will and Testament. It doesn't have much on it. I don't have many things that are worth giving. But one was my swiss army knife. It was supposed to be a family heirloom, something that I would pass down when I was old and grey and didn't have any teeth left. So that someone else I loved could use it to solve their problems. It has sliced papaya in Guatemala, carved soapstone in Malta, made hotdog sticks in Joshua Tree. It has been used to put my name on park benches, fix stoves, build cabins, brake locks, make cloths, cut hair and prepare every single meal I have made over the past six months. I don't know how to explain my relationship with that knife... it was such an effective tool that it made me feel like a more capable person. With that simple thing in my pocket I could solve almost every practical problem. And then it was gone.

I didn't notice until 7:30 in the evening that my knife was missing, having last used it over 2 hours before. I retraced my ride slowly until it got too dark to see. Feeling stupid and utterly dejected I set up my camp illegally beside a dyke in the middle of nowhere. I had to improvise that night while trying to cut vegetables. The next morning I got up before dawn. I watched the sun rise and I wrote a note for whoever found my knife, enlightening them on its true value. And that it needs sharpening. I came to terms with my loss and moved on. That day I rode all the way to Amsterdam - almost 150 km, my longest day ever.

Its strange the kind of lessons you learn on the road, and how you learn them. I have gained so much on this trip. I guess I also had to lose something important.

And now I'm here, in Amsterdam, happy but knifeless. Tomorrow morning my flight leaves early. My big european bike adventure is at an end. Its time to come home. I have seen all four seasons here. I have seen the fields laying fallow, watched them be seeded, tended, grow and produce fruit, then go back to dust after the harvest. I have laughed and cried with nobody around. I have come apart, and I have put myself back together again. I have felt bliss and pain, I have felt true happiness. I have moved through the world with grace and clarity, being the best I can be. I have stumbled and fallen. I have made mistakes. But I know better my bounds - what I am capable of, and not capable of. I have gotten to know me better, and have liked what I've found. I am coming home renewed. I guess all of this was worth it.

I just want you to know that you have been there with me. All those who read this: my old friends, family, colleagues, and people I have met along the way. Knowing you are there has helped make me strong. Helped me keep going when I wanted to stop. Helped me through this process of... well... healing. And the best thing is that I can't lose you like I lost my knife!

For some of you this is my goodbye: I am leaving your continent now. For most, this is the big hello: I'm coming home baby! Yah! I get to SEE you soon!

Signing off: the devomobile.

ps: if any of you find my knife, you can keep it. I guess I don't need it anymore.

Avignon to Paris

Whoa. So, a bit of time has slipped by since my last entry. More importantly, so have a lot of km. Since I last spoke I have ridden my bike nearly the entire length of France. Let me take a step back...

I left Avignon by following the Rhone River north. In a surprise twist, the wind was not blowing in its usual direction for the region, resulting in a strong tailwind! I flew through the countryside. Nothing noteworthy or particularly spectacular occurred, unless you think that covering over 100 km a day with a bike falls in either of these categories. It has actually become the norm now for me to break the 100 km barrier every day, and I still never get started until after 12:00. When I started my average speed was about 18 km/hr, now its more like 23. I guess all those hours huffing and puffing up mountains has paid off now that the ground is flattening out.

So anyway, with the wind at my back I reached Lyon in 2 days - one day ahead of schedule! My couchsurfing host was a bit surprised to see me. His name is Boris and, and even though he has the name and the beard, he is not a communist. He is a fellow bikefreak and has spent much time riding through Europe. Needless to say, we didn't run out of things to talk about. He even helped me plan out a great route north. But Lyon was also the first place that I got into trouble with the cops. The standing rule for bikers in France is "don't do it if it will get you killed, otherwise we don't care" but I guess I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The wrong place was running a red light. The wrong time was when a municipal police car was passing by. They cruised up to me and said "puiaja le blu la blandui ecpescialite!" or something like that. I don't know, it was French! I explained that I didn't speak the language, and smiled nice. They said "Red. Stop." while pointing at the traffic light. I looked innocent, said I was sorry, merci, and they went away. Then I ran another red. I may be a good man, but I am a baaad boy!

With Boris' help, I decided to go and ride the banks of the Loire River, which people have been telling me I needed to see even before I left Canada. The problem was my deadline. I was finding it stifeling, knowing that I had to leave so soon and still had so far to go. I was forever unsure of what to do: "do I just b-line it to Amsterdam, or do I continue doing the scenic route"? I mean, by following the Loire I was heading in the exact opposite direction of Amsterdam. I was in inner turmoil. Then one morning I woke up and said "ah screw it". I don't want to be enslaved by a date. I intend to squeeze every last drop of life's sweet juices out of the time I have left. If I have to take a train, so be it. So I headed into to mountains to hook up with the Loire River. Boris even rode with me for about an hour to help me get out of the city. And a good thing too! That was confusing!

The route he had planned for me took me through the "golden region" of France. Here all of the old buildings are built out of the local rock, which is a dull yellow colour. During sunrise and sunset the villages glow golden. Its striking, especially because this area is very lush and the houses are surrounded by vibrant green. The lushness is aided by the large amount of rain that falls there - at least when guys named Devon are trying to ride their bikes in the area. I got drenched daily.

So I decided to couchsurf as much as possible. I stayed with people in Nevers, Orleans (the old one) and Blois, alternating a night or two of camping with a night or two of surfing. It worked out really well and I made new friends to boot. I particularly enjoyed Orleans - my CS hosts were great fun and I finally tasted good French food. For all the hype we have in Canada about French food, it is awfully hard to find in... well... France! At least not without dropping 100 euro for a little bit of food on a big plate. I was beginning to lose hope that I would ever find good French food, which I had been so excited for, but hallelujah! there it was. My mouth is watering even now...

Although I had been really stoked for this section of my trip, the landscape ended up being kinda dull. Flat. All farmland - fields of corn, dying sunflowers or just grass. Loads of white cows that just chew and stare. I kept my head down and pushed. I hate to admit it, but I was getting kinda bored with the whole thing. The shine was wearing off. The ancient villages all looked the same, and for the first time I could understand why locals take them for granted. I could've been anywhere. It was wearing me down, and my mood at times became as grey as the sky.

But, as the philosopher Lidell states in his composition "Whats The Use (of figuring it all out)": "Life may sometimes be sad, but its always beautiful." So I didn't let myself lose the will to continue. And then one day I turned a corner of the Loire and was greeted by a towering stone edifice surrounded by a moat. My first view of one of the famous castles along this section of the river. If you knew me as a kid, you might understand my reaction to the sight. I abandoned my bike on the side of the road and dashed across the street, piratically taking pictures as I ran.

So from then on I didn't just follow the course of the river. As I rode I took the time to swing by as many castles as I could. The most impressive was certainly Chambois, which is a huge and impressive monument to the opulence of the old French kings. Towers upon towers, big moat, a drawbridge, people riding horses in the courtyard, the works. So cool. But there were many other smaller castles that I tried to see as well. Sadly, in every case the capitalists had arrived before me and were trying to charge me my daily allowance for entrance, or sometimes even to get onto the grounds. In Blois I finally splurged and got to look around the innards of one of the chateaus. It was worth it, but only once.

The weather was changing, and so was my mood. I made another big tactical decision: I would take a train to Paris. This would not only allow me to avoid more flat French countryside, but also see the City of Love. I have wondered, and often asked people in France, why the City of Love also has a reputation for being dirty, smelly and full of rude people. Is that what love is like? Well, maybe, but I didn't think so. So I was interested to return and see if the memories of my youth would hold up. They didn't. I really enjoyed myself and people, even some of the waiters, were really nice. Ok, so parts of the underground still smell like pee, so what? And its much easier to find affordable French food. I stayed with Constance, a friend that Dad and I made in Malta, and had a really lovely time. It is also not true that all Parisian women are stuck up, although the bit about there being a lot of beautiful ones is certainly true. Whoa.

I could only afford (time and money) to spend the weekend there, but I found myself really falling for this huge city with its twisting little streets and countless shops and cafes. I had fully expected not to like it, but instead I was sorry to leave on Monday morning. I guess I kinda fell in love with the City of Love. I guess I like it dirty, smelly and rude huh? Interesting...

In the same composition noted earlier, Lidell also states "I guess a man alone always talks to much." On that note... I will only be posting one more entry for the European leg of my adventure. My flight is on the 26th. I am currently closing in on Amsterdam. Stay tuned for the last chapter.