Monday, July 22, 2013
I was planning to do a few minor errands before riding to Carcassonne to see if I could find one of the bicycle shops I'd been told about: I want a lightweight knapsack so I can carry a few groceries back from the Pont Rouge "Intermarché" while simultaneously getting a bit of exercise in. I'm in my cycling clothes and about to put on my biking shoes, however, when there's a knock on the door.
It's Bob Thorp, come to tell me that he just ran into Jean Lacroix, the former gendarme. Jean wanted me to know that his wife Josette's bicycle was mine for the borrowing, I just had to call. With that, Bob handed me Jean's number and took off.
I called Jean shortly thereafter and first spoke to Josette, whom I'd never met before.
Ah, Marta! You've called about the bike. Let me put Jean on.
In a few minutes we'd established that I could certainly come by this morning, and where the Lacroix house is. I was there in a half an hour, carrying a bottle of water for the ride, and a bottle of golden muscat I'd picked up in Mèze.
The Lacroix house is off the memorial to Caunes' war dead from the two World Wars. It is opposite a field of vines, a large, well built house with a garden on the town's outskirts. Jean was in the garage. We shook hands and I handed him the bottle of muscat. He was simultaneously surprised and appreciative of the bottle of muscat, which I offered as a small token of my appreciation of his and Josette's kindness.
Would you like to meet Josette? he asked.
Of course I would, and we went upstairs.
Josette was taking the ends off the French beans she had just harvested from her garden. She didn't shake hands because she said they were dirty from doing so, but offered her wrist. She is a lively, petite woman with small features. Immediately, she asked me to sit down. She and Jean had a bit of a back and forth about whether I shouldn't be taken to the salon, but I said I would be perfectly happy right there, and sat down.
Would you like an espresso? Would you like some orange juice?
I took a glass of water and we talked a bit, with me wanting to verify that I would not be depriving Josette of the pleasure of riding the bicycle if I borrowed it.
No, not at all. I have a little bicycle with five speeds that I run around town with, and that is what I use now. I used to ride the other one, but I'm too old now, I need to be careful.
We talked a bit more, and it turned out that Jean and Josette are both involved with Notre Dame du Cros. I had seen a sign for a kermesse for the benefit of the chapel to be held in August, and wondered what it was.
It's a fair with Mass at 11:00 a.m., then food and games, all to raise money for the church. You can contribute without going, or you can go and eat the food, which is quite good.
They were pleased to know I attended services at the chapel, and remarked that my French was good enough to understand what the preacher said. A short conversation about my family background followed, with them mentioning that their son would be going to New York in a few weeks. By then it was time to see the bicycle.
The bicycle is a top of the line road bicycle, designed by a Tour de France rider from Carcassonne. It has special shoes, designed to lock onto a metal nub where the pedals would normally be. This is a convention of most high-end road bikes, but this one comes with a specially designed pair of shoes, marketed under the brand "Look". My riding shoes are made with the same principle in mind: there is a plastic plate where the ball of the foot sits in the shoe, which when unscrewed, permits the shoe to lock onto the pedal. There seems to be a problem because my riding shoes are not "Look", and therefore don't lock in, but after riding around on the bicycle a bit, I realized I would be able to ride at least to Carcassonne, where I might either buy a pair of "Looks" or put pedals on the bicycle.
The problem with having the shoes lock onto the metal nub is that non-professional riders frequently brake without remembering to release a foot from one of the metal nubs, crashing to the ground as a result. Not wanting to win any races, I thought, I would rather ride with pedals. In any event, I thought I could get to Carcassonne. Once there, Jean told me, Decathlon Cycles could change the pedals at a reasonable price, .
Off I went, discovering that I rode perfectly well without either Looks or pedals. When I got to Carcassonne, I wanted to find the bicycle shop off the Canal du Midi, Cycles Raynaud on Avenue Varsovie to buy a knapsack. The only problem was that by the time I got there, it was 12:30 p.m., and all the stores were closed. I had a quick coffee and a quiche lorraine aux poireaux (leeks), but I got turned around and couldn't find the way I back.
After riding around, wasting a half an hour, a young woman on a main street leading to the highway set me straight.
Oh, you'd better take that road across the street towards Feojolles. Go straight through the first roundabout, then take the one on the left at the next towards Feojolles. You'll go under a little railroad bridge and then see a sign for Castres and Mazmet take that one--
Once I get there, I'll know where I am, I say, thanking her.
Her directions are absolutely correct. I pass the race track at Feojolles, which I had not known existed and make it back to the main road between Carcassonne and Caunes, from which I came. I push to cycle as fast as I can because a courier is supposed to pick up a package between 2:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m., and it was 1 o'clock when I left the pastry shop where I had the coffee and quiche. I'm heartened by seeing a clock on the school at Villalier saying it's only twenty minutes of two p.m. , but that's hard to believe --I'm not that fast, even at my fastest, and it's hot and sunny.
As I turn into the valley, the wind kicks in and cools the temperature, but I have still got a long way to go. Indeed, when I turn the key and look at the clock in the kitchen it is 3:10 p.m. There's no sign on the door or in the mailbox that FedEx has been there, though.
I call the company, and they assure me that no one has yet arrived. At 4:10 p.m. the driver calls: the waybill says the address is 3 avenue du Minervois, not 30. The driver is there in five minutes and my package safely away. The pick-up is not by FedEx, but a subcontractor in Carcassonne. At 4:15 p.m. the package is on its way. I ask whether I could have dropped off the package in Carcassonne.
No, no --you would have had to go to Blagnac.
Blagnac is the suburb of Toulouse, two hours away, in which the Toulouse airport is located. There is no other way to get a package out of Caunes, to a national or international destination.
I think that the pick-up would have come at the end of the specified period, even if the address had been correctly noted on the waybill. The delivery of the original document the week before, also came just at the end of the promised pick-up time. This is the Midi, and no one rushes, except for fools.
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