canyon road.

i can’t walk. 

or move, for that matter. today i rode on the back of a motorbike for eight hours. eight. every part of my body is sore in very strange ways. my friend, jean-francois, offered to take me on a trip  on his motorbike. after assuring him that a day trip would be sufficient, we made plans for this weekend. i, naively thinking that we would slowly meander around the mountains near aix. 

i met him this morning at ten o’clock. i had packed bread and vegetables and fruit for us to have lunch. he told me to wear something ‘robust.’ i’ll be honest, i was quite nervous. the whole walk there i was trying to remember which cheek he kisses first. (he is from northern france so it always catches me off guard, its the opposite side in provence). and i was thinking, maybe i don’t really want to go on a motorbike. but. i meet him (the kisses went smoothly) and he handed me a jacket, gloves, and a helmet. i, always smooth and charming, couldn’t get my zipper zipped. then couldn’t get my helmet hooked. people soon realize that when they are with me, they have to play my friend and father. by the way- those helmets are not attractive. mine squashed my cheeks up to my eyeballs. i looked like a stuffed piglet behind glass. i later realized that you can adjust to look less like a farm animal. he looked at me and said, “do you need oxygen?” and opened my windshield. after he fastened me in my gear he gave me a quick lesson. 

-”you have ridden before?” 

-”once. in america. and he crashed.” 

-”oh.”

he explained that i had to lean with him when we turned. “we go on a lot of windy (i taught him that word) roads. just move with my body”

so then he gets on, tells me to hop on the back. the back is not a real seat. it is a perch a foot above him that is equal in comfort to sitting on a brick. and. i am not tall enough to put my leg over the bike without stepping on something. so i mount the bike like a horse. well, horses have four legs to steady them. so after gracefully tipping the whole bike and boy over, i was up. he had to place my hands. i then accepted the fact that i was pretty much helpless.

those things are scary as hell. the first round-about and i already knew we were doomed. lean with your body? why would i want to lay on the road? 

the first twenty minutes i was completely panicked and logically trying to comfort myself. ‘i crashed once, i can crash again. i wasn’t hurt bad… of course, we were going 1/8 of the speed. and we did break the bike… hmm. well he is french, he knows how to drive these thing. but i’m the first girl on the back of this. does he know i’m just a little girl? 

it wasn’t until i let my shoulders relax and looked around a bit that i realized maybe i was going to survive. it was the most spectacular ride. 

we passed fields of yellow flowers, dipped in red by poppies. poppies are magnificent. it only takes one to gather complete attention. i was thinking about how beautiful the scattered red flowers were, when we past an entire field of them. it was magnificent. like the crops were on bright red fire. then our road took us through lines of white trees, and vineyards, and tiny villages in the mountains, and lakes. we stopped three hours out by water to eat lunch. my wrists were unmovable from pushing on the bike. and i really really needed to find a restroom. right… so we ate, he mapped out our trip. and the whole time i’m wondering how i will get back on the bike without peeing my pants. i’m really feeling awkward. i dont know if you know this- but french women don’t use the restroom. ever. they are far too glamorous. and if they had to, they most certainly wouldn’t find a spot on the side of a cliff. i was debating whether or not i should tell him, when he jumped up and said, “now, where is the toilet? have you seen a sign around here?” i couldn’t have been happier with any other words. toilet reference and a joke. he went behind me somewhere he took me to use a tree, and when he came back he place a hand-full of thyme at my nose. “smell this”

i didn’t want to be appear immediately unlady-like, so i asked him if we would find any other bathrooms. “well, there is the finest toilet over there (pointing to the bushes) and another fine toilet over there (pointing to the rocks)” thank goodness. i knew i had no pride, now i know that he doesn’t care. i found the finest toilet.

our end destination (i found out later) was the gordes du verdun. its the grand canyon of europe. beautiful turquoise water and haunting cliffs. and we passed through every splendid scene on the way there. waterfalls, old bridge ruins, mountains, bridge divers, sheep, wild animals that i don’t know the names of, dark tunnels, forests, a national park, and white water rafters. 

on the negative side-there were several times on the journey that i thought i may fall off the bike because my body hurt so badly. i know that you don’t actually have to hold on the whole time. my arms were wrapped around him and on the neck of the bike. i was pressing my body upwards by my wrists. so my back hurt from leaning, my wrists wouldn’t waxed in one position, my legs were dead. at one point i had to get off so he could get gas…and i couldn’t. my legs wouldn’t move. that was also embarrassing. 

yet, it was completely worth it.

those roads are quite windy though. at one point he was turning a curve and his shoe touched the ground. i quickly assumed the the tires were slipping, we were going to fall, and i would at least break one leg. he must of sensed this, because he reached back and patted my leg.  

it was nice. 

love from the canyons. 

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