Nov 14. Ridee!

 I feel like that dog in the comparison to cats piece:

"Oh boy! A ride! My favorite thing!" 

But it is. After four days-- or is it five?-- of sleeping all day and taking night walks (save the harrowing journey ito the labyrinth that was the Bazaar) I'm finally up at norml people time and raring to go for a ride. I start by eating everything. I'm going to burn it off even if by pushing Loretta up these crazy cobblestone hills. I've been conservative with calories. One burns little when sleeping all day. But now I get to unwrap and enjoy the tasty nut and seed peanut butter and chocolate low sugar bars I brought. I hate pullling over to feed when I'm on a roll.

I didn't consult any map. I can use that to find my way back. I don't care where I go. I just want to pedal and listen to music. Thus, I can't report as to where I went. I veered onto paved not cobbled streets until I was along the waterside. I edged along the motorway, looking and wondering if it would be legal to ride on it. It was in France, ha. There is no shoulder. Here I gotta say, as a now-veteran of the Istanbul Old City streets, that drivers for all their broken arrow patterns, are vey courteous to make room for me when there are but inches between us. If there is a categorical name for my comfort milieu it would be City Traffic Rider Long empty roads become boring. I've drank just to liven them up. I like the moving challenge of traffic. Threading the needle, as it were.

I saw an old building --- and here is the last time I'll use the word old to describe a building here; they are all old -- with pretty mosaics. I pulled in to check them out. Started taking pics. A man came out to greet me. I apologised, asking if this was his house. No, it's a studio -- would I like to come inside to see? Yes, thank you.

So now I have witnessed how the lovely tiles are made. Man picks up a blank ceramic tile, places a mold over it, fills a small ladle with a paint color, pours in the color, picks up a different ladle for a different color,  pours. When the colors are filled he first drizzles then completely covers the tile with gritty, powdery compound then inserts it into a machine where it gets pressed down hard. He removes it, shakes off the excess and places it into a slot with the others. They will next be treated with a finishing solution. He does about 200 tiles per day. What a treat to be able to see this. I thanked him and left. In the yard it was cat feeding time. Without my glasses it just looked like a bag of raw meat was thrown down. Worked for them.

Later, I found my way to an actual waterside walkway/bikepath. I only got an idea of my whereabouts from the bridge far off in the distance. It was a damn glorious ride even with the light rain that began to fall.  I knew that if I could see only one bridge then I was pretty far out. The night I walked to Asia I took one bridge there and a second bridge back. The third was too far off for this pedestrian.

I ended up in the busiest part of the area, with only crowds and windy narrow cobbled streets --and a nice hill of same --- between me and the hostel. I was now quite wet, my shoes and knee length compression socks soaked. I wanted to get home and dry before the night brought its chill. I hate being cold. I dressed for a dry autumn ride. 

I consulted the map, set it to navigation mode, placed it inside the phone part of my top bar bag and eased into the crowds. It wasnt so bad. I went slowly. Instead of stifling irritation I said a lot of pardonez moi's as though bad French is the norm here.

I only had to push the bike up one short super-evil grade, made easier by the gentleman behind me who lent a hand. I didn't ask. He just did it. He touched Loretta's butt. We were ok with it. Good intentions.

After all that I finally spilled not 30 meters from the hostel. Widely spaced thick bars on a sewage grate. Oh well. Passerby asked if I was OK. I laughed it off. Some part of me will hurt tomorrow but for now it's part of the deal.  I got off easy. New town, crazy trafffic, old windy streets and all I had was one little fall. I didn't get hit by a car.

During food, a shower, layers of warm clean clothes and more food I wondered how in hell I am going to bikepack a rainy Mediterranean coastline when I hate being cold. Here, I have a hostel with a hot shower, bed and place to hang my wet clothes. Am I really going to camp? 

"You're not there yet kid. Enjoy where you're at" it said.