We have managed to go a little further afield than in previous years with the aid of our new velo but as we only have one between us we either go separately or someone has to use one of the trusty old steeds - or not so trusty as the case may be.
Our bikes have served us well over the past 10 years but lately we have had a problem with 'punctures'. A bike tour leader I spoke to said they rarely have trouble but I have certainly seen many a cyclist on the tow path, bike upturned. Perhaps the inner tubes we buy from supermarkets are not very good quality and we should be stocking up on the once in a blue moon occasions when we see a specialist cycle shop. As an emergency back up we've been carrying an aerosol foam sealant.
As the less enthusiastic rider (and having a chivalrous partner) I usually luck in with choice of bike and so it was we found ourselves recently high in the hills, miles from the boat and surrounded by vineyards. Hills I would have had trouble walking up far less cycle without that bit of magical assistance. The views were splendid and I had plenty of time to relax on the verge alongside the vines appreciating them as I waited for my companion relying on muscle power alone.
Our destination was an old fortified village (bastide) but there was, as yet, no sign of it. So on we went until we came to a road sign - no mention of our village though.
'I think we should go back,' said one of us gasping for breath whilst looking longingly at the downhill slope.
The other, making their usual miscalculation, ' It's a fortified village. It's probably at the top of the next hill.'
It wasn't - but there was a chateau. We stopped at the gates for a breather -well, strictly speaking only one of us needed it whilst the other being nosey peered over the wall. An old man and his dog sat outside the front door of a gatehouse. Seeing me, the dog immediately started barking and the man coughing as only one with a 60 a day habit is able.
I gave a cheery wave and 'Bonjour' and the old guy shuffled over to the gate where we proceeded to have one of those conversations where neither person has any idea of what the other is actually saying but somehow you get the meaning. What we eventually worked out was that the village was miles away and that the assumption that it would be on top of a hill couldn't have been more wrong. We needed to go all the way back down. The man found the whole thing hilarious, particularly my apparent mispronunciation of every single French word especially the name of the village. If you can't even pronounce it how would you expect to find it? Anyway I'm glad we brightened someone's day.
The rider of the muscle propelled bike shot off before any new plan could be devised and was soon out of sight whist I followed as slowly as my brakes would allow.
We never made it to the village. At the bottom of the hill I found my companion seated at the side of the road looking miserable. Another puncture; the squirty repair kit had failed to fix it completely and we still had a long way to get back to the boat. Now, it happens that the gallant rider of the leg powered velo is also the one with the gammy knee who cannot walk more than a few hundred metres.
So, it was payback time for the one leading him on a wild goose-chase up hills and round the countryside with no map or any thought in their had except that this is good fun for no effort at all.
We swapped cycles.
They aren't called push bikes for no reason you know.
*The Electric Brae of the title is a hill in Scotland near Ayr where a freewheeling car or bike seems to be going uphill of its own volition. It was once thought to be the result of some mysterious force or magic but is actually an optical illusion.
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