safe haven

It doesn’t take much to be happy: a cup of coffee and a piece of roof that protects me from the flood.

However I will have to leave

It doesn’t take much to be happy: a cup of coffee and a piece of roof that protects me from the flood. However, I will have to leave.

Haven of Peace (C) Photo: Jim Wellington

I was not caught this time. I saw him coming from afar: a black rod on the horizon now swallowed the sun. In a storm, I fear two things: sudden gusts of wind and men are convinced that a wreath of acronyms (ABS, ESP, TCS, LED) makes them immortal (RIP, DTC).

The funny thing is that I have an appointment at Tonnerre. I left the highway, and entered one of the three valleys that point north and northwest. I chose the wildest, the least hesitant, to ride at my own pace.

The sky cast a gray blanket at the bottom of the valley. A few more laps of the wheel and enter the rain. Cop Cop…frouuutch! I am there. I lowered my head to my shoulder and hugged my elbow. I’m not afraid: I wear the best rain jacket.

However, the rain is cold. I wasn’t expecting that after the heat of the past few days. Yes, in fact it coagulates well; I should have kept my winter jacket. The rain changes the noise on the helmet. Heck: Hail. Little candy, white and crazy, bounces off the windshield. The pavement becomes lumpy. Looking back: still no one. I cut the throttle a little bit. Can we skate on hailstones? Mostly not.

In one village, a woman was running with a plastic bag on her head to protect herself. With cold blows you didn’t hear me coming; I worry about pedestrians in the rain who don’t want their hair wet: a bit like cats, they run straight ahead without looking.

Curse! But it’s really bad. My little voyage under the fleet is for a laugh because the prout-la-bagnole turns into a pocket winter. No matter how much I modified my neck while getting dressed early on, water ended up finding its way into my neck: disgusting!

continued ! I stop at the next bleed to let the worst of the storm pass.

Uh! Gas station sanctuary in the county shopping center! Like what, it’s all a matter of perspective. I didn’t put any gas: I have enough for a round trip. I spun into the hot juice dispenser and put the sugar full. I don’t need it: I imagine I consume more pure sugar in one cup than the Amazon Indian in a week.

I go out under the awning and warm my hand on my can of drink. It is still raining, but it is no longer raining. I would like a staple that allows me to drink juice without having to take it off, to keep my head warm.

Just a few steps away from me, patient kid. Guess the crutch 50 speed is there for him. He didn’t look at me, all on his phone screen. Too bad: In ten years’ time we’d have exchanged a few words about the weather, on the rest road, where it came from… All these trifles that make up the soul of a bike, especially when the weather turns bad.

That’s the problem with service station coffee: it’s always too short when you drink it, and always too long when you have to pee it a few miles away, tangled up in wet layers of cloth. Yes, rain makes me a philosopher and a poet too…

The storm calmed down a bit. That’s the advantage of not having a schedule: I can give him five more minutes. Hmmm… No: I’m sick. My paper cup is cold. I want to put on my helmet and leave. This gas station is no longer a haven of peace, it is a smelly and noisy place that people pass by. Tough place too: I have to be careful in the first roundabout at the exit and walk really well inside the turn to avoid a possible greasy sign.

– Have a safe road ! Baby throws at me at 50.

Surprised, I wave back.

Like what, I’m a really bad language, sometimes. usually ? Hmmm…yes, often. I often have bad language.

Click the rain on my helmet. Did you notice how little time it takes to reshape your biker group when you leave? A few seconds to regain your place on the handlebars, to get back into motion.

I’m riding again. The monophonic frown softly.

On the horizon there is a lighter streak: the storm is over.

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Watch out for Kronik! 100% bad faith! This is neither an article nor a news item (see history if necessary). Chronic abuse can be dangerous to some people’s health. Do not offend.

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