Derogatory Movement

Somehow I feel like something was lost in translation here! Now, I have had derogatory comments made about my dance moves in the past but surely it is a little harsh to equate my gyrations on a dance floor to riding a motorcycle through the French countryside.

This was a document I needed to travel in France and allowed me on the roads to make the ride from the medieval village of Die on the river Drôme to Grenoble. With France on lockdown I was very aware that any movement was counterproductive to the containment of the virus so I mapped out a backroads route across the high Alps from Die to Grenoble. My good friends Alan and Fay Barrow had offered to host me for the duration of the lockdown as they had just got back the night before from New Zealand and would also be in quarantine.
With the concern that the US might at any time close its borders to everyone, including returning residents, I decided to see if it was possible to get a flight out of Geneva directly back to New York. In no time at all I was on nearly empty flights back to Denver. With everyone staying well clear of each other and not a lot of talking going on travel had suddenly become a very lonely endeavor.

From thinking I was in France for a long time I awoke Saturday morning in my Rocky Mountain cabin in a winter wonderland after the recent heavy snowfall. Two weeks of self quarantine is not going to be a hardship here especially as my wonderful family and friends have stocked me with groceries and beer and one very thoughtful, special lady even had the forethought to make sure I had a full 1/2 gal of gin.

Who knows what the future holds with this virus and how travel is going to look in the future but with Moto Naranja waiting patiently in a shed in France how can I not go back and carry on with the Silk Road adventure?

Silk Road Trip grinds to a halt

My timing could not have been any better if I tried. Moto Naranja arrived in Paris two days before France closed all the pubs, restaurants, cafes and any other public meeting place. Surely not the pubs!!

I had been given an address at Charles de Gaulle airport, Paris, cargo terminal where I could pick up my bike but this proved to be a closed training facility for cargo handlers. After spending over an hour walking around in ever diminishing, frustrating circles a terminal worker asked if mine was the orange bike he had seen that morning somewhere over in the export side of the terminal. That is where it proved to be, but funny because I was pretty sure I was meant to be importing it.
 Once I got all the paperwork there was just one more tiny step -- Customs / Douanes, just the name was enough to strike fear into my skinny little knees. This building was standard government issue with buckled, yellowing ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights with the obligatory buzz - I feared the worst !!

Surprise !!  They were all very pleasant and helpful and 45 minutes later I walked out of there with a wad of papers all bearing an official looking stamp.

Determined to carry on even though my adventure was looking more than I had bargained for, I climbed on my trusty steed in a steady rain and headed south with the hope of finding more pleasant weather. Two days later the weather was indeed a little warmer with clear blue skies and I had spent a magical time meandering along many backroads through the French countryside with quaint stone villages, cattle in the fields and a singing heart. There were castles and chateaus scattered throughout the countryside. 

Getting towards mid afternoon on the second day I decided to stop in the village of Die ( an unfortunate name in the time of corona ) and after finding that no campsites were open for another month a settled in to the Hôtel des Alpes in the center of this beautiful village which has stood in the valley since Roman times.
After finding something to eat and a beer from a small grocery store I checked the news -- France was going to prohibit all travel and close its border for 15 days -- starting tomorrow!! Now that is definitely a little more concerning than closed pubs
So here I stay for the next two weeks in a beautiful French village still with the stone walls built in the 2nd century, a comfortable hotel with breakfast, magnificent views out of my window and a chance to learn more French than just Bonjour.

View from my room