The Confessional

Leucate – Valras – Montpelier, France

With the exception of Morocco, we’ve been biking through Catholic countries for about seven months now. Lots of Catholic Churches. 

After all this time, I guess I thought maybe it would be a good idea to confess my sins.

What follows is the transcript from my visit. It’s only my side – I guess it’s against the rules to record a priest . . . But you can pretty much figure out what he said . . .

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

Well, before I get into all that, I have to ask. Now that there’s this great new Pope, and he’s liberal and all – and even from Chicago – do I have to assume that you are a man? Maybe I should say: Forgive me, Mother, for I have sinned . . .

. . . 

No? Oh, okay…

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned . . .

I’m afraid I have some dire news to report. I think my soul may be in grave danger . . .

There are three things. Let’s start with maybe the slightly less severe and work our way up to the truly bad stuff . . .

Lately we’ve been seeing lots of snails. Like a lot.

People walk around collecting them. We saw this cute older couple in Peniscola; they were out gathering snails on the dunes. We saw them while we were having breakfast.

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No. I didn’t make that name up. No. I don’t just like to say “penis.” It’s a real town in Spain. Look it up . . .

Anyway, all these snails have stirred up memories that were probably off in the far recesses of my brain – collecting cobwebs and stuff. 

I’m back in high school. I’m with my friend Jong. Jong was kind of the ringleader of our group when it came to food and culture type stuff. He was always making fancy Italian food, or Greek food (he was Greek), or he was working at restaurants that made fancy food. You might remember Jong if you’ve been reading my blog. I mentioned him a while back because we went on our big high school bike trip together. 

I think our friend Aaron is along as well. We’re at a piano bar in Saint Anthony Main in Minneapolis.

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What’s that? God doesn’t need all these details? Well, I just thought He would be interested. Seems to me that context is important when assessing the sinfulness of things . . .

But, okay, okay. I’ll get to the point.

They are serving escargot at this place – and, of course, Jong says we “have to order” escargot because it’s a delicacy in France . . .

Here’s the bad part . . .

My memory is a little fuzzy – I might have just blocked out the whole occasion until now – but I don’t think I actually ate the escargot. I may have surreptitiously slipped the snails into my napkin.

Terrible, I know. I can just hear my Mom telling me that there are starving people in Africa . . .

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What did you say? You mean I don’t have to eat any now in order to atone for my sins? 

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Thank goodness! 

But, yes, I will try to help a little old lady across the street. 

No problem.

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Yes, now the second thing. 

Well, here’s the thing. I know we are on this incredible trip and I should be living in the moment. But, sometimes when we are passing all these grape arbors and it’s May and all, I start to miss my honey bees and my fruit trees. 

I should have pruned them this Spring. 

And I hear it’s dry in the Midwest – they probably could have done with a good watering. 

And the bees. One of my hives made it through the winter; I would have liked to have split the hive about now. 

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Splitting is when you take about half of the bees and a good chunk of the brood (the larvae and baby bees) and you separate it from all the other bees – especially the old queen. The separated bees – now being queenless – make their own new queen. 

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How do they do that? Boy, I thought you would know that – being kind of omnipotent and all . . .

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Well, okay, I’ll tell you . . . 

After the workers recognize there is no queen around anymore, they choose a few freshly laid eggs, they build a special queen cell around the freshly laid egg cells – you know, the hexagonal comb that bees make – that those eggs are in, and they start feeding those eggs, and the subsequent larvae, with Royal Jelly. It’s pretty cool. 

After about two weeks, a new queen emerges. Actually, several new queens. Those queens then fight to the death – the winner is coronated, then she heads out on a mating flight, where she does the tango (Can I say that in a church? Is that okay?) with several drones (male bees), and soon thereafter she starts her new job: laying about 2,000 eggs per day . . . for the rest of her life . . .

Got it?

Anyway, the point is that I feel like it’s kind of a sin to pine for these other worldly avocations when I am on the trip of a lifetime. 

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No? You think it’s okay? 

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Oh, yes, I will save you some honey and some plums and apples. No problem.

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You want peaches too? I only harvested one last year. And that was only after some animal took a bite out of it. But it was so good. So juicy.

I mean, I guess I could share a few, but could you put in a good word with the Big Guy for me at least?

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The third thing? 

Oh, yes, well I’m pretty sure that I’m going to be in trouble for this one. 

You see, we’ve been doing a lot of biking and all. And I’ve started to have impure thoughts about bike paths and bike infrastructure generally. 

This is just private, right? Like you don’t tell anyone else about our conversation, right? 

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Oh, good. Okay. Because my friends would probably crucify me for saying this . . .

So here’s the thing . . . I know I’m supposed to think that all this bike stuff is so great. Dedicated bike lanes. Pilons between the bike lane and the road. Special separate paths reserved just for cycling. 

But, really, I hate it. 

Because if you’re actually trying to get somewhere it’s terrible. The bike paths never go where you want to go. You end up biking three miles out of the way in order to bike one mile toward your destination – just so you can stay on the path. 

Or they end in the middle of nowhere – leaving you frustrated and, frequently, stranded. 

Take this morning, for instance. We ended up following the bike directions for two or three miles before the path dead-ended at a canal. Supposedly there was a ferry that would shuttle you across. 

Let me just tell you, there is no ferry of any kind. Not a ferry ferry. Not a wish-granting fairy. (Not that I would use one of my three wishes on getting across the stupid canal. No. Would definitely use one for a new president. Might use another for world peace or something . . . No, I’m not just sucking up . . .). So with no ferry or fairy, it was just us and our bikes and an impassable canal. 

Solution? Bike about five miles around to get to the other side. 

Of course, people site safety. They “feel” safer with all this bike infrastructure. Is it wrong to think that’s a bunch of malarkey as well? I mean, now, instead of being in a predictable spot – the right side of the road – doing predictable things – like signaling turns and moving with traffic – we end up coming on and off the bike paths whenever the paths cross a road – often in super unpredictable ways. And then there are the walkers, scooters (tons of scooters around here), and e-bikes zooming around as well – all doing their own unpredictable things. 

Oh, and here’s the other thing. Sometimes we don’t even know the bike paths are there – but we end up getting yelled at because the car drivers are like: “We spent all my tax dollars on that damn (sorry – just repeating what I heard . . .) bike lane and now the damn (sorry) bikers don’t even use it . . .” So they end up honking and beeping and yelling and pointing at the bike lane – and, in France, saying things like:

”Mon Dieu! Morons!”

I could go on . . . I mean, it’s not like I’m against the occasional bike path in a park for little kids and elderly people with e-bikes to go around in circles. It’s just all the other paths – that pretend to be improvements for bikers trying to go someplace . . .

I’m really sorry I’ve been having these impure thoughts. Is there anything I can do?

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So that’s it? I’m definitely going to Hell? Will they have bike paths there? 

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That’s all they have? You just keep biking and biking and never get anywhere? Sounds horrible.

A fate worse than death . . .

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I guess that make sense . . .

Can I go now? Because after the big detour this morning we’re kind of behind schedule. 

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Yes, I guess I can tell you about the last few days of riding before I leave you . . .

I have to start off with our inflatable mattress. Two nights ago it wasn’t so inflated. I kept getting up to try to blow it back up – but to no avail. Really can’t sleep on the ground. It just doesn’t work for me . . .

And then I left a half-eaten candy bar out on the bike. No big deal, except that some mouse or something kept rustling with the wrappers and, because I’m already awake because of the mattress deflation problem, I fixate on the rustling noise – and really don’t get any sleep . . .

End result? Basically no rest that night. 

Turns out that when you are biking five or six hours per day you kind of need your beauty sleep. 

So yesterday was kind of a rough day. 

The silver lining . . . When we arrived at our two-star campground – that actually allowed tent camping – we met a super nice young man: Yassim. Yassine is from Rabat, Morocco (which we love) originally, but has been living in France in order to learn the hospitality business – so that he can return to Morocco and run a hotel or something. Based on what we observed, Yassim will have some great success in life. 

That was nice. Always love to meet bright young people like this. And with the nice campsite he gave us, we slept like babies last night. 

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Today’s ride? Yes, it did start with the missing ferry. But, actually, my complaining aside, heading further inland to find a bridge turned out great. Rolling hills. Vineyards. Lots of vineyards. Fields of flowers.

Historic old towns with ancient churches and castles and stuff. 

And Montpelier, where we ended up today. Love it. Beautiful old city. Huge cathedral.

So impressive. No Cat-in-the-Hat effects or anything. Amazing stained glass. Huge organ.

Another Arc de Triumph.

Big parade grounds. Roman aquaduct – which, by the way, is so cool. This huge edifice – like a double-stone arch bridge in Minneapolis – only way more impressive. Serious engineering – I think they transported enough water for the whole city like twelve miles via these aqueducts. 

And then we met another wonderful young immigrant. This time from Nepal. Revica. She was our waitress at the great Indian restaurant we visited. She’s been here two years now. She taught herself French and she loves Montpelier, but, I think, she misses her family terribly. Like Yassim, I’m sure she will land on her feet because she is brimming with positive spirit!

Tomorrow? Heading toward Camping City – another campground that actually allows camping. And then St Remy and our social engagement. 

This confession has been great – but I really have to go . . . 

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Can you follow the blog? Yes, of course. You can subscribe and everything. But maybe just keep it between us that I occasionally use a swear word or two . . .

And one other thing . . . I think I should get some consideration for having such a good wife. Don’t you think that will get me some points when I make it to the pearly gates . . . And, remember, she will be really mad if we end up on stupid bike paths for all eternity – never getting anyplace. And do you really want to deal with her complaining? Because I guarantee you, she will get the policy changed – even if it is Hell . . .