Saddle sores to internet gamers

First a little rant: I am currently sitting in an internet cafe in Chartres, and for the past two hours, save for five minutes when a sixtyish American woman came in, it has been me and about a dozen 12-17 year-old boys here. They are all playing some sort of gloomy-looking internet game with guns and tanks. Adolescents have always kind of freaked me out: they were intriguing and scary when I was a kid, terrifying when I was one, and are unnerving now. Multiply that by 12, add this weird internet game, a lot of awkward laughter and chatter in French, and I think I need to leave and go have a beer.

I made it to Chartres yesterday by bike. From Versailles, I took one of the national roads, which, for about 70 percent of the way, had a bike lane with some broken glass and rocks and things. It was sort of like Ogden Ave or the uglier parts of 55th street in the western 'burbs, but with more trucks and fewer pedestrians. Finally, after three hours or so, I stopped at the "Bel Air" Mall in Rambouillet. It really was called "Bel Air." I bought some water and the best Powerade I've ever had at a Carrefour, and a nice lady at the tobacco store told me how to get to the smaller road I was looking for. Turned out the road was directly behind the mall, and within five minutes I was in the middle of nowhere.

I rode through lots of little towns which were much prettier than the ugly N10 road I'd been on before, and snapped some drive-by photos. In Coltainville, my last little town before Chartres, I ran out of steam. It was time to stop for round two of the baguette and pate snack I'd munched on outside of the mall. I knew if I stopped for too long or sat down, I'd never reach Chartres, so I ate for a few minutes and hopped back on the bike.

I entered Chartres to discover that it was a bunch of steep, narrow cobblestone streets that might otherwise have been beautiful but in this case made me want to collapse in a heap on the ground and cry. I cursed Rick Steves for not giving me a map of the city more than six blocks long, because I had no idea which direction my hotel was in. Eventually, after having been an enormously entertaining spectacle to scads of French folks on the way, I rolled up to the hotel. I continued to entertain the locals for another ten minutes while I unloaded my bike, locked it, and then tried to figure out how to pick up all my bags at once to carry them to the hotel, all while wearing really unflattering bike shorts.

At the hotel, I discovered that I have bona fide saddle sores. I know that they are real because they sting in the shower.

Today, I've been in Chartres; tomorrow I bike for Mortagne-au-Perche and the next day for Domfront. Have more to write but can't stand another second in this internet cafe and feel brain starting to fizzle.

Until next time!