Bonjour de Paris!

I skipped the last two weeks of ski season and hoped a flight "across the pond" as people love to say. I always thought calling an ocean a "pond" was stupid, but after flying across both the Atlantic and Pacific, I have to say, the Atlantic is tiny. I booked myself a long layover in London so I spent 16 hours exploring the city before continuing on to Paris.

Tower Bridge in London

After a few days in Paris with family, I hastily google mapped a route north towards Belgium. As soon as I took off I realized the directions were terrible. On top of that, Paris has multiple names for a lot of their streets (like Manhattan's "6th Ave" is also known as "Avenue of the Americas"), but none of the names are actually marked. Europe has a tradition of putting signs on corners that tell you what attractions are down different streets, but that was worthless since I don't know the city well enough to get a bearing off of tourist attractions. Instead I made a habit of asking where I was every kilometer or so, and eventually made it towards the edge of town.

Rollerblading and breakdancing are still cool in Europe

As I rode out of the city the neighborhood got worse and worse. A fully loaded touring bicycle sticks out just about anywhere, and I was getting nervous as I continued to search for my route. I turned on to the street N2 in northern Paris and went for about 15 minutes without seeing any signs confirming I was still on the correct street. I asked someone on the sidewalk and they told me I was not on N2 anymore. Disheartened, I asked two more people and they also claimed I was not on N2, instead saying it was way back where I came from and they didn't know where it went, or where the next street I was looking for went.

My GPS was dead, I couldn't find my location on the map, and I was starting to panic. I decided I needed to get the GPS working because riding back through where I had just come from was not an option.

When I wrote directions on a piece of cardboard and wedged it into my front rack, I should have known I wasn't adequately prepared

I picked the store that looked most likey to have batteries - an unpolished middle-eastern grocery store with all the madness and mayhem stereotypically associated with a bazaar. Terrified that my bike would disappear if I left it for a second, I parked it so the wheel was visible out the door and ventured into the shop. Just as a point of reference, I was held up with a knife in Pablo Escobar's hometown and I was substantially more worried for my safety in this moment. I made eye contact with one of the employees and held up an old battery, feeling waves of elation when he curtly nodded at me and reached behind the counter for a pack of new ones.

Once the GPS was on it instantly confirmed I was on the route I needed, and I continued riding out of the city as kids throttled wheelies down the center of the main street on two-stroke dirt bikes.

Paris goes from the scariest neighborhood I've ever been in to a field within about 2 kilometers.

Navigating in the country side was just as difficult, but at least the GPS was working and it was further between turns. I was still jet lagged and just so elated to be out of the city I continued riding until midnight, when I finally pulled off and slept along the driveway going into a battlefield memorial.

(click to enlarge)