I finished fixing up the bike I found in the shed and decided to get some essentials. It felt great to race down the mountain thinking the whole time that if I crash without a helmet my sister will kill me but that didn’t stop me. I was going so fast that it pulled the tears in my eyes all the way back to my ears. I know I’ll regret the whole thing since it’s easy to go down the mountain, but it’s going to be a bitch to get back home. But as I rocket off the mountain road onto the bike lane that jockeys the highway I didn’t care. I was free and able to go and do what I wanted without anyone having to take me and wait on me.
I used this time to do some much needed shopping in Issenheim. It’s a little town that rests at the base of the mountain but across vineyards and farms so it’s not like I can coast from my front door there. Luckily I remembered how the mother got there a week ago although I did say a few times to myself, “this doesn’t look familiar.” Shopping at a French market takes just a second to get used to especially once you realize where their priorities lie. For instance, they have a whole side of an aisle dedicated to chocolate. On the other side of that it is cereal, which takes up about as much space as four offensive linemen. Not a whole lot when you think about our stores and how they have a super long aisles filled with every cereal including much of what you would never eat in the first place.
I only get the essentials since I am riding back up a mountain and don’t need crap slapping back and forth against my handlebars or whatnots. Start the drum roll and…my little backpack easily holds four bars of soap, spaghetti, a bike tube, box of cereal, loaf of bread, cheese, and nine rolls of toilet paper. Put that in you smoke and pipe it!
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