Five go…..

Robert Perzig wrote ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance about 50 years ago. He combined philosophical ruminations on the state of ‘Quality’ while travelling by motorcycle. It was a huge hit with the hippies when they were ‘flower wearing fashionable’ rather than the libertarian anti vaxxing ‘Bill Gates ate my hamster’ conspiracists of today. Perzig’s book was a fictionalized autobiography of a 17-day journey that he made with his Honda CB77 motorcycle, from Minnesota to Northern California, along with his son Chris in 1968. I’d have thought the realities of oil, chains and grease tends to bring one down to earth rather than philosophical meanderings, but after three days riding across France I can confirm that my own reflections on the writings of Plato, Rousseau and Bertrand Russell are as poignant and insightful as a blown fuse or a leaking sump.

Mind, perhaps the kraut thinker Hegel was on to something with his idea that a ‘thesis’ (stay with me) gives rise to an ‘antithesis’ and then the clash between the two creates a ‘synthesis’. So, the thesis of a) graft getting a motorcycle to work gives rise to its antithesis of b) the pleasure of hearing the engine. Putting the two together creates a c) synthesis of a great ride in the sunshine. Or the thesis of an England and the antithesis of France gives rise to something bigger and better such as….well, you do the philosophy. 

We have an Englishman, three hybrid Cornishmen and a mongrel celt, in deepest France. The combination of all of this mixing is creating a synthesis whose character is as yet unknown. But like a good stew, the ingredients though very different, should combine together to create something rather satisfying. Who is the onion, who is the garlic, who is the meat, who is the vegetable and who provides the seasoning has yet to be decided. In theory each ingredient should add rather than detract from the overall all result. Each ingredient is a thesis needing an antithesis to produce a synthesis ideally of a delicious dinner. There is still time for over seasoning but so far its all good.

If you are interested, the nearest biggish town to where we are stying is Aurillac in the region of Cantal. The ride down here from Nantes via Peyrillac involved a little bit of fast but fun autoroute and glorious twisties through the hills and valleys. No blood has yet been spilled. The traffic is non existent and the road surfaces are as smooth as a baby’s newly powdered bum. Potholes exist only in our imagination. It is truly unbelievable what can be achieved by a country if it puts it mind to it. 

We are staying in an old farmhouse built of stone. Rustic defines it. It does have radiators but the old stone fireplaces are intact. There are two wooden spiral staircases which I’m told is typical of the region. This is still a working farm which means the bikes are parked within a barn. The dog barks at us as we arrive and as we leave. All we can hear are cicadas chirruping along with the sparrows, blackbirds and pigeons. Occasionally a tractor trundles past the garden on its way to do farming stuff which involves taking a pile of manure from one place to another. Cattle graze in distant fields, bees buzz above our heads and the odd flying insect ventures into the house to escape being eaten by martins or swallows. Red kites fly overhead scouring the land for titbits. The sky is blue, the trees are green and wine is red. 

Our hosts are a grey haired couple who cannot speak any English. Francoise and Georges look like they have been hewed from the very rocks that make up the landscape. Sunshine and hard work on the land have carved their characters and their faces. They are charming if a little befuddled by modern technology such as wifi. In an attempt to get it working a lamp blows requiring a new bulb. Great effort was put into rectifying this issue but it made little difference to the wifi. I have to listen very hard to make sense of what they are saying, but we get by. We talk about the weather, the scenery and where to buy good bread. The latter is of course, as you know if you have ever been to France, a priority. As is food. And wine. 

Last night’s dinner was coq au vin. Now just think about that. Can you smell the herbs and wine that went lovingly into it? Herbes de Provence and Tarragon. Yep. You should be able to smell it. I am convinced that the context made it taste special. Tonight’s dinner is Boeuf Bourguignon. The meat has been marinading in garlic and red wine for 24 hours. David, our master mechanic and bike instructor, was more than ably assisted by Steve in the preparatory stage. Red wine, beer and pastis beforehand set the mood. 

I’ve not mentioned the lunch we enjoyed in a small town called Argentat on our way here yesterday. As with most small towns and villages in rural France, it was devoid of traffic and people. The sun was out as were the sunshades at the restaurant’s terrace. This was the only busy spot in the town. Trevor put his face into a steak tartare, while Adrian and David enjoyed a foie gras. My salad ‘au Sud Ouest’ of duck gizzards was exceptional and Steve’s trout gravilax went down a treat. The restaurant closed at 1430 and as if by magic the clientele all disappeared leaving five grizzled old Englishmen to get back onto their bikes (and van) and leave in the glorious sunshine. As per usual swifts provided the musical background as we ate.