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The French Cycling Bicycle Gourmet - French Country Travel Life Film Maker and Author. Your non-snobby Gourmet Guide to food, wine travel and Lifestyle Adventure!

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Christopher Strong Bicycle Gourmet – Born at the Right Time – Part Four


Christopher Strong Bicycle Gourmet – Born at the Right Time – Part Four…


brings us to the inevitable conclusion of my French-Mexican adventure. Checking out Parts One, Two and/or Three may help you connect the dots more easily.

After two plus weeks of Ten hour “Mr. Fix-It-Up” days Paul returned to France for Christmas. DA BG had agreed(with no arms twisted) to stay on until the end of January to provide a “security presence.” (my greatest unhearlded talent.)

With Paul gone my routine remained basically the same. With one exception: Wine Rationing! I had only three bottles of White to last seven weeks! Which meant less than a quarter (tiny)verre per meal. And(shock horror) only once per day. This, dear reader was wine appreciations most challenging  hour. Why didn’t I just buy more from our tiny village “supermercado?” One word: “Undrinkable!”

Like all good things, my mission of “Mexican assistance” came too soon to an end. Again I was on the same bus. This time in the opposite direction. And this time – no Ramon . Wait – it gets worse. Yes, dear reader, this driver/DJ was into hard core Country Music. “Big eight wheeler rollin’ down the track means your lovin’ daddy ain’t comin’ back – I’m movin’ on” (sung with a closepeg on your nose for maximum fidelity)

After two weeks back in the land of drinkable wine(almost) everywhere, no “bon mots” from Paul or Denis. I was just about to phone when Denis appeared at my door. With a shoe box.
I sensed correctly from his uncharacteristically somber mood that a shoe-based joke would not be appropriate.

After a long pause Denis murmured softly: “It’s Paul……last night…..” He didn’t finish the sentence. Nor did he need to. “How” I asked. “In his sleep” Denis replied.

No further words were needed. As we each silently savored our connections to this treasure of a man.

Finally, Denis offered me the box. “He left this for you.” You know what was in the box, dear reader. Do you not? Inside the glass was this note. In Paul’s elegant calligraphic hand : “Whenever you drink from this I hope you’ll remember your time in Mexico with an old pal.” And I do, dear reader. I do.


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