For those of you who think Paris is a hotbed of anti-American sentiment, my experience in Paris doesn't fit that narrative. On April 30, 1999, I snagged a hotel room with my #2 son Matthew, and just paid for the round-trip airfare. While he attended meetings, I rode my bike around Paris. I didn't meet a single rude Frenchman (or woman).
In fact, I inadvertently sailed onto the JFK Expressway in Paris, missing the no-bicycles sign. It quickly became apparent that I'd blundered into freeway traffic. In my helmet-mounted mirror, I could see an ocean of cars coming toward me. Peddling as hard as I could, I heard the beep-beep of a Taxi to my right. The driver motioned me in front of him, offering to block me from certain death. But moments later, a furniture truck passed us and I quickly drafted onto him, quickly accelerating to freeway speeds. Shortly thereafter, I spotted my off-ramp to salvation.
As I blew off the Paris JFK exit ramp, a group of French bicyclists parked nearby gave me a round of applause.
I have nothing but fond memories of my two cycling trips to France. But this trip happened to be the greatest bicycling trip ever.
Sincerely yours,
Rick Bennett
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