"Please vote for Obama..."

We'd taken shelter from a brief shower at a table under the awning of a coffee shop on the plaza of the Palais du Papes in Avignon and found ourselves next to a German couple, as I realized when the man heard me ordering in French and asked, "Sind sie Nederlaender?" I was pleased not to have been identified immediately as American, but informed him we were from the USA. He then muttered something in English. We caught the phrase "Bush country" and laughed, assuring him we also despised the current administration. I think he was testing waters, for he then added, again in English, "Please vote for Obama." More laughter, and more assurances.

We'd moved to Avignon that Monday 02 June to drop the rental car, pack the bikes, and leave by TGV for Paris to fly home the next day. The other famous site in Avignon is the stump of the Pont de Benezet, mostly destroyed by the flooding Rhone in 1668. The original 22 arches had in fact, however, been repeatedly damaged and repaired since its construction in the early 12th century. Medieval builders thus demonstrated their inferiority to the Romans. During our last week we'd ridden from St-Remy up to the Pont du Gard, an aqueduct built in 50CE across the gorge of the river Gard to carry water from nearby Uzes to Nimes. Its almost 50 surviving arches are perfectly aligned and intact after more than two millenia.

We enjoyed the biking from St-Remy as much as any on this trip. While waiting for Jane to make her selection one day I felt a touch on my shoulder. I turned to find Edye Pankowski, bike club friend from Point, beaming at having found us by accident. She and Dallas had been traveling in Italy and decided on an excursion to Provence. Of course, if you want to run into anyone in France, your best chance is the nearest boulangerie (bakery) or patisserie (pastry shop). Its humanly impossible--or at least I find it so--to pass one without stepping in for a purchase. The Pankowskis had their bikes along, so the next day we rode up to the Abbaye St-Michel de Frigolet. Jane was delighted, as we strolled the grounds of the Augustinian abbey, to hear the bells on some goats that appeared to be herding the sheep that had moved into the meadow just over the wall. A magnificent ram strode up and planted his forefeet on the parapet to look us over. Reaching Boulbon some kilometers on it was time for--what else?--something from the boulangerie on the town plaza. We sat on the steps of the Hotel de Ville (city hall) to savor both our bread and the pleasure of watching life in a village along the flanks of the small range called the Montagnette. Completing the picture, the promontory above was crowned by the ruins of an ancient citadel.