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Hungry Bears Are Angry Bears Liberation day! France celebrated the day with an honourable day off. The week before, we had passed through a village that had various allied forces flags flying on main street. Canadian flags were mixed in with British, American, French and Russian. We crossed the bridge to Roth and decided to look for a bike shop in Germany since they weren't on a stat holiday. Roth didn't have a bike shop. Heading back into Luxembourg we passed a golden maned horse with luxurious bangs hanging over its eyes. In the area there were many gold coloured horses and furry foals. We had no currency and we were out of food. I stopped at a gas station in Vianden that had mainly junk food and asked if they took Visa for food. "Ya, ya," the clerk responded. At city centre we checked to see if anything else was open. The immense bakery had many types of bread on display. Sharon bemoaned the fact we had no money. I should have stopped at a bank before the weekend but I wanted to put on miles instead. At the time, riding in four countries in one day seemed more important than future eating. A grocery store was open with a sign displaying the Visa symbol. I sent Sharon in against her will. She was crabby when she was hungry! I waited with the bikes, reading a magazine. A fellow saw my flag and said he had been to Edmonton, Calgary, Banff, Jasper and Vancouver. I asked him if it was a holiday in Lux. He told me it was a regular working day. There was no bike shop in town but there was one in Diekirch -- twelve kilometers back. "It's really hilly too. Good for the legs," he said slapping his thigh. Sharon had been in the store an awfully long time. I began to suspect she did that on purpose so I would do the shopping instead. She finally reappeared empty handed. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I quizzed her. "Where are the groceries?" "They said no to my Visa," she despondently responded with a glum expression plastered on her puss. "Why?" I asked, digging deeper into the mystery. "Is there a minimum?" She raged at me, venting her hunger anger: "They didn't tell me! They just said no when I went to pay after spending all that time picking out groceries." The foolish man said, "Well, go back in and ask why." The enraged bear masquerading in cycling clothes tore me into itty-bitty strips. I went into the store to straighten out the Visa problem, even though I was missing various body parts. I held my severed head in my hands, lopped off in one vicious swipe of the nasty bear's claws. My rear end was shredded also, chewed by voracious bear teeth. "Acceptez-vous Visa?" "Oui." "Minimum?" "Oui." "How much?" "One thousand francs." I returned to tell Smoky. She had racked up seven hundred francs worth of groceries, so I told her to just go back in and got another three hundred. "Step into my lair," the bear said. Sometimes I was a slow learner. But I really believed in the old adage that if you fell off your horse you should immediately get up and get back on. I told her that I, personally, could go for days without food. I couldn't care less if I ever ate again. Sharon didn't want to go back in, but she did -- after I told her hunger was not her most appetizing asset. She returned with two small sacks of groceries. Is some of that for me? We headed directly for the bike store in Diekirch as we weren't sure what the opening hours were and I wanted to make it before lunch in case they closed for a couple of hours. Four kilometers out of Vianden my tube blew. My sew repair had lasted a grand total of fifteen kilometers. The thread had worn apart, the tube stuck itself out for a view of the world, didn't like what it saw and instantly deflated. We were beside a farmer's field. I commandeered Sharon's bike and rode it to Diekirch leaving her by the roadside to read. It was quarter to twelve when I spotted the bike shop. A sign read that on Mondays they were only open from one thirty till six. But I saw a man inside. I banged on the door until he came and told me in four different languages: "We're closed." Trying to appeal to his humanitarian side I explained my sordid tale of woe. After much convincing he relented and let me in to buy a twenty-seven inch tire. Wow! I was pleased. My first try and I scored a twenty seven incher. I had been harbouring thoughts I may have to buy a new seven hundred rim, if I couldn't find a twenty-seven inch tire. "Visa?" I asked, once I had the tire firmly in hand. "No," he said. "You have no money?" "Just French francs." "Okay." The tire cost one thousand four hundred ninety Lux francs. With the help of a calculator the store keeper converted the amount to thirty-five French francs ($10). Leaving the store I slung the tire over my shoulder. Feeling somewhat like an emaciated Michelin man I headed back up the hill to where I had deposited Sharon. At the farm we installed the new Michelin Select, whitewall out. We had passed a picnic table on our way to Diekirch that was sheltered from the wind in a nook of forest on a bend in the road. We returned toward Vianden figuring this would be an opportune time to try out the new groceries. It was. Fantastic bread. Corn flakes that were a cross with Special K. Pickles -- the first in oh so long. Real milk. Mmmm. Granola trail mix without the Smarties. Cheese, tomatoes, bananas. I apologized for leading Sharon on that I could go for days without eating. She was in a much better mood herself. I think it was the pickles. Looked at the map and decided to go north through Vianden, so we retraced our scenic route. At an intersection there was a pull out with a magnificent view of an old castle. During the second World War it was where the Luxembourg Royal family had stayed. As we approached the viewing platform a couple was sitting in their suburban happily munching sandwiches. We took in the entire sweep of the valley with the castle perched on a knoll and the town with its black steep-pitched roofs below. Maybe they got a lot of snow and wanted it to slide off? We hadn't seen any red clay tile roofs since leaving France. We watched the Lux flag on the castle wall wave lustily in the vampish wind. Constantly switching one hundred eight degrees like a troubled man vacillating between wife and concubine. The Luxembourg flag on the castle wall waved lustily in the vampish wind, constantly switching one hundred eight degrees like some troubled King vacillating indiscriminately between wife and concubine. As we turned to leave, the man in the suburban spoke to Sharon. He told us that smoked ham was a specialty of the region. They happened to have two sandwiches left over. Would we like to try them? Their easy rapport made for instant friendship. Bob handed Sharon and I each a slab of smoked Lux ham on a bun. The ham was far less gristly than Italian and not as strongly flavoured. The meat shops in Luxembourg hadn't greeted me from three blocks away. Bob mentioned that he and his wife were planning on going to Canada for holidays. We gave them our address. Bob reciprocated by handing Sharon his card. "Where are you headed next?" Bob wanted to know. "We're off to Holland to see the tulips." "Why, we live in Holland!" Bob said. "You do?" I was puzzled. "I thought you lived in the land of specialty smoked ham." "No," Bob corrected. "We're just here on a week's holiday." After giving us directions to their town, Bob and his wife Amy told us six thousand Canadian soldiers had marched in the Netherlands in commemoration of the fiftieth anniversary of World War II. "Did you know that Canada was in the war in Holland?" Amy asked. "Where did they bury the survivors?" I quipped. Amy told me where they buried them. Sharon told me it wasn't good to joke too far with people who didn't comprehend English perfectly. I always had to go that one step over the line. Ah well, lots of native English speakers missed that joke the first time too. Stopping in Vianden I bought two postcards and got change for Cal, our coin collecting nephew. First the shopkeeper gave me Belgian coins, so I asked for Lux instead and he cheerfully and carefully searched through the coins in his register until he found some. Luxembourg accepted Belgium money, but Belgium didn't accept Lux money. Stopping to view a dam a kilometer from town I looked over the coins and realized some of them were duplicates. I tallied the duplicates and realized I had enough to buy another postcard. I had wanted to buy a sketched one, but thought I didn't have enough money. I persuaded Sharon to go back and buy it for me, so the shopkeeper wouldn't recognize me spending his carefully selected coins. "I'll time ya," I called out as Sharon pedalled away. That line had always worked when I was a kid. The hills began. We followed along Our River until the main road turned west. Our map showed a hiking trail continuing along the river. We thought we could follow it. The first part was an extremely steep uphill. Then it plunged down to a meadow and the pavement ended. We hiked back up and took another paved road still higher. Without warning, it blatantly ended at a farmer's field. We returned to the main road. The Ardennes to Eiffel tour was one of the most scenic routes in Lux. Before descending into Clervaux we looked down on the town and concluded it was a spitting image for the city Gulliver's Travels depicted. The buildings looked like they had been designed by Lilliputians all clustered together down in the valley. The sun streamed around three perfectly shaped clouds that made it look like it was a windmill. At seven thirty church bells clanged loud and long Just out of Clairvaux on CR 335 we found a forest so densely planted that sunlight couldn't enter. A path in a thin meadow led to a stream so small it sounded like a toilet running. |
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