Aix Les Bains to Tournon
25 Miles and One Train

I’ve no idea what it is but I’m pretty sure Rusty, my canine companion, would LOVE it:

It smells like cat food and has the same consistency. I know for a fact that there is absolutely no way I’m going to be able to choke it down so it’s up to Gina to eat enough of it to make us look respectable. Our very French and very affable host attempts to pantomime what it’s made of, wiggling his finger on top of his head, which to me looks like a unicorn but I’m pretty positive that what is in that jar is not the least bit magical. We learn afterwards that it’s a terrine consisting of 70 percent rabbit. The other main ingredient? Fat. Oh goodness. I nearly tossed my cookies just typing those two sentences. Why it smelled like cat food I’ve still no idea.

This entire dinner scene in the cellar of this ancient restored farm house in the tiny hamlet of Tournon is unfolding after we have been conversing with a nice older couple from France who are also staying here (although dining elsewhere – perhaps an omen). They are very friendly and doing their best to chat with us in English but what’s super distracting is that the woman sounds like a Sleestak from Land of the Lost while she tries unsuccessfully to discreetly vape. It takes me a minute to understand exactly what is happening, hearing that awful slurping noise and then seeing the vapor cloud racing toward her husband’s head. It still doesn’t really make any sense given the woman’s general demeanor, but it does feel like a different world here so maybe it’s not so far from the norm.

And really, the day itself was a bit irregular all around, waking up to pouring rain, being indecisive over whether or not to take a local train to fast-forward ourselves along the route (which ultimately we did after pedaling to another town), and having Gertie run out of directions before reaching our destination and right in the midst of a rain shower. But the bike angels appeared once more in the form of a bus shelter, giving us a chance to re-group under cover and make that one final surge up the hill to this Lost-like accommodation in the foothills. As long as the cycling angels are around, I shall fear not the vaping Sleestak.