Ready for the off If I was a grandmother, I would say to my grandchildren "This trip was a twinkle in your granny's eye when she first got her motorcycle licence way back in September 2019." And they would coo, and be happy they could tell their friends that they had such a cool grandma, then go back to whatever they were doing before I so rudely interrupted them. I don't have grandchildren, but I have done the trip. To Montréal, and back. In 2019, when I was slowly weaving my way around imaginary cones in empty parking lots, because practice makes better, and daring myself to take rides that involved left-hand turns across traffic as well as right-hand turns, the inkling of an unimaginable idea began to take form. I would master the machine and ride, solo, to a land where they speak French, eat poutine and are not American, at all. And Montréal is but a four-hour hop, skip and a jump from Satan's Kingdom , if you go up the highway, and they do indeed speak French
The village of Lourmarin NB I originally wrote this piece for the monthly newsletter of the US National Moto Guzzi Owners Club... And once again I have failed to tame Blogger's idiosyncratic formatting rules. Apologies. *********************************** I came late to riding a motorcycle, and as early as possible to my V7ii. I passed my test when I was 61, having never ridden before, Googled ‘best beginner motorcycle for tall women’ and found my heart’s delight less than a week later. I love my bike. Anyway, in November 2021 I went back to Lourmarin, in Provence, where I had lived for thirty years, and naturally I wanted to ride a bike. The baker in the village was kind enough to lend me his 20 year-old Harley Heritage softail, which I picked up on a dark, cold, rainy night from his house and rode back, in less than optimal conditions, to where I was staying. It was lovely of him to trust me with his sweetie, it would have helped if the tires hadn’t been flat, and i