Ohmygod Part Three—The Train to Blois




After two crashes going back to the Austerlitz station riding the two fully loaded bikes by myself, and being cutoff by terrible Parisian drivers (those “colorful” words that I learned playing basketball in France sure came in handy), I finally made it to the platform. The new conductor was equally averse to allowing me to board as were his colleagues earlier in the day. This was becoming ridiculous and I was in danger of missing the start of the trip—there was only one more train (5:20), which both Mr. Personality and Grumpy were scheduled to take (and I would rather delay our forced time together as long as I could). I had returned to the station a little before 5:00—more than enough time (I hoped) to either convince the conductor (fat chance ‘blondie’) or go with plan B. This conductor was just as resolute as his comrades (if only the French had been so united back in the 1940’s) so it was time for ‘Plan B’. As the conductor watched, I removed the wheels and put the bikes into large bike bags that I had just retrieved from the office.

After about 15 minutes of disassembling the bikes and stuffing them into the large black satchels, I stared down the conductor for what seemed like over a minute. I felt like I was in a classic movie in some sort of showdown on a train platform, waiting for the other guy to blink. This was the next-to-the-last train that would get me to Blois in time to make it to my favorite restaurant by dinner, so I had to be on it.


Sure, there was another train at 5:20 but the clients would all be on that train and when they saw me they would realize immediately that I had lied. I had told them I would be on the first train of the day since I had myriad errands to run, which would take most of the day and which was why I could not accompany them. Starting off a week-long trip with the clients thinking that you are a big fat liar is not ideal.

Glancing at the clock in the station, the train was now due to leave in two minutes and it would take me close to that to get all the crap on the train. It was time to act. I picked up one of the bagged bikes, and started walking to the train, the whole while glaring at the conductor who was pretending not to notice me. As I placed my foot on the first step, I saw him approaching me (oh merde!).



To the story of the three musketeers.

I made it onto the train, sat down, and started to read the newspaper that I had purchased on my way through the station. Instantly, I heard laughter and I knew right away that they were Americans.


I debated moving to another car, but instead I turned to see what international incident was about to occur. The loud Americans turned out to be my three clients—they had all told me they would be on the last train, but here they were. Lucky me. I chose to go and join them for fear of appearing rude and standoffish (although the rude and standoffish option came in a very close second). As I joined them, it was clear that both Mr. Personality and Grumpy were trying their hardest to engage Ohmygod in the most basic of conversations, but he was not making it easy as he was responding to their repeated entreaties with a very odd noise.

I eventually learned that when he became nervous, uncomfortable, or just bloated, he would make randomly timed utterances that were not very pleasant to hear. I would say it was a “grunt” but it was much more tortured and high pitched. It was not a “shriek” either since his yelps were short and not really all that loud. They were rather disturbing though, and it made conversation with him next to impossible (even when he was hot feeling stressed, “conversation” with Ohmygod was already near impossible since he would only talk about three things: beer, Canadian T.V., and his mother).

Well, my mother (and boss) were right (partially). Mr. Personality, while no one’s idea of the life of the party and, as boring as a post, was not a bad guy, he simply lacked…, well,  personality.

Grumpy was not grumpy at all, either. In fact he was a rather nice, interesting guy. Yes, he was from Canada (and therefore a compatriot of Ohmygod), so that only made him about 85 percent as interesting as a regular “interesting” guy (when you factor in the exchange rate), but nonetheless, a welcomed surprise.

The train ride was a mere 90 minutes and I was hoping that it would pass relatively quickly and without incident. In the hope of making the best use of the time, I decided to go over a few details about the first few days of the trip. I informed the trio that they were on their own for dinner that night, but I said we could meet up later at my favorite bar for a beer if they liked.

Over the course of those few words, three distinct emotions flashed across Ohmygod’s face: first, confused (as if I were speaking a foreign language [I wasn’t]), then fear (at the thought of being on his own), followed by joy (at the mention of beer). I am rather certain that the rest of my soliloquy about the logistics of the trip went unheard by Ohmygod since he had a far away look on his face and his lips were moving. Although he was emitting no sound, I am pretty sure he was saying “BEER” over and over again in a ritualistic chanting way.



“Like I told you on the train, our hotel is right there.”


He did not however, get mad.  He just hopped on his bike, rode in the direction the hotel and crashed head-on into a car parked in front of our hotel.

That’s my boy.

The courtyard of the Blois Château (from Wikipedia)


About the drunken cyclist


15 Responses to Ohmygod Part Three—The Train to Blois

  1. PSsquared says:



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