Since the caravan brakes didn’t fail and we’ve already used up the stress-making options of a Kamikaze Lorry and towing a caravan through the Mistral, Mark tried to add a different layer of excitement to our departure. As he loaded the bikes on to the van, he tried to amputate the end of his finger on my spokes.
Stemming the flow of husbandly blood is always a fine prelude to a road trip.Continue reading ““I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Cluny” – The City of the Horse, Bourgogne, France”
