When in Champagne...

The only agenda for the day was : get some bloody bubbles in us.

We pedalled through laps + laps of the juiciest looking grapes you could ever imagine. The tiny roads that separated them up were just about big enough to play host to a rickety looking bus, or other such lucky cyclists like ourselves that must have been radiating at the landscape just as much as we were ; giving off the great impression that each descendant on the small path was hovering over the top of the scrupulously vast plantations.

To cut a long story short, in the end, we found some. We were riding right into a cripplingly beautiful sunset, with at this point, only a vague intention of finding some sort of freezing graped concoction. The beauty was too vast and overwhelming to be able to conctemplate anything much beyond. If only we could ride these roads forever. Anyway, we found our first friendly sign of the champers voyage ; as in, ouvert, open.

« Um, avez vous, erm, champagne ? » We managed.

Kind of gobsmacked, they looked (again, the ripped lycra, the Gaffs T-shirt + now the bright red faces..), but quickly saw to our every needs. Guiding us through their welcomingly freezing cellars, with boxes upon boxes of find drinkage stacked up, ready + waiting a multiple affluent order. It kind of occured to us all of a sudden, we were well out of our league.

« est-il possible de simplement acheter une bouteille ... pour l'instant? « 
« is it possible to just buy one bottle... for now? »

Lucky, we were in friendly territory. She gestured with great enthusiasm (we think) that a one bottle purchase would be OK. She even encouraged us to try a sample. So there we were, in a ludicrously posh tasting room, complete with the ripped lycra, and that T-shirt, sampling some of the finest champagne (probably) to come out of France. Every fiber in my being was urging me to comment ; « bloody hell, sure is a step up from the Lambrini we're used to », but instead, I hope to think we were able to muster a modest nod of appreciation that was intended to be translated as « that'll do ».

I've never known us to cripple our way back up the fine hills as quickly as we did, after we'd made the purchase (9 quid - not bad, non?) + were suddenly in the possession of a drenchingly cold bottle of bubbles. The promise of a great toast lay ahead + we were soon back in our garden, equipped with dashingly delicious local fizz, budget spaghetti flavoured crisps, a knock off version of connnect 4, a handsome sounding guitar + 7 wood chisels to guide us dizzyingly and perfectly into our second French evening. So this is a toast, from us, to you.

Our ride to find champagne.