A Grand Mistake, A Grand Accident, and a Grand Route

I thought I knew this well enough already, but I think the Lord is trying to really make me get it: life is about taking both the pain and the joy at the same time and also, you know, try to avoid some of the pain by avoiding silly mistakes...maybe this is where I am missing the point! So, I decided to start something called the Stupid Jar. All stupid mistakes that I make, which involve money, because those are the mistakes that seem to make the most lasting impression, and maybe other things, just for the heck of it, will be put into the figurative “Stupid jar” and there they will accrue. So far, let me detail what is in the SJ…25 euros for a defunct cell phone that I bought at a market, which I knew I shouldn’t buy and was warned against buying; 3 euros for a missed train and replacement ticket; 3 euros for getting professional identity pictures when I could have gotten them at the grocery store; and four euros for giving my charge in Paris my metro ticket, not knowing a problem would happen. This amounts to 35 euros in the SJ right now. I hope that it will not accrue too much. From now on, I will say, “That’s going into the SJ.” It makes me feel better that I have a place to put my silly mistakes.

Well, I finally bought a cell phone in Dijon, which is good. It works and is reliable. Done and done. From Dijon, I was given directions at the Office of Tourism on how to reach the route with all of the vineyards, which is called “Route of Grand Wines” or “Route de Grands Crus.” Not very pretty in the beginning, it turned into a grandiose site to behold. There is something so mystical about vines, something very clearly lacking in corn stalks or soybean fields, although that is simply my preference. Maybe there are those who find corn stalks and soybeans entrancing.

I stopped for a small detour in a town called Chenove to visit a museum dedicated to these former wine pressers. They are used every year, though, for a tourist attraction during the harvest of the grapes. I watched a very interesting video, completely alone. I was the only tourist there, even though there were two workers occupying the museum. Wondering if they got many tourists, I lingered a little longer than maybe necessary, but it was nice to talk to someone. Now here comes the second part of this story…a grand accident. I was riding down the street, which was declining (the positive part of going up is the easy with which one can descend); however, there was a man in the road who did not see me, which I could sense, so I stopped suddenly and went flying over my handlebars and landed on my left side. I was so shaken that I started to whimper and shudder. As befuddled as me and looking very ashamed, the man stayed with me, and thankfully, my French came quite easily to ask him if he lived in that town or knew someone so I could wash up. My shoulder was scrapped, my elbow was ruined, my hands looked like I had been nailed to a cross and my legs were scratched up, but not severely. Thank the Lord my head was fine and nothing was broken. Oh, goodness, par for the course, really! Fortunately, thanks be to God, the man knew someone who lived literally a yard from the site, and this woman was so equipped, I thought I was in a hospital. She explained that she used to do a lot of hiking, so she was prepared. Continuously, I am amazed by the French. This woman was so kind to dress my wounds, but she went above and beyond and even asked if I wanted a ride back to Seurre. What an offer! Saying a profuse thank you, I told her that I was fine; I was not going to let an accident like that get in my way.

After experiencing the grand accident, I was refreshed (well, refreshed in the sense that I was seeing lovely scenery and lavishing in the perfect weather, but fatigued at the same time with a partly numb arm) with a day full of thoughts and prayers and long gazes at the vineyards and provincial towns around me. If I could describe the ride accurately, I would say that there were clearly two parts. The first part, I was riding through mostly flat lands, surrounded by vines, and only bothered occasionally by cars that in my opinion were driving much too fast for the narrow roads upon which we were traveling. The second part of the trip was both the most spectacular and the most painful…again a reflection of this trip. I suppose the old adage rings true, “No pain, no gain.” I mean, who came up with those sayings? Do you ever wonder that? I do all the time, when an adage like that comes to mind out of the blue. Who invented them and how did they become popular and why are those silly yet inexplicably so concise and effective phrases ingrained in our minds? I had to ride uphill for about 6 km, which equals about 4 miles, so not that bad, but with a sprained arm and a fatigued body, you wouldn’t believe how long those kilometers felt. Thankfully, the downhill gave me a sense of accomplishment and freedom after the bondage of inclines.

The view was worth it; I suppose they do not call it the High Coast or High Hill for nothing. If nothing else, the French are very accurate with their descriptions. I should not have been surprised. Something struck me as quite amazing about these vineyards and the towns that surround them. Tourists like me go to Burgundy to revel in the magnificence of something as divine as good quality wine, but the people who live in Burgundy, who are accustomed to such wonders, what do they do for fun, what do they do to improve themselves or to engage in activities with others, what do they do for community events? I in a constant conundrum as to what these people do to occupy their time and to have a concrete and real life devoid of flaky tourists. I do not know; maybe that is one question that a tourist can simply not answer.