7 February 2005

Velorail journey was uphill both ways
By ANNIE WARMKE

In the little town of Magnieres, just outside of Moyen, France, at the old railroad station, you can rent a contraption they call a velorail. It's basically two bicycles mounted to a platform with a bench between them. The whole thing fits neatly on top of the railroad track. You pedal like crazy and away you go -- squeaking and grinding and clacking your way down the line.

Our instructions before setting out were pretty basic. We rented the thing for three hours, so the young woman suggested that we should go that way -- pointing down the track -- for about 1 hour, then turn around and come back. Thank goodness for professional help.

She said there were two other rather important things to remember. First, when you meet another velorail coming at you, going out you have to stop and take yours off the track. Coming back, they have to make way. Seemed simple enough.

Two thoughts immediately went through my brain. The first was: "OK, so now I don't feel so smug about the 'one hour out and back thing' because I didn't even consider the fact that one railroad track meant that you would probably be meeting traffic head on."

Secondly -- and here I paraphrase -- "Oh snuggles, this bloody thing must weigh 500 pounds!"

At that moment I glanced at my darling husband and Cat and realized that they both had the very same thought, at the very same time. But Cat's and mine ended with, "So I guess we might need to get off the thing while Jay lifts it because it will probably be much too heavy if we just sit there."

The other instruction was tossed out almost as an afterthought. "You will also need to take it off the rails and roll it across the streets ... "

I think I said something like, "OK that makes sense." And Jay sort of hitched up his trousers like we were preparing to cross the western plains on our way to the gold fields of California.

In reality I know Jay was thinking, "Roads?! On the brochure there were four little girls riding this thing through a cool country pasture. Nobody mentioned lifting a 500-pound slab of metal off railroad tracks and carting the iron monster through traffic!"

We started off well enough, grinding our way down the track. On the way out we only met two other bikes, prompting us to invent the "lift-drag-drop-lift again-curse-drop" method of velorail removal. But aside from those moments of sweating and cursing, we enjoyed the peaceful pace. As we pedaled along we saw falcons hunting for prey and lovely little railway stations that now served as people's homes.

At one point we took a rest, and walked up the steep hillside to follow a sign pointing us to a Roman ruin. At a clearing we were suddenly standing right in the middle of what looked like a small coliseum. Cat turned into a mountain goat at this point, scampering to the highest point on whatever pile of rocks seemed most interesting at the moment.

Back on the rail, we pedaled uphill past beautiful woodlands and towns. Off in the distance we could see the Chateau de Moyen looking majestic over the lands it once controlled.

Before the hour was up we decided to turn the thing around and head back. Our bums were worn out. And here is the funny thing. All the way out we were pedaling uphill. But while we were struggling to turn this murderous contraption around, the earth apparently shifted. We knew this because it soon became apparent that our return trip was entirely uphill as well. We have yet to figure that one out.

Cat was helpful. Once in a while she insisted on taking her turn with the pedals. As I watched her working so hard at something that had been relatively easy for me, I kept thinking that this is how a family works -- each uses their skills and encourages the other to reach their goals.

So together we grunted and heaved and lifted and eventually found our way back with about an hour left on the meter. The young lady who had helped us depart was nowhere to be found, so we abandoned that "contraption of the devil" where we had found it and waddled off in search of lunch ... hopefully at a restaurant with really soft chairs.