Tuesday: Ice Cream, Toilet Paper, and I'm not a Widow...

I'd consider that at least breaking even.


So you've read Jon' s perspective, and he did a good job of being fair in his explanation of how things happened as they did. That's all very nice and good, and believe me, I am glad that everything turned out fine in the end. But let's just say that Cindy and I aren't looking forward to any more days like yesterday.

We started our day in the little town Jon mentioned: Bourg D'Something-or-another. It was another cute little Alpine town, with flower boxes in full bloom and small children speaking French in an adorable manner. Cindy and I had good intentions of visiting a small museum with exhibits about the flora and fauna of the Alps, and then finding a book of Alpine flowers to keep with us on our journey.

On our way to the museum, we stopped in a bookstore and found a book that was perfect. We decided to wait to look in the museum shop to see if they had a better/cheaper/English-er one. Stupid American mistake #1.

We walked to the museum only to find that it is closed on Mardis (Tuesdays). Of course, it was Tuesday. The door was open though, so we used the bathroom--and it had toilet paper! A first--hooray! (I put some extra in my purse, just in case.) We walked around and found a woman upstairs who told us the museum would open "after 1." It was 12:15, so we walked back and got some ice cream. Little did I know, this would be a highlight of the day.

We tried the museum again at 1:15. This time the woman confessed that she was not in fact associated with the museum and was a teacher for the preschool next door. The museum was, as stated in the sign, closed. *sigh*

So we tried to get the book we saw earlier. The store was now closed for lunch...till 3pm. *sigh* (This time, a little more dramatically.)

So we drove to the town where we had planned to meet Jon, Erin, and Tom when they finished. It was then that Jon called to let us know they had ascended and would be down in 30 minutes--by 3pm. We moved to the base of Les Deus Alpes to meet them and waited...and waited...then the phone rang.

Erin and Tom told us that they couldn't find the way down and weren't going to go any further. They lost Jon, as he had gone ahead, and hoped/expected he would turn around and meet them once he too realized:
(a) he too couldn't find his way down
(b) he couldn't find his sister and father and should wait for them
(c) he was going the wrong way


Apparently Jon did try to find Erin and Tom, but they were looking for him elsewhere--I don't exactly know the details. Neither do I really need to know. What I do know is that somewhere around 4pm, after 4 more phone calls and no sign of Jon, I was feeling worried. Cindy was too, so she decided to drive to the peak of Alpe D'Huez to pick up Erin and Tom; I wanted to stay put in case Jon would continue on to the place he had told us to wait. I figured it was what he would do, and I was correct: at 5:30, my dear, dehydrated husband finally rode up to me. And what timing! I had just mastered the phrase "Me mari est perdu." (My husband is lost.) I had not yet had time for the following phrases: "Where is the hospital?" "Can you help me?" or "Excuse me, but do you have any Zantac? I'm spending a week in the Alps with my husband and his family and when (and if) I see him again I am going to kick his skinny little cyclist butt."

Anyhow, Cindy, master of the road, drove back with Tom and Erin in tow and picked me and Jon up. We all headed back to our chalet, listening to the 3 of them recount their day while avoiding head-on collisions with wide loads in narrow tunnels. (Really, there is a reason the French drink so much wine, and I believe it has less to do with their physical health than their mental health.)

So in the end, all is well. Everyone learned a lesson though, I hope: communication is key, stick together, carry extra water...and of course, "buy it when you see it!"

--Jessica