Every cow wants a bird on its nose.
We left this morning, without issue, at around ten o’clock. Having grown accustomed to my Thermarest, I’m sleeping like an infant each night.
After a short ride to a bakery, I asked for my usual - quiche. I’ve lost count of the number of these delicious morning foods I have consumed. All the boulangeries (bakeries) here make good quiche. There are a few memorable spots that have offered the perfect balance of moisture and substance, offering the cyclist courage for their day on the saddle.
As there is never any seating in boulangeries, we are forced to eat ghetto style on the streets. The concrete sidewalk is, more often than not, our table. Dining this way often draws attention, the look of pity.
Some pursue excess capital, I desire soft ground for my stakes.
We currently sit on the border of Germany and Switzerland. Tomorrow, we cross over into the later. After three weeks of joy and hardship, I say goodbye to a country that I have grown to love. I will certainly return.
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