With "talent and modesty"
Straightening hairpins in the French wine country
October 2008, Bourgogne, France

A few days away from of my 44th birthday, it had been one of those weeks that leaves you questioning the wisdom of remaining a member of the human race. Under the panicked gaze of the world’s leaders – the Dow dropped under 9000 points, Madame la Directrice had once again failed to rejoice in my talent, even after I had secured a half million-euro contribution to the budget, and my best friend had blasted me during one of his “honest” spells. I needed to escape and with a forecast for good weather, I looked to the Internet for a magic carpet.

A search in Facebook for “Ducati Paris” yielded an entry that peeked my curiosity. A group named MotoVirolo, who promises “balades, week-ends et voyages à moto” in the Paris and New York metro areas, offered a two-day ride through the back roads of the French countryside in Bourgogne. A few clicks later, I had a hotel reservation in Dijon and a Saturday morning rendez-vous with Max and Xavier in the center of Paris.

Max is one of those guys who envy dictates you dislike but charm forces you to love. Having lived in New York City for only three years, Max is capable of speaking English with a perfect New Yorker accent and French like a Parisian. At 6’4” and with looks that rival those of a movie star, Max should come with a Surgeon General notice that warns women about what is sure to come. As proof, I offer you his lovely companion at the café where we met, who looked like she had had a beautiful night, but had the foggy-dreamy look that hinted she might wish for more. As Xavier would later explain “he is talented and modest”.

Xavier is a software engineer who is equally at home in Paris, London, NYC or Singapore and who surely accrues more frequent flyer miles than most pilots. At first glance, he appears normal, but further inspection hints at a fellow who works hard at keeping the moto-hooligan inside under control. With a severe Blackberry addiction, this 38 year-old Parisian expatriate living in New York can handle long nights of drinking and dinning as well as knee-dragging hairpins on a naked bike. His Spanish is not bad and his always-present laughter is contagious.

Max and Xavier have been riding together for more than three years having burned the asphalt on both sides of the Atlantic. In comparison, I am a rookie who needs attention, so sandwiched between them we headed southeast on the A5 in the direction of Dijon. For those of you who have never done this, ridding at 150 km/h on a naked bike is not a comfortable thing. The air drag makes your helmet feel like it weights 20 kg, bugs splash onto your visor like small explosive paintballs, and the noise is deafening.

 In Sens, we escaped the annoyance of the autoroute and continued south along the N6 in the direction of Joigny where we took the D995 and D89 to arrive at Auxerre. Back roads are where Xavier and Max come to life. With 130 hp between their legs, in their identical Triumph 1050 Speed Triples, they slice and dice the twist and turns of the French countryside like hot knives cut butter. In comparison, my Ducati Monster 620s – with its 60 hp – had a terrible time keeping up. But in all fairness, horsepower was not the problem – lack of talent was. Max and Xavier can drag their knees with the elegance of MotoGP riders and my contre-braquage was no match for them. As a result, at every turn I dropped my speed at least 30 km/h from theirs and then screamed at 160 km/h down the straight-aways just to arrive at intersections where they patiently waited for me.

At Auxerre we took the D965 east in the direction of Tonnerre. Halfway there, we stopped at the world-famous wine town of Chablis for an excellent lunch. Over lunch we became acquainted with each other’s jobs and moto experience. At Tonnerre, Max searched the map for more asphalt-twisting roads and we headed down uncharted territory towards Dijon. Along the way we found a perfect up-climbing hairpin, which demanded that Xavier and Max turn around to do it again. The quality of the routes nationales is not bad, but some of the routes départementales leave much to desire, and by the time that I started daring to hang my ass out of the saddle, the roads became uneven and bumpy making the backend of the Ducati swivel under my inexpert control. By my standards, the ride was nerve-wrecking work and when we arrived in Dijon, I opted out of the additional loop choosing instead to take a nap at the hotel.

Max and Xavier road to the circuit de Dijon-Prenois where Ludovic was racing his 1972 Chevron B21. After their ride, the boys collected me at the hotel prior to going to dinner with Ludovic and his father. The dinner conversation focused on classic sport cars, which Ludovic races and his father restores. Indeed, it is this family love for post-war sport cars that consumes all their time and cash (as Ludovic explained, his job is just a means by which to support his racing). Dinner could not have been complete without Max performing once of his compulsory flirting exercises with our waitress. At best, she was an average-looking French girl, but Max explained that it is essential to French culture to make every woman feel desired – even a “not so pretty one”.

Sunday was to be a ride along the twisty roads of Château-Chinon (Ville), but not for me. I needed to be home before 13:00 as Rebecca had a previous engagement with the Message group for their annual bring-and-buy event (a garage sale). I left the hotel at 8:30 heading towards Tonnerre via Vitteaux. From Dijon, I rode the A38 west in terrible fog. Fortunately, as I gained elevation, the fog cleared and the D905 proved to be a fun and clean road with no traffic at that time of the day. From Vitteaux, I continued northwest along the D905 towards Montbard. The riding of the previous day proved valuable as with newfound courage, I hung my ass off the bike at every hard corner. Montbard was followed by Ancy-le-Franc and then Tonnerre. At Tonnerre, I took the D965 west (via Chablis once again) and entered the A6 towards Paris just a few kilometers before Auxerre. The A6 was no fun, especially around Fontainebleau where the pavement is corrugated in a most annoying way, but time was at a prime and the A6 was the fastest route to the west of Paris, where Alexandra waited for Papa.

All and all, a great weekend. I saw some great landscapes in full fall foliage and I learned many things that are not taught in moto-école and which make motor biking the great pastime that it is. Xavier and Max could not have been nicer, teaching me while keeping me safe and not once making me feel like my inexperience or poor French were a drag on their style. For those of you members of MotoVirolo who are yet to participate, make the time – I assure you that you will not regret it.