Touring Normandy in Style

[Wandering Eyes]

Traveling the roads of the Normandy countryside breathing in the fresh open air and exquisite scenery I had to pinch myself to remember how I got there–specifically in the sidecar of a motorcycle like Batman’s sidekick if she were a 55-year-old woman wearing a heart rate monitor.

Our second annual European Thoroughbred Daily News group trip kicked off in usual fashion with Publisher Sue Finley doling out assignments. We strive to make these jaunts as productive as possible with individuals or teams spreading out in various directions to capture local flavor as well as Thoroughbred news.

Sue says something like this, “Kelsey, you are going to interview the impossibly handsome farm owner. Emma, the sale. Chris, the winery. Diana, a heartwarming retired horse story.  And, Patty, how can we send you to your death this year?”

I surprised my associates by surviving last year’s Palio assignment in Sienna, Italy where I “covered the race” from the track. The humans wreaked more havoc than the horses (typically) and caused lasting bruises (on my pride).

This year in Deauville, France, I was sent out to cover a sidecar tour of the Normandy cider region given by Retro Tour company with the three teenagers along on the trip, Sarah, Tallulah and James. This found me in one of the two sidecars since the teenagers thought (wisely) it was cooler to hang on to the back of the universally fantastic looking motorcycle drivers. It is important to note that inclusive of the drivers I was the only person in our group of six over the age of 25. And it was apparent…constantly.

The helmet they provided me proved challenging (read: impossible) to squeeze down over my head but I muscled into it assuming we would wear them for the duration of our tour. This was not true.

My latest sartorial affliction, my aforementioned 30-day heart rate monitor, had wires that hung out the bottom of my on-loan leather motorcycle jacket. I further hurt my look by sitting in the sidecar under a blanket clutching my tiny pink purse on my lap. (It doesn’t sound true, but it is.)

We bounded along the brick village roads as I tried to film (this was my actual function) our two beautiful young women, Sarah and Tallulah, on their motorcycle sidecar driven by Thomas, their future shared husband if all goes according to their plan. They were smiling and giggling and taking the fresh air onto their fresh faces as my head bounced left and right trying to balance the 14-pound helmet consuming my head.

I must have pushed the limits of my sidecar’s shock absorption so my lower back took over with none of the attributes of a spring. We finally found the highway and the ride smoothed out. The boy-drivers then put the pedals to the metals. The teenage girls shrieked with joy as they momentarily tilted onto two wheels around turns. I glanced up at our driver Alex with my best mother glare shaming him to back off. He did.

James, my son, rode behind Alex and I encouraged him to hug and hang onto him for dear life. My son smartly ignored me maintaining a chill he did not inherit from his mother.

Our first stop was, by all accounts, the most stunning little village in France. Here we were to grab a quick bite which required removing our helmets. I put distance between myself and the crowd as I bent over and struggled to disengage from my helmet. Thomas and Alex swiftly came to my rescue. Alex held my shoulders while Thomas pulled the helmet (and my ears) from my head. We would repeat this show three more times before the end of our tour. Fortunately, the girls were too busy with selfie production to turn their cameras my direction. I remain grateful.

I walked something of a zig zag into the café and wondered what level of shaken baby syndrome I had suffered this far into the trip and how much more I would sustain by day’s end.

Back on the road soon enough we sped along the glorious countryside toward the Famille Dupont cidery. The sun flickered through the trees that were gloriously flying past us. My eyes were overwhelmed with beauty as my helmet reshaped my skull into a more perfect spherical shape.

Another helmet extraction extravaganza ensued (this time with a helpful person pointing out that my helmet was labeled “large” and, also, wasn’t I too short to have such a big head?).

At Famille Dupont the scenery was spectacular and felt like a walk into a previous century.

We were shown around the orchard and the distillery while being offered ciders of various alcohol content levels, all of which I declined in favor of juice (later to shoot back up my esophagus on first bounce back in the side car). Everything we tasted was delicious and so we filled our side car trunks with bottles of each flavor for the TDN team. (Bribery? Maybe.)

The day was a gorgeous experience from beginning to end. I recommend Retro Tour, Normandy to everyone wanting to see the French countryside in style with very cool and experienced drivers. Their tours include most French villages, cities and attractions. And Retro Tour will work with just about any itinerary.

Saying goodbye to our drivers, Thomas and Alex, was an emotional experience for Sarah and Tallulah. I too had trouble saying goodbye to our gracious hosts and hugged Alex a little tighter when he pointed out that my “large” helmet was actually child sized. Thomas remained the subject of the girls’ dreams and loud squeals (shrieks really), much to the dismay of my expanding head, as we road back to town in the boring confines of our indoor car.

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