A Paris cycling adventure

Boulevard de Courcelles

Boulevard de Courcelles is nothing terribly special — well, for Paris at least. Haussmann-era buildings flank either side of the road, their wrought-iron balconies flashing by at an eerily uniform rhythm.

You’re glad to be off the cobblestones — riding is such a pleasure on a smooth surface. This appears to be a less commercial neighbourhood. there are the requisite bakeries and liquor stores, but not many restaurants or destination shops like on Avenue Wagram. Homelessness is quite visible: a mattress and a pile of cardboard cover half the sidewalk at one point. Its owner sits bundled up behind an empty coffee cup.

Before long, the pattern of white stone buildings breaks and, to your right, Parc Monceau comes into view. You arrive at a low round building which marks one of the park’s entrances. There is gold trim around the gate and hordes of joggers filing in and out.

Peering in, you can make out a loose network of sinuous paths. They weave their way around trees, lush lawns, a pond, and some play areas for children. The joggers seem to have commandeered the outer ring of pathways. More toward the centre, parents are teaching their children how to ride a bike. Teenagers and young adults are sprawled out across the lawns, picnicking in style.

There are no bikes in the park. You notice a sign telling cyclists to dismount and walk. You agree it’s a good idea, since there’s not a lot of room to maneuvre in here anyway. You stroll along the paths, around the perimeter of a pond with ancient-looking stone columns. With your bike rolling along beside you, you’re taking up more space than is deemed appropriate by the fluorescent-clad joggers, whose expressions say, “I run in Parc Monceau to avoid vehicles like yours.”

This isn’t really the place to bring a bike. You make a mental note to revisit Parc Monceau with some friends and a bottle of wine sometime. It’s a gorgeous oasis, free from the noise and exhaust and hard edges of the Parisian streets.

You emerge from another gold-trimmed gate to Avenue Malesherbes. With the traffic rushing past, you mount and prepare to continue your ride.

The road is sloped downhill — it’s an easy ride down toward the Église de la Madeleine. As you get nearer and nearer to the centre of town, traffic becomes heavier. You have a dedicated bike lane, but motorcycles and vespas are also staking their claim on the narrow strip of road. You think to yourself that the signage for the bike lane is quite abstract — it doesn’t really depict a bicycle, but a stick figure atop a generic two-wheeled vehicle. Still, you can’t help but feel slighted every time you get a face full of exhaust from the chopper in front of you.

Between the densely packed traffic to your left and the densely packed row of parked cars to your right, you’re starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. You’re up near the bumper of the motorbike ahead of you, looking for a way out of this mess. For some reason the traffic always seems to be clearing up about half a block ahead of you. If you could only find a gap through which to zip ahead…

An opening in the row of parking — two car lengths — gives you the chance you need. Think you can make it?

Pedal hard and pass the motorbike on the right or Keep sitting in traffic with a face full of exhaust

Sam Nabi