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George Takes on the Streets of Paris
Paris France
June, 2002
Its tax day, May 15th, 4:00 PM and the tax office closes at 4:30. George is in a panic. He has to get there before it closes, but it takes an half hour to walk there. He can't make it! He quickly decides that he must borrow my bike! I say, "No George, its not that important, and when was the last time you rode a bike?" He exclaims, "What do you mean its not important! And I was riding a bike before you father was born. There's no time! Unlock that bike and meet me around the corner!" I didn't know what to do. George is pretty bad ass, but the streets of Paris are mean. He grabs his bag, grabs my arm, and escorts me outside. I had no choice. I unlock my bike and we both walk around the corner to Rue Saint Julian de Pavre, in front of the Hotel Esmarelda, and I give him instructions on how the lock works. The next thing I know he is riding away, he gets to the end of the street, looks to his left (to check for oncoming cars)and turns to the right towards Rue Saint Jacques. I think OK, he has some skills, he won't die, what the hell am I crazy, what have I done!! I wanted to run after him but it was too late. But the office was close, or was it, hell, I don't even know where he is going. What can I do now besides sit in the store and wait. And wait. It gets to be 5:30 and I'm starting to get really nervous. He probably got run over. No, his eyes are good. Shit, I just raised my seat today and it will be too high for him. He probably went to stop at a light, slipped when he tried to put his foot down, fell over and broke a limb. No he must be OK. Hell, I've got to look for him, but I don't know where he went!! Steven sits at the desk looking at me as all of this is going through my head. "Ron, you look worried" he says a bit sheepishly, "Do you think he will be ok?" I think about meeting his brother Carl a few weeks before, I think about his daughter Sylvia, I think about explaining to them why the hell I let a 89 year old man go out onto the streets of Paris with my bike. Its 6:00. I've killed the Icon. How will I be able to explain? People don't know the strong will of George. He forced me to give him the bike. What was I thinking?? I can't sit there anymore so I decide to go look around. I walk to Rue Saint Jacques, the same way he went, and look up the street. There are a thousand cars. Its a jungle. And there is no way he could return on Saint Jacques because its one way in the opposite direction. Its no use walking around, he could have gone in any direction. What if he really got hurt? We have no phone for him to call us, I have no idea where he went or where they would take him if he was hurt and most difficult is that hospital workers in Paris don't speak any English. I'm back at the shop and it's 6:30. This is insanity! Steven looks at me and says "Ron, I'm beginning to get a bit worried." I quickly return "A bit worried? No kidding? He's been gone 2 1/2 hours! Where the hell could he be?" I'm going crazy. I decided to walk to the other side of the park Saint Julian De Pavre and take a look up Rue La Grange. Nothing. I sit down on wall of the park with the steel bars to my back. Someone coming on a bike!! No, not him. Then, in the distance, all the way up on Rue Monge I see a white haired bicyclist riding with this funny flat footed form, like he is peddling with his heals. The light is red on Saint Germain so the person stops at the light. I'm still not sure. It's got to be him. The light turns green, he's coming my way, he's got the blue bag on his shoulder, its him! I was elated! He made it!! God bless that dear man! I decide to sprint back to the store so it doesn't look like I'm all worried. I get back to he store, sit on the bench waiting, but its taking too long. Where is he? I walk back to the park, stand up on the fence, look around and he's not to be found. Was I mistaken? The ache in returning. A few minutes go by. What the hell, I wasn't hallucinating! I walk back towards the store and sit on one of the benches. I'm really freaking out. The all of the sudden he rides around the corner from the park. Thank god! Allah you rule! I jump up and rush to greet him. He drops the bike on the side of the street, looks at me and yells "What are you trying to kill me!" I ask him what was wrong. "This seat is too high, what, are you a lunatic! Did you just come here from some asylum? How can you ride with the seat so high?" I'm beaming. His ranting is music to my ears. I walk over, apologize for the condition of my bike, give him a big hug, tell him that I was worried and that it was great to see him. He says, "Well, OK, but fix that bike!" I then notice that his blue shoulder bag I really full. It's got groceries, bread, and even his laundry. That sly old dog! No wonder it took him so long, he was out running all of his errands. I smile at him, laughing a little, shake my head, grab his bag, put my arm around his shoulder and say "Man, lets get drunk. This is a reason to celebrate, taxes done, you safe." He looks at me with a half smile and says "Why not."
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