John and I went out for a ride yesterday (in 24 C temperatures, incidentally) and someone had the nerve to honk his horn at us as we turned into the bakery for a sandwich.

He was so happy he had a chance to use that thing he let it go one more time as he drove away.

This sort of thing (another great one is being called ‘Poulidor’ by the old dudes in town) helps me remember why I came to Europe to ride.