Lately I have been riding the same stretch of road everyday, the same 13.14 miles over and over and over again. It’s become a sort of meditation. It’s the longest stretch of uncrowded road, and it begins two blocks from my house and ends two cities over.

This week I have started taking it at speed, and have worked up to keeping an average pace of 22mph at about 80-90 rpm. However, when asked what I was listening to, I surprised a friend (who was expecting, I guess, some sort of fast paced music, Now 88,000 or what have you) by responding “Pete Mayle’s French Lessons: Adventures with Fork, Knife, and Corkscrew.”

I’ve already been through this book a couple of times, but it never, never gets old. This is one of those instances where the concept and the content completely override the style and shortcomings of the work — a fifth grader could write about his adventures at the French country table for his “What I did this Summer” and I would still be rapt with attention. Don’t get me wrong, Mayle puts it down sharply, excelling at the art of the well turned phrase and showing exceptional candor as usual. I’m just saying I would listen to it even were it to be written and read alound by Stephen Hawkings.

The problem I am having however, is that I find myself desperately longing for a turn off on my riding route, an off-ramp of sorts, to the Provençal country side. Everything, dinner especially, seems to lose its luster after listening to Peter describe his.