Cycling in France redux

Installment 99 of "Cycling in France is awesome". The past few weeks has been a little frustrating for me cycling wise; I've been a little swamped in work, and I have been fighting off two nasty colds. In between coughing fits, I managed a few nice rides but mostly I've been longingly watching the good weather disappear. Yesterday Chloe and I biked to one of our favorite lunchtime places: a restaurant on Berriat that a work colleague had introduced us to. Among other things, they have excellent tarte tatin and griotte cake (served warm of course). Anyway, we locked our bikes to a pole across the street, and after savoring our desserts and cafes, walked across the street to unlock the bikes. Now I should mention that some parts of Berriat are a little rough looking -- not on the same scale as the Olympic Village or East Oakland, but a place that I am always a little bit wary. A man was bringing plastic chairs out in front of the bar next to our bikes. I saw him looking at us and the bikes and was thinking to myself that he was probably going to give us some grief for blocking his sidewalk. As we got closer, I saw that he looked like a boxer, and had some not so old looking cuts on his face, so I was starting to get a bit worried. As we got the keys out to unlock the bikes, he started pointing to the bikes and talking to me. However, he immediately started smiling and pointed to the classic stainless bike bell I have on my bars, and told me that he had one too, and that he loved his! He then nodded approvingly at my Brooks saddle (A classic leather bike saddle ) and said that he had a Brooks as well, and indeed had had both for the last forty years! I replied that I loved mine too, and he offered a handshake, a smile and a pleasant comment about my accent. That's the thing about bikes in France: they are really esteemed here, as is actually using them. I was immediately reminded of a few other experiences in the last few weeks. On col de la Menee, a couple that had spread out a picnic on the side of the road and set up lawn chairs yelled "COURAGE" to us as we passed. On St. Nizier, a hiker walking down from the Tour sans Venin looked at me huffing and puffing, and said "Bravo", even though I was going pitifully slow. Except for the crazy driving, I can't think of a better place to be someone who enjoys cycling.