Renting a motorbike in France ie will I live through this day?

I'd rather sit on the beach

After a big fight with my boyfriend over the dangers of renting a motorbike (I didn’t want him to so he rented one anyway), I was so mad that I got on the bike. I’m serious. I didn’t know what else to do. We seemed to be at a stalemate and that’s the only thing I could think of to do to break the impasse.

“Okay, let’s go then,” I said in a grim tone.

“Really?” he said, hopeful that the fight might be over.

Are we still fighting?

It wasn’t over. I just thought I would rather be on the stupid bike than sitting in the apartment in Nice worrying.  My reasoning is that it is better to be the one involved in danger than the one sitting at home consumed with anxiety. Now I know that lots of people rent, drive, ride motorbikes everyday. I’ve also known too many people who have had accidents, so my reasoning seemed simple. I chose, years ago, not to ride on any more motorcycles.  I’m also of the mind that people close to me shouldn’t ride them either. But there it was. A Honda Lead from the Elite Rental Agency sitting at the curb outside our Belle Epoque apartment on the rue Verdi.

I am not immune to the thrill of the ride. That’s not why I’ve chosen not to do it. The idea of the wind cooling you down as you whisk along the stunning coastline is pretty alluring. But so are a lot of things that aren’t good for you. I won’t name them because all the ones that come to mind are illegal and you might think less of me if you knew all the forbidden things that tempt me.

But it was time to face this demon of a bike fear head on.

Drive inland to St-Paul de Vence and go to the Atelier de la Courting, where you, um ... learn to court?

So I got on. We rode along the Riviera through busy traffic up toward Cannes then back the other way to Villefranche-sur-Mer and Cap Ferrat. And nothing happened. We didn’t crash, or go over the cliffs at Villefranche-sur-Mer and it was gorgeous and sultry and hazy and the sea breeze was refreshing. But really, I expected all that. I mean, you don’t crash every time you get on a bike. Just like you don’t get your purse stolen every time you walk down the street. But it can happen. I’ve had my purse stolen in both Seoul, Korea and London, UK. Plus my backpack in Banff. Sometimes things happen. And you can’t predict when they’ll be, so you choose caution over fun. Or, do you sometimes choose fun over caution?

My boyfriend is the one in white

I don’t have the answer, but I hope we never rent a motorbike again. And yet … and yet ….

Feeling like a traitor to myself, the next morning I woke up at 6:50 a.m. and nudged Mark. “We should take the bike to St-Paul to Vence before you return it,” I said.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he said.

Made it!