Dispatches

MONTELIMAR | BLACK JOKE

I had been puttering across France via the rivers and canals for what seemed weeks when suddenly I felt out of my depth. I had joined the River Rhone which, a er weeks of slow meandering on canals, commenced to now push me purposefully south at remarkable speed. It was late July and extremely bloody hot. I sped down the river wa ed on by the sweet scent of lavender in the surrounding elds. Every night I would collapse into my bunk in an exhausted, baked stupor, ayed by the sun and feeling like an overcooked steak, but very happy. e longed for south was here at last. I was being driven forward by a desire to see my girlfriend who was based on the coast. On this particular evening, I reached Chateauneuf lock near Montelimar as the evening shadows lengthened. It was time to stop, drink a beer and cook dinner. But no, the lock was set open. Lock keepers sometimes did this for you – although on the Rhone it was not normal. Still, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to progress still further. Avignon beckoned! I sped toward the gates of the huge, intimidating lock gates. Just as I was entering an alarm sounded and two barriers crashed down almost on top of my boat. A voice crackled over a speaker system beseeching me ‘Retirer, RETIRER!’ I glanced behind me and saw the huge bulk of a large freighter headed for the lock. is was no riverboat, it was a fully edged seagoing ship somehow transplanted into the midst of rural France and now bearing down on my tiny boat. I slammed the boat into reverse. My boat has a long keel and doesn’t do backwards but I knew it HAD to do reverse. For once in its life the boat behaved impeccably I backed out at extreme speed and slid back into the lock layby, ung a line on and watched this huge leviathan enter a lock that seemed smaller than the ship. I cracked open a beer and drank it with the gusto of a man reprieved. Silence fell, the night enveloped the boat and I slept, profoundly content.

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