From Mulhouse to Sochaux, which seems to be like Bielefeld in that I’m doubting it’s very existence … it doesn’t seem be on any map (ie – my map) and signposts pointing towards it are sporadic / barely there.
When I eventually arrive at a place which may or may not be real, it’s reassuring to see Peugeot saw fit to build a museum here and stick some cars in it.
And some bikes, and some trucks, and some scooters, and some tools, and some coffee grinders, and some salt ‘n’ pepper pots, and some measuring equipment, and a solitary dishwasher, and some sewing machines, and a futuristic piano, and some very old washing contraptions, and some fire engines, and a Popemobile, and some actual real Parisian street lights, and a gaggle of monstrously-quick taxis, and an art deco restaurant, and an exit through a gift shop.
And they had the good wisdom to stick a corrugated roof over the lot of this.
Things start getting confusing when it transpires there are / were two Peugeot companies, completely separate but related, one of which called itself Lion for about five minutes in the early 1900s.
Shame they changed it back … we could have all spent the 1980s trying to keep Lion Turbos under control.
When I emerge back out into daylight, it’s to drive to a brand new super-huge Super U hypermarché which seems to have landed in the middle of the countryside for no obvious or apparent reason and it has way more staff than it has customers, the latter of which I count on one hand.
I wonder if I’m travelling through a parallel universe.
On the route back through the Alsace mountains, I’m stopped by a pair of motorbike-riding gendarmes who make me pay 100 euros for having the audacity to drive a few clicks over the limit on a deserted wide-open downhill stretch of straight road.
My mock surprise and half-hearted denials and I-have-no-money protests, all delivered in cod-French with a little bit of arm-waving, are met with stony faces.
I resist the urge to jump and down and shout “Merde!”
So they keep hold of my driving licence while I drive to the next isolated mountainside village to withdraw the cash … hoping there is somewhere to withdraw cash.
Or, do I really need my driving licence anyway? I could become a fugitive right here, right now!
By the time I get back to the police checkpoint, they’ve pulled over an annoyed local in a battered old Citroen and a teenager on a frickin’ moped, so I’m now forced to endure the indignity of having to queue up to hand over a wad of fresh euro notes to two Raybanned cops who have ridden here straight from the set of CHiPs.
Forty minutes after first encountering them, I finally drive away just as Jane’s Addiction starts up on the road trip playlist … Been Caught Stealing Speeding.
Weirdly, by the time I arrive at my overnight stop at Gérardmer, I’ve totally sidelined the whole incident and I spend the early evening walking without thoughts around the lake, starting at the Beau Rivage where I find myself admiring the frickin’ street lamps (which are way cool).
Halfway around the enormous lake, the path thins out at the point where trees start competing with each other to collapse into the water, some not far off being uprooted and toppling straight in.
At the lido, the swimming pool and in fact the whole complex is deserted, other than a solitary light from a room on the first floor where I can see a security guard following me with their eyes.
On arriving back into town, colourful statues of dragons greet me at the old Office du Tourisme, also closed.
I pause and glance back to see a sunset scene being slowly unfolded, just by the candy floss stand and the shuttered-up amusement arcade.
Of course I end up in the ale house which is completely empty and promptly closes shortly after I’m served a ludicrously strong beer, forcing me to drink it way faster than I intended to.
The early exit forces an early trip to the basement tavern for a quiche lorraine starter followed by a coq au vin main.
I walk it off up at the lake, now glittering under the twinkling lights of the toytown houses perched on the surrounding hillsides, ignoring the starless sky overhead.
Darkness had no need indeed.
An Outside World 