So, today my friend, Pat, made me drive on the wrong side of the car, on the wrong side of the road.
“Just follow this quiet little country road,” she said. “It will be easy,” she said.
We ended up on the summit of Mont Ventoux, nearly 2km high, via a winding two-way road full of hairpin bends that in reality was wide enough to fit 1.3 cars plus about eleventy million lunatic cyclists.
But at the summit, there were bonbons. And after that, we just had to get down again.
When I got home I googled. Locally, Mont Ventoux is called “the Beast of Provence”.
I am now searching for the meme that says something philosophical about how as you get older, you need to keep doing things that really scare the shit out of you.