Another one...

Oh my, here I sit in my pajamas, wild hair going every which way, hand grasped around my favorite colbalt blue coffee mug, and dreaming as I soak in every word of this article in the New York Times about biking in Provence. Some day, some day...

And to get you in the mood:

Touring by bike is different from touring by car — you see more, for sure, but in a deeply sensory way, you experience more. There was nothing on this route that was especially earth-shattering — and yet from the vantage point of our bikes, it all was. The perfectly rolled hay. The acres of sunflowers. The stone walls. The sweet farmhouses. We passed our first farm, and remarked to each other how happy Provençal cows looked up close, well-fed and well-tended. We stopped to inspect our first olive grove. We pedaled past a lavender field, and soaked in the sweet aroma. We biked through Graveson and Maillane, two small Provençal towns, taking pictures of churches and cemeteries, where we read the inscriptions and wondered about lives lived. She had brought some cheese, and as we passed a farm with pear trees, she jumped off her bike, and grabbed two pears. That was lunch. Within an hour on the bike, the travails of Avignon were forgotten. We were happy again.