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Issue link: https://fairweathermagazine.epubxp.com/i/144159
MOTOR-ST YLE DIARIES THE HOW I LEARN ED T FASHION PA SSION INTOO STUFF MY AP BY LUPE CANNIER A S T RO I T WAS LATE ONE JUNE EVENING, a half-consumed bottle of Rioja on the table, that the man I will call "Mr. P,'' ofered me a chance for the ride of a lifetime. No, not that kind of ride. The invitation was for an 18-month sojourn through Europe, New Zealand and Central America on the back of his great big BMW motorcycle, afectionately monikered "The Beast.'' What girl doesn't dream of being swept of her feet by a bad boy in leathers on a motorcycle? Could I not rock the sexy fitted biker chic catwoman look? And then, reality struck. "Wait. We'll be on the bike the whole time, right?" I asked. "Yessssss," came the 'Where-are-you-going-with-this'sounding reply. "But what about all of our suitcases?" I mean, if I was going to be strolling through Parisian jardins, strutting across Roman piazzas and shopping until I dropped in Milan, I was going to need my full kit bag—designer garb, make up, accessories and of course shoes, shoes and more shoes. Wouldn't I? Whittling my mounds of clothing, stacks of makeup and piles of shoes into the pannier, I imagined whipping of my helmet, running my hand through windswept hair and adjusting my Hermès scarf. My rose-tinted-goggles image of Spanish food fests and sumptuous boutiques dotting France were dashed a day later after riding for four hours through the pouring rain (which by the way stabs like icicles when you are on the back of a speeding bike). We finally boarded the Plymouth Santander ferry and hit the choppy waters of the Bay of Biscay. Sick bags, anyone? And as if that wasn't enough, the tiny little two-berth inner cabin Mr. P had booked had unnatural light making it almost impossible to apply make-up and get dressed. That said, other than luke warm cans of lager in the self service bufet lounge, there wasn't really anywhere to go anyway. I was beginning to feel that my glamour-meter may need a reset. We finally left our dim digs behind and made our way to the City of Light. Any trip—no matter how grungy and motorbike oil infused—that 42 | SUMMER 2013 | FAIRWEATHER