Few bad things have happened to us on this trip, but leaving Paris, or at least getting bikes and ourselves to the airport, while not disastrous, was somewhat educational. And no matter how many times you fly you need the occasional reminder.
*Paris bike stores are generally closed on Sunday and Monday, which makes getting a bike box for a Tuesday flight tricky. But we managed.
*No matter how many times you explain to hotel staff you need a BIG car to the airport (pointing at said bike boxes) you will inevitably get something too small or a driver who finds luggage (gasp) an imposition and will generally protest about the trip but will reluctantly agree for an additional fee. Or each piece of luggage (thankfully Wobbly Wheels is allergic to being ripped off. I leave negotiations to him, always. It might be embarrassing or make other people cringe but it's like a game, one where victories and the occasional loss become family folklore). We're in a cab 45 minutes after our original car chose not to play the game.
*Always write down, better yet, print your ticket confirmation. I had everything in my trusty travel diary. Booking number, flight details, customer reference number but alas no terminal. No problem, ring the hotel we just left get them to look it up. Unless they send you to the wrong terminal.
*There will always be traffic (a truck, perhaps, has stopped to unload in a narrow street for, say, 20 minutes) or there will be a diversion, three-lane car accident or, you know, cars everywhere all going where you want to go. Fortunately allowing 3.5hrs before our flight was good planning on WW's behalf given then 75-minute drive.
*Use your initiative and question your morals and whether you're going to hell later. After realizing we were at the wrong terminal with 10 minutes until check-in closed we're outside waiting for a free shuttle, which could arrive any time between now and next century. I turn to see WW helping an elderly man out if a maxi taxi and into a wheelchair. I think 'chivalry is not dead, that's my husband who even in times of crisis puts others before himself' then I realize what he's up to and this selfless act is anything but. As he shoves the cripple towards the door without so much as a second glance he's all charm and faux French, pointing to the bike boxes, while I try to blend into the pavement like the useless accomplice that I am. WW doesn't even wait for a reply from the driver before we're putting down seats and closing doors. Get in and drive lady! We've barely pulled up to the terminal before I've grabbed trolleys and we're yelling 'merci'. Two smiling attendants see us running to the counter, know who we are, print our boarding passes, weigh out panniers and bikes and we're done. What? No questions, bike queries or arguments about size, weight or timing? At least you can control how much extra baggage you book. Phew.