Riding into Paris is guaranteed to be adventurous and a buzz. There will be numerous wrong turns, questionable directions and necessary detours. As you'd expect the arterial roads get thicker and the traffic seems faster. The closer you get the further away you feel. You'll find yourself on major roads with no shoulder and an exit plan consisting only of the grassy verge running adjacent. You will be scared, frustrated, happy, angry, desperate, smug and eventually relieves that you made it. This year we approached from the northwest. Last year the southeast from Fontainbleau, with mixed results. This year confusion set in at 25km into the ride, didn't help that it was approaching 40 degrees. What seemed like the obvious, safe, cycle-friendly route turned out to be a hair-raising single-lane highway, with no breakdown lane and a road surface that would have served well as a MTB course. We made it to Senlis, 43km north of Paris for a water and lunch break. Garmin suggested the route to our hotel was 43km as the crow flies but 78km according to his amendments. I don't think so. We started on the road we came in on, the N17 headed due south, straight past the airport and into Paris. Easy. Not. Straight, exposed, fast, uncomfortable and hot. Terrifying. We managed a few more kilometers before pulling over to reassess. Reprogramming Garmin, it suggested backroads and 40km. Better. What a relief, it was a throwback to rural France, narrow windy, quiet and shady streets through fields and villages. Unlike the south, where you have a bike route and an inspiring view of the Eiffel Tower, the north comes in through impoverished suburbs and under the flight path. At 15km to go we have our first confrontation if the trip. It's our version of a fight. We exchange a couple of words, get over it, then laugh about it later. WW had been left behind, he demanded we stick together and that I slow down. I suggested perhaps he'd like to speed up? He came back with: 'you've probably done more training then me'. Sigh. Or is that steam? What an understatement. We start to see tell-tale Parisian signs: arrogant drivers, cars parked in cycle-lanes, double- and triple-parked cars on corners, the running of red lights, sirens, wayward pedestrians, other hapless cyclists and roadworks. It's like running a gauntlet. When we roll past the Notre Dame I get pretty excited. We've almost made it, only a couple more kilometers of madness. We find our hotel, swap high fives for a job well done, only to find it's still 40 degrees and the air-conditioning in the room is broken. I no longer have the energy to stop WW from unleashing his anger on the poor receptionist. He's had more training then me on this front. At least it gets us a room in a nicer, cooler room up the road.