Bridgette and I grew apart over the years, as even the dearest of friends do. But hers is a love I shall not soon forget. L'un peut comment oublie le bouquet doux et doux de la rose. She was a hellcat as you can tell, pictured here on my Harley circa 1968. This gem of a photo harkens me back to an era of infinite horizons, and a personal zenith, where love was not only in the air but in my heart.
The passing of time tugs on the frail cobwebs of memory. Yet, I recall, in vivid delicious detail, every moment in dear Brigette's company. I remember our impetuous, impish grins when the custom built "Fat Tail" Harley was delivered. The bike had just arrived, it was a gift from Serge Gainsbourg . This picture was taken then, on the day I received it. We named the cycle "Jane", after Jane Birkin, the American firebrand actress whom Serge was just starting to romance. Everyone knew they would marry soon. The cycle seemed to personify her precise blend of strength and sexuality.
Well, Serge felt awful that he was still stuck stateside, as his tour was prolonged, so he sent "Jane" over to Paris to us as a sort of atonement. Serge had become all the more popular there as his antisocial episodes garnered more and more admonishment along every stop. The "negative press" his antics caused only served to fuel the flames of legend and keep him away from us longer.
Bridge' and I were ecstatic upon receipt of this wonderfully childish and thoughtful bribe, and the two of us left that night for Cologne, commanding "Jane" to set us free, with nothing but bread and wine and a roadmap charting the highways and bi-ways of youthful indiscretions.
We spent the whole night riding, chasing down that infinite horizon.
1 comment:
i don't think i've found a blogger who captures the lusty naivete of mid-60's france like you do. i was there in '66, tending bar at the Ritz with Colin and you're conjuring up some powerful memoriesfor me. i'm hooked.
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