Toulon, France

Friday, December 7, 1928

For some reason today I was bubbling over with enthusiasm and desire to get places. Got up at 6 and left a half hour later. I wanted to go fast so badly I about pumped my fool head off, always trying to get out a little more speed. By 12:30 I had gone 70 miles and at four 108 to Toulon. Couldn’t stop even once to rest and ate a bite of lunch as I rode. The road was fine all the way and between Nice and St. Raphael; on the last of the Rivière the scenery was splendid. Antibes and St. Raphael were very pretty towns.

From here, on the remaining 60 miles, the road did not follow the shore but followed through the broad valleys between the high hills. The morning was fine, but it clouded up in the afternoon and even a few drops of rain as I neared Toulon just before dark.

Forty miles from Marseille and I must get to the Spanish Consulate before noon or else wait over till Monday. Then I can it make Madrid by Xmas which I want to do. This busy city is of very decent size and has a nice main drag along which street cars travel. There are many cafés and restaurants with their sidewalk service, etc., and a mess of hotels. On the second try I got a nice room in a nice hotel for 18 francs tout compris, or 72¢. My French is improving with use—I hope. Guess I could gurgle like the natives if I lived here a year. Seem to have forgotten most of my Spanish but enough may come back to get me places. It is queer why every other bar or café advertises an “American Bar.” The country, rather the road, was gently hilly  today and as long as it is gentle, I’ll like it. My knees are sore and somewhat stiff, one especially. This one caused me some trouble this morning and handed me sharp pains every time I moved it. Not so hungry today for a change. $1.05.

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