April, you Fool

[Sweder]

Big cities seem to generate their own body heat, never more so than in the dark shadows of the night. Off the main arterial routes capilliaries feed the heart of the city with the invasive pulse of Willy Nelson's beloved Nightlife. Vehicles tear-arse up the narrowest of avenues, horn-honking drivers shaking clenched fists at the unsteady nightclub flotsam peppering the cobbled streets. 26 hours before the official start of my quest the City of Love delivers a nocturnal cacophony to my sweltering boudoir.

It's 5am and I lie awake to ponder that in life you often get what you pay for, and in my case, what you deserve. I've been so laid back about this trip it's a wonder I'm here at all, much less enjoying the safety and (relative) comfort of a room a mere casual fling of Asterix's flint axe from the Champs Elysee. L'Hotel Elysee, one of no less than ten boasting in full or in part the name of that fabled boulevard, nestles cozily at 100 Rue de Boitiel. It's cheap, cheerful and delightfully Old Parisien, blessed with a magnificent carpet-walled verticle torpedo (room for one only) masquerading as an elevator. One enters via a solid cast-iron swing door and automatic folding glass partition. I expect the floor to drop out just as I approach the highest point, a la James Bond; I plant my size thirteens at the edges to be safe. This is also a building entirely devoid of climate control. My room, perched high above the aforementioned rue, enjoys exceptional double glazing; great for noise reduction, hopeless for circulating cool, breathable air.

It's no use. I'm scheduled to rendezvous with another two Muskateers at 07:30 under the Arch de Triumph, yet another in a long list of arrangements hastily agreed in the late, dark corner of a pub. My two eager companions are Kader, our glorious French-Algerian leader, and fellow Sunday hillrunner and former 3 hours 10 man, Moyleman. There's no time for more zeds, so it's up and at 'em at this witching hour. I scribble some notes on the journey and our early experiences en Paris, but the fine balance between silence and sauna has once again tipped; time to hit the shower and to see what this Saturday morning has to offer.