Sunday the 2nd course des Nectars was held. Nectars are almost legendary characters; they are the many sons of a demigod, named Nectar, whose respected image adorned the walls of Paris, of France and of Navarre. It has a cheery red face, a large black moustache, and travels on foot, carrying the claret home.
His sons are young people, shaven, and carry their invaluable cargo on triporteurs.
The start was at a dismal hour Sunday. Clothed in their famous costume, a képi of oilcloth badged with an N, they left the porte de Clignancourt drowned in "mashed peas" of the thickest green. Unfortunately for the lovers of cheap wine, their usual bottle rack was replaced by a whitewashed crate; to avoid accidents, and perhaps also to remove the torment of Tante-Nectar! Because in spite of the cold blackness, the racers were to be hot and thirsty.
The triporteur is not a small window decoration, and it is seriously necessary to "step on it" to cover, as they did, the approximately 15 kilometer course in 35 minutes and a few seconds.
Between the porte de Clignancourt and the Vel' d' Hiv', along the exterior boulevards, the army of valiant "tris" was escorted and encouraged by an accompanying throng. The best of the group of nectars, Langlois, a big likeable boy, who appeared as fresh as at the start, hit the jackpot, i.e. the cup, by finishing in a time of 35 minutes and 13 seconds, and with a lead of more than one minute on his fellows.
If you are thirsty, ask for Langlos to deliver your wine.
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