Opperman had been cycling during the Tour De France in 1928, with Harry Watson of New Zealand and Erinie Bainbridge and Percy Osborne of Australia in his team:

“As the bicycle banged and jolted over uneven ground, one yearned for company, for another human whose conversation would share the anxious misery of those uncertain hours. Yes, there it was, a vague outline of a hunched figure swinging and swaying in an effort to find a smooth track. French is the Esperanto of the cycling fraternity, so I ventured some words in that tongue. C’est dur (it is hard”, but only a grunt came back. For a mile we plugged in silence, then again in French, I tried: ‘This Tour – it is very difficult – all are weary.’ Once more only a snarling noise returned. ‘The boorish oaf,’ I thought, ‘I’ll make the blighter answer.’
‘It is very dark, and you are too tired to talk,’ I inferred, sarcastically. The tone touched a verbal gusher as a totally unexpected voice bawled, ‘Shut up, you Froggie gasbag – I can’t understand a flaming word you’ve been jabbering,’ and then I realised that I had been unwittingly riding with Bainbridge.”

So funny and I feel such a typically Australian thing to say.

I know of Hubert Opperman, but wasn’t aware of this particular feat, so passionately told.

The French language is beautiful, they can make anything sound exotic – the Bol D’or is a gilded bronze bowl!!!