In March 2002 while cycling from Paris to Rome, we stopped to camp the night in Jaligny. We didn't realise the freezing French wind called the mistral was blowing through this tiny valley town, and overnight our tent froze solid into an igloo. We couldn't sleep and tried to stay warm with the flame from a tiny gas stove, but I eventually left and attempted to get into an exponentially large rave going on nearby in a barn, but alas my homeless appearance and terrible French accent got me barred. My accomplice however used his rugged good looks and boyish charm to woo the female townfolk at a nearby bar, and spent a large part of the night there - warming himself with whiskey and attention. Somehow we both survived until morning, and had to chip the ice off the tent before packing it up.