I’ll admit it. I’ve caught the bug. Le Tour de France bug that is. My wife has been into cycling for years, even competing in triathlons. And now, I’m finally addicted, soaking up all the details on Lance Armstrong’s bid to win 6 straight.
I don’t even have a bike. Well, I have a mountain bike–but I might as well be pedaling with cinder blocks dragging behind. And even the knobby-tired beast hasn’t seen the top of the basement stairs yet this year.
Next year. I’ll get a real bike. One with curvy handlebars and pedals that you can only use with special shoes. I’ll wear lycra from head to toe, and I’ll carry liquid protein in a pack that sits on my lower back while I power through miles of self-propelled movement. I went straight from BMX to Mountain, skipping the lighter, faster Road bike all these years.
Last year, and now this year, watching Lance in amazement–hearing the commentators refer to cyclists going on an “attack” (I love this… attacking on a bike!)–the strategy and preparation that’s involved to win a bicycle race is fascinating. And I’m beginning to realize that part of the fascination with the Tour (cool people call it this), is the time difference here in the states. Wondering whether you’ll catch a live stage, a wrap-up or just read about it online. The damn thing is so long. There is endless coverage, but yet it’s not always that easy to know exactly what’s happening or who’s winning right now.
Yes, next year I’ll get a real bike.
Update: Lance has won, and as suggested in the comments–next year is too far away. A road bike has been purchased. More on this to come.