A Sports Widow Sideline Report: Cycling & The Tour de France
July 31, 2007 8:53 PM | 0 Comments
A couple of years ago, when the TV was still in our bedroom (BE=Before the Expulsion), Bryan woke up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, and turned it on, as he was wont to do. Since the TV was always set to a sports channel, Tour de France coverage automatically popped up. I opened my eyes to the flash of jerseyed riders, cycling their hearts out through the quaint French countryside.
The TV was on mute, but I could almost hear the spectators shouting: Avance, Allez-vous, You go bro (that was one of the Americans), and small French children with charming berets singing traditional folk songs like "Sur le pont d'Avignon, l'on y danse" or "Frere Jaques." (Regretfully, noone asked my favorite line from The Little Prince, "Dessine moi un mouton, s'il vous plait," which means "Draw me a sheep, please." (OK, even I KNOW that’s a non sequiter, but I had to pay homage to my four years of Shorewood High School French training.)
The next morning, Bryan flicked on the TV again and it was as though time had stopped. Do you know that those dudes were STILL peddling through the French countryside? I said: "Don't they ever take a break?" Bryan reminded me that it's a tour, meaning it's more than just an event that begins and ends in one day.
There's a great old George & Ira Gershwin song entitled: Let's Call the Whole Thing Off, which was sung by Fred Astaire in the 1937 film Shall We Dance
Do you say cycle or bike ride? Our friendship hangs on your answer.
Let's Call the Whole Thing Off
Like most athletic endeavors, cycling is not my sport, and there is nothing sophisticated about how I relate to this contraption with two wheels on it. Additionally, I have always insisted on bikes with the sloping girl's bar (to protect me from getting injured in the personals during sudden stops), which for a long time was decidedly uncool. Here's a quick round-up of biking events in my life.
Elementary School
I haven't had good luck with bikes. I had to teach myself to ride a bike, which I don't recommend, and I've had a recurring nightmare about this for years. See my entry The Bike Lesson, dated 1/27/07.
High School
In high school, before helmet laws, I was riding to my friend Liz's house with my backpack slung over one shoulder. At one point the backpack slipped forward and got jammed in the wheel, immediately bringing the bike to a standstill. I flew over the handlebars and hit the cement with the left side of my face. I didn't break any bones or lose any teeth, but for a LONG time, one side of my face looked like Sylvester Stallone's in Rocky
Pre-children
Before we had children, my sports fan Bryan and I occasionally used to ride together. He's an experienced rider. He rode (not once, but seven times) on RAGBRAI, which is a weeklong summer tour in which cyclists traverse the state of Iowa. I've always shied from situations in which I am testing myself physically. I lack the competitive gene and the one that spurs individuals to do anything that might cause them to break out into a sweat.
When Bryan and I rode together, there was one frequent irritation, one issue that inevitably got stuck in my spokes: hills. When we confronted the numerous hills in the Seattle area, I would huff and puff, red faced, struggling to ascend, moving at the pace of continental drift. Bryan would ride merrily, effortlessly up the hills past me and then, to be chivalrous, ride back down to check on me and make sure that I hadn't expired. This was a source of aggravation for me. I didn't want his charity: I just wanted to get up the hill without puking and then find the nearest Starbucks. I need the carrot at the end of the stick.
So, among many things, what I can't figure out about the Tour de France is that they are competing, not just for money, but for a yellow jacket. There's a sale at my local Macy's and I'm confident that, even though the color yellow isn't that trendy this year, I could find one at a bargain price and get some satfisfaction. Yes, then even I can feel like a winner.
Do you cycle or bike ride? Do you have a girl's or boy's bike? Do you have any bike riding stories to share?
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From the Cycling Archives
The Bike Lesson
January 27, 2007 11:03 PM | 0 Comments
Growing up in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in the 1960s, I was oblivious to sports. This is incomprehensible to most men I know, who can’t believe I wasn’t avidly tracking the tragic exit of the Milwaukee Braves or the promising debut of the Milwaukee Bucks or the incredible feats of the Green Bay Packers. In fact, the Pack is the source of a recurring nightmare I have had throughout my life.
