Tour de France Fever

by Terrie v.B. 

Calling the Tour de France a bicycle race is like calling the Sears Tower a building, or Pavarotti a singer, or a Mazarati a car, or a vanilla latte just another cup of joe. It is the most famous and prestigious bike race in the world. Being married to a European, I know this. But, I do have a confession to make. Although I thoroughly enjoy sitting next to my husband on the couch while he follows the race on TV, I still don’t get it.

First of all, the race lasts for three weeks. Who in their right mind would want to ride a bicycle for miles and miles, over mountains and through valleys, every day for three weeks. Think about that. No wonder all the riders are so skinny. If Tour de France calories burned were carbon offsets, Global Warming would be a thing of the past.  And have you taken a good look at their bicycle seats? If it was me, I would insist on a padded, extra wide- load seat. Maybe with a back rest, too. No way would I ride all hunched over like that for hours. They say it’s more aerodynamic to cycle that way, but I think it’s just bad posture run amok. 

The other thing is those outfits. We’re talking skin tight.  And it’s not like they wear them in soft, muted neutrals either. Oh no, our boys of the Tour have no qualms about calling attention to themselves. They favor flourescent orange or lime green and fuschia. These guys are definitely not trying to blend in with their surroundings. Maybe it’s because they want to impress all the raving, lunatic fans that line the roads en route. Have you seen them? These people are crazy. They yell and scream and run alongside the bicyclists in an annoying attempt to spur them on. I even saw an old guy streaker once. That would spur me on all right, spur me on to get the heck out of there.

 If you are new to the Tour de France, you will hear the commentators use the word “peloton”. That’s French for “a large group of men dressed in body- hugging spandex, pedaling bicycles to beat the band”. I always wondered how in the world the officials could figure out how to time all those guys in the peloton. Did they have a group of time keepers clicking away on little stop watches as each guy crosses the line? Impossible! It turns out that all the guys in the peloton get the same time. Brilliant! I will never forget the first time I saw a guy deliberately swerve to the side and continue on along the outside edge of the peloton. Innocently, I asked my knowledgeable husband why he did that. I was not prepared for the answer. Would you believe it was so the guy could go to the bathroom? If you gotta go, you gotta go, but the guy never stopped pedaling. Oui! Oui! These guys are serious.

The winner of the Tour de France is the guy who ends up with the best cumulative time over the whole race. There are different stages and lots of different guys can win a stage or two and still end up not winning the whole race. I understand why, but it’s still kind of weird to me that the first guy over the finish line on the very last day of the race is not necessarily the winner of the Tour de France. That’s why at the end of each stage they make a big deal over the guy who is in the overall lead. They call him up on a platform and two beautiful French babes standing on either side present him with the yellow jersey, a bouquet of flowers, and a cute little stuffed lion. The yellow jersey signifies the leader, and several different guys will end up wearing it during the race. It’s an honor I’m sure, but I sure hope they wash it in between. Not that the French would notice, but still…

It’s a shame that there seems to be such a problem with Tour de France racers using illegal substances. It’s just like any other sport, I suppose. The athletes will do anything to get an edge over their competitors. I have a solution, though. The powers that be should just let the cyclists go ahead and use any and every drug they want. They could change the name to the “All Steroid Tour” or the “Tour de Dope”, or something like that. Of course after awhile those guys would get so huge and so bulky that they might be forced to switch over to those beach cruiser bikes with big, fatty tires. So, I guess it just wouldn’t be the same. 

Viva La Tour! 

  

Ping Pong Paradise

When Annaliese called me to let me know that she and her dad were on their way to Sports Chalet, I had a feeling a major purchase might be in the works. Yes, indeedy. We are now a Ping Pong family. We are the proud owners of a brand new Ping Pong table. Top of the line (almost). Joshua, who is the resident Sports Chalet expert, explained to me that our new table is made from aluminum composite. That is in contrast to the particle board type table that is prone to warping and generally falling apart after one season of play. Joshua has assured me that our grandchildren will be playing on this table someday. Joshua is quite the salesman. Wow.

By the way, I am a pretty darn good Ping Pong player. So far today, my record stands at 1 win and four losses. But I did not lose by much. I will improve and win them all. Champion of the world! My handsome husband stands undefeated. As usual.  

What a day. Ping Pong plus David Beckham made is debut for the Los Angeles galaxy soccer club. I don’t know how I can stand all the excitement. Well, gotta go whoop ‘em up!