The Tour de France has become my sweetie’s world.
Here we sit, the melodious accents of Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwin drifting through the air… close to hand, Sweet Thang has the remote (to mute those bloody obnoxious "Survivor Lives" commercials), his 160-page Official VeloNews Guide to the Tour De France, an enormous Guide-Michelin French road atlas so he can trace the switchbacks up the mountains in glorious 1:200,000 detail. And a cup of coffee. Well, of course.
This happens every year, but this year we’re visiting friends who help feed the obsession. Joe & Karan in Santa Cruz, Bill & Savannah in Portland, now the illustrious Jac & Mike in Gig Harbor… we ignore the lovely weather outside and sit with eyes glued to the fancy flat screen, absorbing every detail of the riders’ remarkably similar spandex uniforms and distended, pain-wracked faces.
But it’s cool, ‘cuz I get to shout "Allez-allez-allez" as much as I want. And usually I can only shout that at elderly drivers.