After the debacle of Lance Armstrong's dethroning from his epic seven-time victories in the Tour de France, I had sworn off my love for this July-long bike race. I had been watching the Tour for over a decade, and then between Lance, and Floyd, and Alberto, and even Frank Schleck implicated in various drug scandals, I gave up my July hobby as an act of protest for all of those clean riders (like Cadel Evans, for example) who were denied their yellow fame and glory owing to all of the cheats and frauds out on the pavement. But this year, my brother was in town for the Fourth of July, and Andy convinced/coerced me to watch the Tour yet again, if even for a day. I couldn't help myself. Now I'm full in. Back in the saddle (voyeuristically), just as obsessed as I was a couple of years ago before all of the disillusionment. The riders in the Tour de France are amazing athletes who ride through apocalyptic thunderstorms, navigate icy cobblestone streets, climb beyond-categorization mountains, speed down precipitous declines, consistently put their bodies into the red zone of heartbeat activity, and do so for twenty-plus days on the metaphorical road(s) toward Paris. The strategies, the egos, the teammates left behind (Bradley Wiggins, Team Sky?!), the knock-out sprint finishes, the tumbles, the bruises, the interplay between the domestiques and the GC riders, the announcers' man-love for Fabian Cancellara (AKA Spartacus), the virtual tourism of the beautiful French countryside, the goofy road paraphernalia, and the drama of each stage victory make the Tour de France the most amazing sporting event ever (even surpassing the World Cup, playing today as I write). Vive Le Tour…I hope to see you in person someday soon!
No comments:
Post a Comment