The 102nd Tour de France began today.
Last year I wrote about it at Potable Curmudgeon: The PC: Beercycling with Le Tour.
It’s been 11 years since our intrepid band of beercyclists watched Le Tour kick off in Liege, Belgium. At times I get frustrated as these milestones disappear ever further into the gloaming, as reflected by the damnable rear view mirror. But great times they were.
Lately I’ve become a walker, one who harbors a suspicion that bicycling will return to the personal mobility arsenal at some point. When I dream about returning to Europe some day, these vignettes always involve walking, biking and riding trains.
There is no inclination on my part to drive across Europe — not ever before, and not now — but to each his or her own.
Maybe some day, a very slow trek through a nice region by foot and pedal. The dream sustains me during those times when my city devotes millions to paving, but can’t paint white stripes on a crosswalk without a metaphorical gun being held to its head, and parks cars on the segment of the Greenway ostensibly dedicated to walkers and cyclists.
We can be so very stupid, and yes, it bothers me.