Everyday.

My Commute. My Stand.

Back From France. This is whats been going on.

Tanner.

The New SteamRoller, Trent.

New SEASIDE KIT. I have joined the Mafia and it feels so good.

Derikson with some wild bars and a busted hand.

The Last Day.

This is a little late but here are a few pictures of the tour and my encounter with some weird French people.

Early morning rise, can’t really keep my eyes open because of the white hot light of the sun flooding my room. I get cleaned up and get my gear together for the day, tube, spare tire, wrenches, levers, pump, helmet and bag. I always have my Paris 2009 book on me and moleskin. I head down stairs to grab my bike and drop off the room key. As I move onto the Sunday morning streets of Paris there is and eerie lull over the entire city. I suppose everyone is either at church or sleeping off a night of heavy drinking. Onto the main street, the weather in Paris this last week was perfect for riding, warn for a t shirt and shorts but cool enough so you wouldn’t work up a gross sticky sweat. Just being on those old roads was a thrill in and of itself, but today I was heading to see the final stage of the Tour. I get a nice breakfast and sit by a fountain, enjoying the sun and pigeons. A young boy races his small bike around the fountain ad a good speed for a little guy, it made me smile, seeing pure joy in the mere fact one is riding a bike. I embarked out to the cool summer air, encased by the cities smell, a mix of cigarettes, urine, and crepes. The city was still in the slow process of waking itself up as I pass Notre Dame to cross the Seine, there were other cyclists on the road heading in groups of two or three toward the Champs, I begin to encounter streets shut down in preparation of the large crowds expected to come and watch the weary cyclists roll through on the last stage of the end all be all tours of cycling. I get to the Arc De Triomph snap a few pics of the bike and head into the crowd of spectators. It’s still only ten in the morning and I have a long while until the riders roll in, I wonder around buy a few things get some food and a beer or two. Around three the sponsors parade starts and I find myself a spot. This was a cool time waster, a lot of people had claimed their spots early in the morning and this was the first sign that all their waiting will soon pay off. The floats came by making as much noise as they can to rev up the swarms of people eagerly anticipating the racers. At around four commotions erupts as the first signs of the actual race come to light. Then, and eruption of noise and everyone pushes for a spot to look on. Then up the Champs comes a Mavic team car and the breakaway group, just a minute or so behind the peloton, in all its glory and color. Where I was I got a look as they rode by to the turn around, then flashed by in a chaotic dance of gears, pigment and wind. These guys were hauling, I could pick out Contador by the yellow kit, and Lance by his number and Astana kit. The peloton is followed close by the team cars, another sight worthy of note, the cars are the camels of the team carrying all the necessities for on the road mechanical work. They two are in bright vibrant color carrying the most beautiful bikes I have ever seen. The riders made a few laps before the finish, I took pictures and a video for the first two then just sat back and watched, in amazement my jaw was at the concrete at the shear muscle and endurance of these men, gods on mechanized stallions.
The race was over, I mounted the Pista and rode back to my Hotel, and it was a nice ride. Most of the roads were still shut down so I cruised around with ease for a while. No particular direction, just soaking in and sucking out the marrow of the city in all its ancient prominence.
That sink in the stomach as you head over the grand hump of a roller coaster is what greeted me back into the United States. But shit was I ever happy to greet the customs man with a big old “Howdy!” and a smile. Now don’t get me wrong, I loved my time in Paris and France is a great place. It’s just that their airport is a fucking shit show. I show up and a lady asks me where I am going, I tell her Boston and she shuffles me into a small line of people, sweet quiet morning at CDG. I get through their loose security, but will later find out it’s not as loose as I would hope, and get to the ticket teller and she becomes very confused. “Oh, Oh, ooooooh, you have to head down to section 2, there is where you can pick up your ticket.”. Well shit, now I take my gear, wondering around with a bike box is a little bit of a bitch, and head on down to Section 2. I move towards Section 4 then 3 and as I turn the corner to 2 it’s a cluster fuck of people, bags, sweat and bike boxes. It seems everyone wanted to leave Paris that day and all take the flight to Cincinnati, well lucky for me I already had a ticked reserved and was short through the line after waiting to about five minutes. Starting to sweat through my flashy new tour shirt I meander through another security section and up to another quite attractive ticket teller. She soon becomes my worst enemy, these women took no pity, I checked one bag and then got my tickets and pleaded with her about my bike box. “You will have to pay a tax for that, 300 dollars.” “You Fuck” I thought in my head as rage and disgust for the French Airport system began to boil in my skull. Soon a smug prick walks over and tells me its two minutes till my flight closes and I better get my ass moving if I want any of my stuff on the flight. Again I move to another line and plead, all the people behind the “Tax” desk look at me at laugh, whispering things to each other in French and most likely calling me an asshole to my face. Well fuck you Delta, my stuffs free in Boston but three hundred fucking dollars in France, Stuff It! Concerned I would miss my flight and be stranded for another day with no money I over charged my debit card hurled my box onto a troll and walked to my gate, steam rushing from my ears.
I now sit in Cincinnati, waiting to get home and see July at Logan. It does feel good to be back and understand what the guy I am buying gum from is telling me.