The Breakaway

The solo breakaway. It's one of the most magical moments in professional cycling. One rider, out in front -- five, ten, maybe twenty minutes ahead of the peloton (the main pack of riders). As I painted this watercolor...


... I imagined we're near the end of a Tour de France stage, and the peloton is angry. They know they let this lone rider get too far ahead; now they're in an all-out pursuit. They're 180 riders working as one, cutting through the wind in a ruthless, tireless state of perpetual motion. But you can't see the peloton in my painting, and that's intentional. The solo rider and the cheering crowd can't see it either. They merely sense it, like an ominous locomotive barreling forward just beyond the horizon.

There's only one word to describe the peloton in this situation: inevitable.

Can our solo rider beat inevitability? Can he reach the finish line before 180 riders swallow him back into the fold? It's five kilometers to the finish. His lead over the peloton has been reduced from ten minutes to a mere forty-three seconds. It's tight. Achingly, pull-every-last-ounce-of-energy-out-of-your-demolished-legs tight.

The crowd lining the street has been listening to the race on radio all day. They know what's happening. A murmur begins to circulate as they hear the helicopters buzz overhead. The official cars and motorcycles approach and the crowd shuffles in anticipation, craning their necks to see. Through the vehicles they spot an empty patch of road, and then there ... there he is! The solo breakaway!

Those fans may have had a hundred favorite riders at the beginning of the stage; but now they all come together behind one. They sense the desperation in his eyes. They feel his pain, his epic struggle. If they could pull the air aside and let him slip away to victory, they would. But instead they call out his name, wave flags, and yell the word that encapsulates all that is the Tour de France: Allez!

Until today, our solo rider had been surrounded by fellow cyclists and teammates during the race. He was the guy riding back to his team car to pick up water bottles. He was the one battling the wind at the peloton's head to protect his team leader. In cycle-speak, he's a domestique. But not today. Today his team is somewhere back there. He knows they're rooting for him and trying to reign in the assault. But there's not much they can do.

Life is complex ... but not now. There's the cheering crowd, the clock, the pursuers, and the finish line. For the next five kilometers, nothing else matters.

As the solo rider passes -- woosh -- all the fans simultaneously look down at their watches, counting the seconds of eerie silence before the arrival of the chasing Empire. And as each second ticks away, they gain hope. Hope that in spite of everything, sometimes the scrappy guy no one ever believed in wins. Hope that those who bravely strike out on their own can achieve something unimaginably great. Hope that inevitability is not so inevitable after all. Hope that anything is possible.

In that moment, the fans, the solo rider, and the peloton all feel the same thing. Wonderfully, sensationally ... alive.

Up and Over the Hills

What a great bike ride this morning! I headed out the door at 6:15 a.m., met by sunny skies and a crisp 50-degree temperature. Light windbreaker weather -- my favorite.

I rode up and over the Blue Hills, just south of Boston...




... through the quaint town of Milton, with its neat town green ...



...and back home in two incredible hours of cycling. While the scenery was beautiful, it was the way I felt on the bike that made this morning so special. Each hill felt easier than the last, as if every climb brought me more in tune with my machine and surroundings. And when I leaned low into my handlebars on the descents, the air simply glided over me in a speedy, awesome swoosh!

The road through the Blue Hill Reservation is only open from 7 a.m. to 8 p.m., which is too late pre-work rides. But I thought about those hills all week -- especially Thursday morning when I was stuck standing in a crowded subway car for 90 minutes, waiting for a broken-down train to be removed from the tracks ahead. I just kept thinking of reaching the summit of Chickataubut Hill...


... and enjoying the view ...

Lance Armstrong in Monaco

I just finished painting this watercolor of an image recurring in my mind since the Tour de France ended: Lance Armstrong riding in the opening time trial, careening around a curve in the hills above Monaco. It was a great moment. His ride captured the perfect fluidity of bike riding -- so smooth and controlled, but fast ... really fast.

To be honest, I'm not sure my watercolor represents an exact scene from that stage. I simply painted it from memory of the television broadcast on Versus. I suppose I could have gone back to my video recording to check it -- but it was more fun simply letting my imagination fill in the memory gaps. I sketched the outline of the painting in a notebook while riding the subway home from work.

So if the cliff is a little steeper than it truly was, or the abstract view of Monte Carlo a bit too dramatic ... well, I hope Lance will forgive me!

The Colors of Mont Ventoux

Mont Ventoux ... I'm fascinated by this ghostly mountain in Provence. After watching the Tour de France race to the summit in Stage 20, I thought I'd get to know it better by painting a watercolor...


The most difficult part was the color ... or more specifically, Ventoux's lack of color. Using images from the Versus television broadcast as a guide, I used up almost all my white paint washing out areas where my colors became to bright, drawing too much attention to themselves. Mont Ventoux sits in one of the most colorful regions of France, but its bleak summit is the antithesis of color. That's what makes it so magnificent.

When I removed too much color though, that made it feel cold, which isn't right either. Ventoux's colorless summit isn't the same as snow, which simply reflects light. Ventoux's peak seems to absorb all the colors of Provence, pulling them into itself and then scouring them clean with its gale-force winds, leaving you with nothing but memories of greener pastures down below.

It must be a fantastically miserable place to ride a bike. The mountain cast an ominous shadow over all of Stage 20, looming in full view of the riders well before they began their ascent. The climb itself was thrilling, but I found myself enjoying those hours of lead-up through Provence just as much. Mont Ventoux's barren summit seemed to intensify the beauty of the Provencal countryside at its feet.

Maybe one can never really get to know the mystical Mont Ventoux. But it's wonderful to try...

Back on the Bicycle

I'm back into my bicycling schedule now, after having traveled for work for about a week. Not riding for three days or so doesn't seem to affect my riding ability much. But after a week, I can definitely feel a difference in my legs when I attempt the big hills.

So, it was cool coastal rides for me at the end of this past week, and now I'll ease back into hillier rides over the next few days. Kind of nice, actually...




I think the neighborhood egrets were holding a convention Saturday morning...

The Forests of the Tour de France

Even though the Tour de France has ended, images from the race are still strong in my mind. Here's an abstract watercolor I painted yesterday, of the yellow jersey-wearer speeding through those beautiful forests of France...

The Tour's mountain stages get the most attention, and deservedly so ... they're spectacular. But I love it when the peloton weaves its way through those shadowy pine forests. It's like shining a kaleidoscope of color on those dark, mysterious places...

A Fantastic Tour de France

The Tour de France is over! And what a great Tour it was. As the riders fly home, I'm sure they're dreaming about the sights and sounds of the race ... the ghostly Mont Ventoux, the deep forests of the Vosges, the huge crowds cheering them on in Barcelona, and the rolling hills above Monaco. The peloton left a colorful tapestry of memories all across that incredible countryside.

As I look back, I enjoy thinking about the ways the Tour de France weaved its way in and out of my July.

On ideal days, I recorded the complete morning coverage on the Versus Channel and then watched it when I got home from work (staying away from news beforehand; my friends knew not to talk about the TdF!). As always, the legendary commentators Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen were awesome, as were the evening shows hosted by Bob Roll and Chris Hummer. To the Versus Channel: thank you and great job!

But on some days, life got the better of all my efforts to watch Le Tour ... especially at the end when I was away from home on business, with no Versus at the hotel and a slow Internet connection. But this year, my mother began watching the Tour for the first time, and now she's hooked! So on the afternoon of the Mont Ventoux stage, after the racing had ended, Mom told me all about the race by phone ... the crowd, the rivalries, Phil and Paul's comments -- Mom captured it perfectly, and I truly felt I was there. While Mom described the details of the race, Dad was working hard transferring his recording of the stage to DVD, which is now in the mail to my home. Thank you so much Mom and Dad!

It reminded me that for so many years, this was the way most people experienced the tour ... talk at the dinner table, and chatting with friends in a local pub or on the street waiting for the autobus. And you know something? -- It was great.

But modern technology sure is wonderful too. Having the DVD to look forward to is like extending the magic of the race just a little farther. I can't wait. And of course, I'll write all about it here at Bike Ride Rambles, so stay tuned! The racing may have ended, but the stories of this fantastic Tour are still being written...