My husband just returned home from a bicycle tour in the French Alps that he took with four equally cycling-obsessed friends. It's his third year going and though it's always sad to wave goodbye, it makes me happy to know how deeply he values a week spent doing what he loves. And really, what's not to love about the occasional separate vacation? I have a week to putter without guilt and then he returns deliciously weary, spiritually refreshed and loaded with (only slightly exaggerated) tales of adventure and superhuman endurance.
(Base of Alpe du'Huez, France, June 2010.
All photo credits: Jeff Suhy.)
Piero is cuckoo for cycling. At night in bed, he pores over his latest bicycle catalog (derailleurs! crankshafts! shifters!) with the same breathless intensity my son has for Pokemon cards and Percy Jackson books.
Me: Are you ever going to read that book I bought you?
Him: As soon as I finish this new catalog.
(Note: Catalogs arrive daily.)
Before each trip, he spends months meticulously researching a route, which always encompasses some of the same mountain ascents as the Tour de France and ranges from 60-100 kilometers a day and a few thousand vertical feet.
(Sign for bread, 2010)
(My husband, far right, with ses amis in France)
There's no question that the trip is breathtakingly beautiful...
(War memorial, French Alps, June 2010)
(Hotel, Lake Annecy, June 2010)
...but it ain't easy.
(Approaching thunderstorm, Alps, June 2010)
(from "The Triplets of Belleville")
This year, there was pelting rain, bitter wind and the occasional snow-laden pass. And every evening, the inevitable aching feet, sore legs, and numb derriéres.
(Sign for bread, 2010)After some carbo-loading...
(from "The Triplets of Bellevilles")
...they would hobble off to bed, collapse into dreamless sleep...
(from "The Triplets of Belleville")
...rise at dawn and very gingerly get back on the saddle.
At least that's the way I envision it. In truth, there were moments like these, too:
(A mountain and a Pernod, June 2010)
(Alpine picnic, June 2010)
Oh, and there was the team van that followed them in case they blew a tire, fancied an Evian or an almond croissant, or wanted an extra sweater to tie around their shoulders. (And Piero hasn't copped to this, but I'm pretty sure that if road fatigue set in, the driver would play Kraftwerk's "Tour de France" and spur them on with a theatrical "Vas-y! Vas-y!" in a throaty French baritone.)
(from "The Triplets of Belleville")
(Piero ascending mountain, June 2010)
P.S. If you somehow haven't seen the cartoon movie, "The Triplets of Belleville," oh do do do. It's strange and gorgeous and otherworldly and defies description, so here's the trailer (albeit slightly cut-off; does anyone know how to fix this?):
Note: If you are or know someone who is an ardent cyclist and would like to create a bespoke tour for themselves, Piero has used Duvine Adventures for three years now and has never been less than thrilled.
(Princess Mary Tudor and the Duke of Suffolk, c. 1516, unknown artist)
