Au revoir le Tour de France

A short post tonight. I have a date. With Cadel Evans. He's kept me up late for the past three nights and now our relationship is coming to a climax. He has a fashionable new shirt to wear. I'm going for comfort over style - I don't want to misrepresent myself - and will be featuring my spotted pyjamas. Similar to the King of the Mountain cycling shirt, only pink spots, not red. And flannel. There is that.

Tonight Cadel Evans will arrive in Paris wearing the yellow jersey (I was going to say 'enter Paris' there, but figured that particular videotape had already been done). I'm so excited for him. He has been the Little Red Engine of this year's Tour de France ("I think I can, I think I can"), the unrelenting tortoise to Andy Schleck's flighty hare. I'll be there (well, here) to watch him step up on that podium. I'm sure he'll shed a tear. If there's footage of his proud mum and dad shedding tears, I'll definitely shed a tear.

And the Tour de France is over for another long year. No more will the dulcet tones of Phil Liggett soothe me to sleep under my slanket take me through every spin of every wheel ("He's working a massive gear there"). I might have to do something radical to relive the magic.

Like getting my own bike out of the mothballs in the garage and taking it for a spin.

[image: fcbikecoop.org]