Somewhere over the mid Atlantic on Saturday John, Barb, and I were in flight on our return to DC. While I was looking out the window I couldn't help but reminisce on the last two weeks in Provence and the Alps, all the training we did leading up to our trip, and finally the incredible rides Lance took us on.
After Lance dropped us off Friday in Geneva we continued to talk about our rides and the wonderful hospitality of the French people. While the sights will always be with us, Barb and I also spoke of the sounds: the wraiths of Mazan (swallows), Rob's laughter, millions of bees buzzing in the lavender fields, the roar of the alpine river outside our hotel in Brides les Baines, the cow bells on Notre Dame du Pre, and the carnival caravan preceding the Tour de France. And who can forget more intimate sounds: my heartbeat pounding thru my chest on Ventoux, my hyperventilating on the initial ascent on L'Alpe D'Huez, and of those people on the sidelines cheering all cyclists on those incredible climbs. What a rush! There were also sounds that we didn't want to hear: Rob's crash on our first ride, Barb's headset clunking, our brakes screeching flying down switchbacks, and the most horrific sound of all -- Andrew's bike being ripped away from the van's rooftop bike rack.
Our incredible vacation and adventure is now at an end but we bring with us memories, new friendships, and a whole new skill level in cycling. After some major unpacking, I eagerly reassembled my bike, cleaned it up, took it to Spokes for a quick once over, and am now ready get back out on the roads.
Great job Lance, the "plan came together!"
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