John’s Legs

I love
John’s legs,
Pumping pedals up and down.
Strong, sculpted, serviceable
Like David.
As perfectly proportioned
As the Vitruvius Man.
No mere hamstrings these
Sinuous forms moving under taught skin and lycra.
Semitendinosus, semimembranosus,
Vastus lateralis, biceps of the thigh.
The gastrocnemius flexes to display
A great inverted heart
And from the back of calves
Delivers a continual visual valentine.
When rarely I pass, I receive
A full display where quad meets knee of
Rectus femorus, vastus medialius
And vastus lateralis power.
I cannot see the action where hip meets thigh,
My heart flutters,
I can only imagine.

Starting L’Etape du Tour

Yesterday, Tim and I rode L’etape du Tour. It was beyond a doubt the hardest day physically I have ever experienced. We rode a total of 90 miles (81 on l’etape and 9 returning from the finish). In the course of that we were climbing for between 40 and 45 miles. The total ascent was 11,375 feet.

The first half of the ride was to die for. The weather was perfect, blue skies with puffy white clouds and an afternoon temperature of 80 degrees. The course started out with six miles of flat along the crystal azure waters of Lake Annecy with views of majestic mountains in every direction. We then began climbing past picturesque villages to mountain passes with picture perfect vistas. At every village local residents lined up along the route chanting allez, allez, allez (go, go, go).

My granddaughter Monette cheering me on.

About two days before the Etape, John changed. The gregarious, relaxed guy I usually live with disappeared, replaced by a pensive, brooding, pacing, sometimes growling tiger. My space, like Piscene Patel’s (Pi in “The Life of Pi”) was inhabited by a “Richard Parker.”

Fortunately I’ve seen this beast before. The two serious “athletes” in the family — John and Marion — undergo this metamorphosis before every big event, physical or mental. They turn inward, grow silent, scowl and snarl if pulled into the trivialities of every-day life. They are focused on the event, the challenge, the competition and their goals. They are readying for the fight.

I find the process interesting. It isn’t that I’m uncompetitive, anyone who knows me can attest to that. But I am not in John’s — or Marion’s for that matter — league. They have a physical need to “win” and more often than not, they do. What I have learned over the years, though, is that every Richard Parker needs a Pi to perform at his or her best.

John and Tim intensely studying the route.

John putting his race number on the bike.

I’m here in Annecy, France with my friend, architect, and riding buddy, Tim Quigley, to ride in L’Etape du Tour de France. For those of you who are not bicycling aficionados, this means that we will attempt to ride one of the mountain stages of the Tour de France. The actual race with the actual riders will take place on July 20th. We, along with 14,000 other riders, will try tomorrow, Sunday July 7th.

The ride is 81 miles (128 km) long and includes 6 ascents totaling a climb of about 9,500 ft. The hills are 3 category 3, 1 category 2, 1 category 1 and an HC (which means beyond category). The category 1 hill, Mont Revard, is 16km (10 miles) long with a gradient of 5.4% and the final hill, Semnoz (HC), which starts at mile 74 averages 8.3% for 11 km (6.7 miles). These are major efforts. If you want more details about the route go to L’etape du Tour.

Tim and I looking at Mont Semnoz. Worried.

Continue reading →

In the fall of 1965, Lise Hansen rescued me. I was a large, freakishly tall, pubescent 12-year old American enrolled in a public school in Virum, Denmark; a suburb of Copenhagen. My classmates were all petit — a head shorter than I, their growth spurts yet to come — Danish pre-teens whose English consisted of parroted lyrics from The Beatles and Herman’s Hermits and Level 1 ” Learn to Speak English” textbooks. I was a circus side-show thrust into their midst and the boys, in particular, found taunting me rather amusing. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper; miserable enough that, unbeknownst to me, my parents were considering the extreme and expensive option of putting me in a private American school.

Old friends Anne and Lise.

Continue reading →