As the samples pelted us, it became apparent that we had competition. The French family next to us had a child who was hell-bent on collecting the most goods. It began innocently enough when he got the cloth backpack … but by the time key chains and those crazy flat bracelets that you slap around your wrist were tossed, his mania had hit a fever pitch. He began throwing elbows to get the goods.
I laughed, but also wondered, “What would Lance do now?” Brad claimed that Lance would let the kid have the free goods because he’s a “stand up” kind of guy. “A real champion at heart,” he said. I wasn’t so sure. Yes, he seems like a decent character, but he has that fighting spirit. He’s a competitor. I think he would have given the French boy a run for his shampoo samples.
Our view of Le Tour lasted about ten seconds. Spectators lined the road as the pack of riders approached—and the buzz in the crowd turned to a roar. I thought people were excited for the mini-sausage, but this was some real energy. An entourage of support cars book ended the pack of riders and, as they approached, they created a wind tunnel effect. The racers were tightly packed in bunches of colors and created a rainbow blur as they whizzed by. Then, after ten seconds of colorful glory, it was over, and everyone evaporated. Literally. Five minutes after the racers passed, you would have never known anything cool had happened next to the deserted parking lot in French suburbia.
On the drive home, we did lament that we made it to Le Tour one year too late to see Lance. It would have been so cool to see and feel him whiz by in that yellow jersey. But as we attacked the journey home, his spirit lived on!
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