July

July. Le Tour. Cycling itself, defined, over three weeks in July. For three weeks, I don't care if they all pack a bucket of cow's blood every morning, I'm still up early watching before work and then up late watching the re-runs after dinner. Maybe this is what the rest of America feels for the NFL. I doubt it, though, because nothing comes close to being a fan for a sport you actually participate in. I swear, I ride better in July just because the Tour is on TV.

And speaking of, did anyone else catch Jonathan Vaughters dropping the F-bomb live during the time trial? I'm sure VS took a big smacking from the FCC for that one. It was pretty priceless, though - JV was so excited he didn't notice either what he said, or how Robbie Ventura froze, dropped his jaw, glanced back and forth at the camera, and lost his train of thought. Priceless. JV kept on talking. Way to smooth it over, Robbie.



It's stinking hot. I showed up to the crit with four water bottles. Last week I only needed three. Sheesh. At least the legs are turning, though. And sleeveless morning rides before work are pretty sweet, too. July.