sometimes more is just more

Sometimes more is just more

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5rGERV1N-s

Sometimes, you can just suspend within a single moment, hit repeat on a great song, and revisit the same moment of pleasure. Or even pain. You can pick at a scab until you open an old wound, or you can ride out from now until doomsday. And you never get enough.

And you can breathe in and breathe in and you just never quite breathe out.

Sometimes more is languid and luxurious: another bite of sticky chocolate on the couch watching True Blood while feeling poorly. Sometimes more is uncomfortable and annoying: the tight of a tight dress that one used to fit into, before one stopped riding for a week or so.

It’s been a helluva week (hence the quiet). I got sick, then I got busy, then we made some serious progress on the poetry show.  Can the Tour de France organisers please be informed that End of Financial Year is very stressful and some people will be quite sleepy from writing reports? God. You just miss everything.

But don’t worry. Sometimes more is just more and that’s better.

I could never love a minimalist.

But let’s try and keep things nice and simple and bring ourselves up to speed. Sometimes you want an epic poem sometimes you need a haiku. As previously stated, I believe that you are more than capable of googling what the hell happened, and since you know I just watched the replays too, having me summarise television to you in too much depth seems a bit odd.

So where were we?

Stage One (in which we roll over some water and the ride a bike and the winner is potato and leek soup); Stage 2 (in which the nice blue helmets go fast and make me happy); Stage Three (in which I work out how to spell peloton and things work out nice for Thor and the GC boys make air kissing nice to each to other);  Stage Four (a little bit cross wind, a little bit head wind, a little bit Cadel win); Stage 5 (Cavendish, oh I wish, that I cared, but I don’t); Stage 6 (um, one of those ones I completely missed); Stage 7 (geez, did I really miss all these stages?); Stage 8 (oh dear, it’s getting like a really lot of stages); Stage 9 (time flies when you’re feeling really really small against a car); Stage 10 (again? Another stage? Like does this race ever end? Oooh, but at least Cavendish does not win, which is fun for me); Stage 11 (boring).

Here is where we are:

General Classification after Stage 11

1 Thomas Voeckler (Fra) Team Europcar 45:52:39

2 Luis Leon Sanchez Gil (Spa) Rabobank Cycling Team 0:01:49

3 Cadel Evans (Aus) BMC Racing Team 0:02:26

4 Fränk Schleck (Lux) Leopard Trek 0:02:29

5 Andy Schleck (Lux) Leopard Trek 0:02:37

6 Tony Martin (Ger) HTC-Highroad 0:02:38

7 Peter Velits (Svk) HTC-Highroad

8 Andreas Klöden (Ger) Team RadioShack 0:02:43

9 Philippe Gilbert (Bel) Omega Pharma-Lotto 0:02:55

10 Jakob Fuglsang (Den) Leopard Trek 0:03:08

 

These are the only polka dots I have seen lately.

But I am prepared to see more.

(Sirotti – methinks – via Cycling Tips, where the prettiest photos are right now)

And green. And yellow. And those silly podium girls too.

This is a big week. We are in the mountains. We are going to the circus. We are riding to Pushies Galore on Sunday (you wanna meet up at Cup at 9.00am, have a coffee then go for a bike ride to look at more bikes?). And down South there are some cyclocrossings which I believe had madskills lady action the other week in preparation. Cyclocrossing is also happening here in Ipswich. I am still gathering questions to ask Anna Meares, but somehow I have run off on a major tangent and I’m not sure she’ll want to answer the chamois cream one.

Time to get back on the bike.