My Tour Continues

 Yesterday I wrote about the penultimate multiday tour I've taken.  It was the ride that, more than any other, changed my life. 

Near the end of that tour, I climbed le Col du Galibier (a couple of days after pedaling up l'Alpe d'Huez) and descended into the valley, where I checked into a small hotel in St. Jean de Maurienne.  The town is next to the Italian border and, though you may not have heard of it, you surely have seen the thing for which the town is best known:  Opinel knives.  (Yes, they are still made there and in nearby Chambery, a small city that just oozes with Savoyard charm.) After checking into the hotel, I walked into the town square in search of something to eat.  That is when I saw a woman, who was not distinctive in any way, crossing a street.  She was probably on her way home from work.  For whatever reasons, I saw in the way she occupied space and time, the way I was meant to live. 

After writing the post, I couldn't stop thinking about that day, and more to the point, what has changed since then, for me and the world.

For one thing, when I returned, my then-partner surprised me by meeting me at JFK Airport.  As tears trickled down my cheeks, she embraced me.  I held her--actually, I held on:  To this day, I see that hug as the single most desperate act of my life.  I knew that my life would not continue, at least not for very long, as it had.

Even if I hadn't seen that woman in St. Jean de Maurienne, I would have, eventually, undergone the process of affirming my gender identity.  But, I believe, some things--including the September 11 attacks a few weeks later--accelerated the timeline.  I was home that but my partner was in her office near Rockefeller Center.  Subway and bus service was suspended, so she and thousands of other people had to leave Manhattan on foot.  I met her on the Brooklyn side of the Manhattan Bridge.  All I could think about was how easily she--and any one of the people crossing that bridge--and I--could have been incinerated or crushed in those towers.

Undergoing my affirmation process, which began, gradually, with visits to counselors and therapists a few months later, changed my cycling.  Aging would have done it, but taking hormones probably sped up the process.  I still like to ride aggressively and show off, sometimes, but I now realize that I now ride more for my mental health than to show off any kind of physical prowess.

Oh, and I no longer have the bike or clothes I rode during my 2001 tour.  The Voodoo Wazoo, built for cyclocross, was actually a good bike for the ride I took.  But eventually I found myself wanting to change everything in my life, and I sold it--ironically, to pay the air fare for my next trip to France.  And those clothes--do they scream '' 90s mountain biker," or what?  I was indeed still doing some offroad riding, and still owned a proper mountain bike (a Bontrager Race Lite with Rock Shox Judy forks) but I eventually sold that bike and stuck mainly to road riding because I was starting to notice that I didn't heal as quickly from wounds and injuries as I did when I was younger and--OK, this will show how much gender stereotypes still shaped my thinking--I felt that I could be more dignified, ladylike if you will, on a road or city bike.

Now, I don't expect to return to mountain biking because, really, I prefer to stick to a couple of kind of riding.  Also, mountain bikes seem to "age" more quickly than other kinds of bikes. On the other hand, I can ride one of my Mercians just as easily today as I did (or could have, in the case of my newer ones) five or ten years ago, and barring crashes or inability on my part, I should be able to ride them--while replacing only the parts that normally wear out, like chains and tires-- for years to come.

In other words, I expect my tour to continue--precisely because it changed the day I rode up the Col du Galibier. 

Waking To A Heat Wave

Today the temperature reached 103 degrees F (about 40 C).  It seemed that even the places that normally seem like iceboxes--like the central building of the college, where, it seems, the air conditioning is turned on in June and kept on full-blast until September--felt soggy today.


I woke up later than I'd planned, and by the time I got outside, the air already felt as if a knife would stand up in it.  I was going to ride to work, but decided against it as soon as I stepped outside to go to the dry cleaner's.


Even people who don't normally complain about the heat were wishing that they were taking an Antarctic cruise.  


I've cycled in weather that's as hot as today's was, but couldn't see the point of riding today.  For one thing, there's an ozone alert, and while I suppose I could  wear a filter mask, I don't think that, given the sinus problems I've had, that doing any outdoor exercise in that heat and air would do me much good.


Plus, I no longer have the need I once had to prove myself to...whom?  People who didn't care?  Myself?  What, exactly, would have I proved to myself by taking a ride on a day like today.  Now, if I had to ride, that would be another story.


There were a few times when I had to ride in heat such as what I experienced today.  It was even more difficult when I wasn't expecting it, as when I was cycling through a mountainous area and found myself in a pass or valley.  The day after I had my life-changing encounter in St.Jean de Maurienne, an Alpine town a few kilometers from the Italian border, I rode down a mountain and into a valley where the thermometer on a bank in town read 40C.  I felt my skin burning, but I wasn't sweating.  That, I understand, is common at very high elevations, which tend to be drier than lower-lying areas.


But at least I knew it would be hot--if not this hot--today.  I just wish I'd awakened earlier.