The Price Of Riding Off Into The Sunset

Although I haven't dated anyone in a few years, I have been in more intimate relationships than the Roman Catholic Church (in which I was raised) says a person should have in his or her life.

Of those affairs and partnerships (which include one brief marriage), in only one was I able to share my passion for cycling.  

It was the relationship that ended with my gender transition.  Ironically, she and I had a Domestic Partnership Agreement which, in those days before legal same-sex marriage, was the tightest knot two people of the same gender could tie.  I used to joke that, as a male, I was living the dream of every lesbian of the time:  I shared a nice apartment in Park Slope with an attractive woman.

Even though my transition was what I wanted and need to do, I missed her for a long time.  Some of the best conversations and meals I've ever shared were with her. And, of course, there was the cycling, which included bike tours of the Loire Valley, a week of exploring the Paris region by bike, and day and weekend rides in Vermont, Massachusetts, upstate New York--and the environs of our fair city.

One of the best things, though, was that I didn't have to lie to her when I bought bikes or bike-related equipment.  Part of the reason was that I bought a bike for her and she bought one for me.  So, she knew what bikes, parts and the kit I wore cost.

Had we stayed together, I would not have shared this fear of so many other cyclists:

Tomorrow I will start writing about "serious" cycling topics again.  Really!

She Didn't Need A Miracle. Neither Did I.

I've been to Lourdes.

No, I wasn't looking for a miracle cure--not even for the conflicts that raged within me.  In fact, I never planned to go there:  I just happened to pass through.

Back in 2000, I took a ride from France into Spain and back, through the Pyrenees.  Yes, I pedaled up Tourmalet, Hautaucam, Aspin, Portillon and Peyresourde, all of which have been part of the Tour de France at one time or another.  But I also pedaled through some cities and towns full of history and culture, including Toulouse (where I started) and Foix.  And, of course, Lourdes.

Now, I didn't think that a visit to the shrine would do anything that a good masseuse couldn't.  Still, I figured it would be interesting to stop there.  Even with all of the hawkers selling the tackiest souvenirs imaginable, it's lovely and charming--and offers some rather stunning vistas of the mountains and river valleys, not to mention great cycling.

The latter is known to many, including Rachel Atherton.  However, the ride she did is, let's say, just a little different from what I did:

 

It's A Great Ride, But It's Even Better If You Don't Crash

By now, you’ve probably heard about John Kerry’s bike crash near Geneva.

Monsieur Kerry

Without getting into politics (All right:  I’m with him on most issues!), I just want to wish him a thorough recovery.

I have long known about, in addition to his politics, his love of French culture.  However, I didn’t know that he brings his bicycle with him on his many trips as Secretary of State.  So now I like him even more.

Although I winced when I heard that he might have broken his leg, I found myself riding, vicariously, on the roads he might have been riding.  I was reliving a ride I took in that area.

If you’ve been there (or even if you’ve looked at a good map), you realize that Geneva is about as close as you can get to France without being in it.  OK, that might be a slight exaggeration.  But only a slight one.  It’s the pendant, if you will, in a necklace of towns that rings Lac Leman, the “official” name of what’s more commonly called Lac de Geneve, or Lake Geneva.

The lake washes up on French as well as Swiss shores to its south and west.  It’s really an inland freshwater sea: Imagine one of the Great Lakes set in the Alps.  I pedaled along a beautiful road within sight of the lake—and, of course, the mountains—from Lausanne to Geneva as part of a ride I took from Paris to Switzerland and back in 1997.  It seemed ironic to me that I was rolling along a flatter road in Switzerland than I was a day earlier, when I rode from Besancon into Pontarlier and crossed the border at Yverdon.   On the other hand, I didn’t have to pedal very far from the lake to do some pretty serious climbing.

That ride from Besancon (one of my favorite cities in France) to Geneva is one of the most beautiful, and most satisfying, I ever took.  It offered just about anything one could want:  arduous climbs and thrilling descents, straightaways on which you feel lighter than air even if you’re riding with full panniers and handlebar bag, beautiful natural scenery, picturesque towns, history and culture, friendly and helpful people (They understand cyclists!) and, of course, great food.

One day I will devote a post, maybe more, to that ride.  I still have to sort through my pictures and have them scanned. (Remember:  We were still using film back then!)  I will also need to look at the journal I kept and cull some of the more interesting, or at least relevant, passages.  That tour gave me so much material!

In a way, I feel bad for John Kerry that he got hurt in such a place:  I wouldn’t want anything to spoil the pleasures of it, even for my worst enemy.  On the other hand, I am sure he is being well cared-for and will be back on his bike sooner than he (or anyone) can say allez!