Everybody's Gone, They Left the Television Screamin' that the Radio's On

Last week during vacation, I had the opportunity to watch a few stages of the Tour De France during the nights that we went into Winter Park for dinner. Since I got into cycling a few years ago, I became a pretty big Lance Armstrong fan because I have always admired long-distance and endurance athletes for their ability to drive and force their bodies to greater heights and feats simply by the force of their will.

In the past I have seen short clips and montages of Lance's TDF victories, but I have never been able to sit down and watch entire stages, especially those in the mountains. If you have never seen a mountain stage in the TDF, you are missing what Patrick Vincent likes to call "true sport." It is the most amazing, wacky, and exhilirating event that I have seen in awhile. While the riders are surging up impossibly steep mountain roads, fans and onlookers run beside them with flags and words of encouragement, or maybe derision, I'm not sure. Whatever it is, it is a lot of fun to watch.

The truly special part of it is of course the cyclists. During Stage 10, Lance was involved in a breakaway with three other riders up the last climb to Courchevel. As they jockeyed for position and traded turns drafting up the steep grades, Lance's countenance never wavered. Toward the end, when he stood up out of the saddle and took off as though he was propelled by some inhuman force, I almost jumped out of my chair for the sheer power and grace of the moment.

In a week Lance will probably have captured his 7th straight victory in the most grueling event in sports, but one day when I tell my grandchildren what it was like when Lance was working his magic, I will never picture him holding the trophies above his head, but I will tell them about the time that a man who was delivered from cancer would never succumb to mere mountains.