Is it just me or did the Tour de France organizers, ASO, try to pit American cyclists against their beloved Independence Day? Starting the prologue on the fourth of July, and in the fancy-pants city of Monaco nonetheless, is about as huge a departure from beer bellies and lighting shit on fire as you can get. I thought the French were supposed to be our allies, but instead they're hosting the prologue of the most famous Grand Tour on our celebratory day of independence and in a city synonymous with helipad-laden yachts. I don't care much for boats. You can't bike very far on a boat and I get a horrible case of self-inflicted seasickness caused by getting belligerently drunk from mint schnapps.
When did cycling become the sport of playboys? When did it join the ranks of Formula Un and James Bond supervillans? I never thought that cycling was very glamorous and can guarantee that anyone that takes up the sport under these pretenses will be shocked to their core the first time a road-raged soccer mom flips them the bird. I miss the Spring Classics, those manly one-day races when bikes look more like bikes and if you win a race you get a trophy made out of rock or abstractly welded metal. To be honest, I'd probably be happier having a good noon ride at Hains Point and having an Italian Store sub as my trophy than looking retarded riding a $9,000 TT bike next to a multimillion dollar floating mansion. Maybe I'm crazy or set fire to too many things last night, but I like to keep things simple, dirty, and fun. So I'm going to bunker down for the next couple of days with some beer and deeply discounted fireworks and wait patiently for some of the more interesting stages in France.
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