Tuesday, July 3, 2012

I'm In A Bad Mood.

Stage Three - Orchies to Boulonge-Sur-Mur

I've been in a bad mood all day, full of fidgety irritation, ineloquent frustration and occasional bursts of anger. I'm blaming the copious amounts of Vitamin D - I have all this bursting energy all of a sudden, but it's creeping through me, as if I've had too much coffee. Some of it dissipates over lunch with Jen Jen, who laughs at my predicaments and listens while I vomit semi-formed sentences all over the restaurant, but by the time the evening rolls around it has returned.

Fortunately Rolly is in a similar mood, though hopefully without the excess consumption of dietary supplements, and he has decided that heading down to DISC to watch some real-life bike racing is the tonic for him. Well, that and a couple of sneaky beers. He makes one of the beers ginger and I'm in.

Down at the track the numbers are good. There's lots of folks in each grade and the racing looks kinda hard. Decent people are sitting in the stands and my mood is lifting. Sometimes, but not always, it's enough just to be around people, to make polite conversation, to enquire about someone else.

Wary of more alone time - not something I'm usually fussed by, but today seems to be different, so I'm being cautious - I drag Rolly and Dave back to mine for the stage. We pick up some Cokes and some snacks from the Seven-Eleven on the way. Boys set for a big night. At the Seven-Eleven there are a bunch of kids hanging out in the parking lot. Just old enough to be able to drive but still too young to figure out where they should go, they stand around the car, grunting insults at each other and leering at anyone walking past. But we're in our thirties; we have already figured out where we should go.

I mention to Dave and Rolly that I'm already starting to regret writing this tour diary, because the entries have already started to take on a numbing similarity. But that's the first week of the tour. The race starts, a break goes away, it gets brought back, there's a (sometimes uphill) sprint. I ring up some people, they come over and we talk shit, the conversation drops because we're getting tired, we get excited by the end of the stage, folks go home. Tonight is no exception. I only wish that Dave and / or Rolly had figured out their victory salutes before they had come over. That's right, making it to the end of the stage without falling asleep, despite work the next day, they should both consider resisting sleep an achievement worthy of public celebration. They should've done a little dance that pays homage to Forrest Gump. It would've ruled.

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