Sitting in traffic on the side of a mountain

After a lovely mountaintop finish of the Tour de France, we have been sitting in bumper to bumper traffic in the Alps between La Toussuire and St. Jean-de-Maurienne. It is a very picturesque spot to be stuck in but we are stuck nonetheless and not as capable of appreciating the beauty. We are driving all the way to Florence tonight and thus can't stop and just wait a few hours until everyone clears the road. It has been a blisteringly beautiful day though. Yesterday, we checked out of our mountain ski lodge hotel and set up our tent on the side of the race route for tomorrow. We were next to some Dutch guys and some Norwegian girls. Kitz slept most of the day while I read. This peaceful laziness was disturbed when we tried to get dinner in town. I felt sorry for this poor lady who only spoke French and Italian and clearly had no training as a waitress. She was clearly filling in and had no knowledge of the menu or table numbers. But after waiting an hour and 10 minutes to get water am eventually food, mostly I just wanted to get out of there. Some Italian men camped down the road from us wanted us to join their feast but after sitting outside for two hours, we just wanted to get warm and sleep.

Many times I have slept in many awkward places, positions, and times. This had led to the belief that I could sleep anywhere. I think that supposition is entirely based on how sleep deprived I am because I could not sleep well in that car.

Despite sleep deprivation, Kitz and I got up. She got her hair cut and we were sitting near the finish line (80 meters away) before 11 am. We were sitting next to some South Africans and some Americans. On the other side of them was Marco, the drunk Belgian. Now one thing many people will tell you about me is that when I am sleep deprived I am more fun than when I'm not. Such was the case that morning. They were all going through wine bottles like Cookie Monster goes through cookies. It was great and it wasn't until later that I started to come down from the high and began to stare at things, like the ground or nothing. But it was still great. I got lost for about 45 minutes looking for a toilet and ended up in a cow field somehow, but it was still great. My sweater got wine spilled on it and it was still great. These finish line events turn into parties as soon as you find someone who speaks a language you know. Some more Americans joined us later. A couple from Washington D.C. added to the intense merriment and some people they had met earlier joined in. Even Scott, Dave, and Zack from the stage on Monday were about 50 meters away, so we visited. They had met Brian and Richard (the two American guys) and the South African chicks at a party Tuesday night waiting for the stage on the side of a mountain, though no one had a clear memory of the meeting because of some Danish guys and the large amount of beer they brought.

That was our last stage of the Tour de France. Most of the other people will be following for another stage or so, but this was our goodbye. And even Marco's songs and recounting his life story to me couldn't take away the enjoyment. Frankly, I even enjoyed Marco's drunk ballads. I may never meet any of these crazies again, but I will remember that stage fondly. Even now we have been sitting in traffic for an hour and a half trying to get off this mountain. Some Slovakian guys in the car behind us kept running up and down and we blasted some K-Pop and all danced while the cars all just sat there. Some crazy Norwegian guys came by too.

Despite cycling being a team sport, when most people cycle they do it on their own. But suddenly here we all are at the top of a mountain shouting, yelling, singing, and getting drunk together. I may not have gotten drunk, but there was such a sense of communitas for even just a moment as we all gathered to cheer Pierre Rolland to the top of the climb, and then every other of the 173 riders after that in the forty minutes it took them to get in. You want the day and the race to just continue forever. But it won't. Even as we said goodbye to the Dutch guys we camped next to and folded up the tent, even as we told the Italian men we couldn't have dinner with them because we had to get to Italy, and even as we said we would try to keep in touch, we all will drive our separate ways and never will we have a day like that again. Just like those days where a domestique cyclist will leap out of the pack and solo to the finish minutes ahead of the peloton, days like that do not come often and are very precious. As we drive now faster down the mountain, it all begins to fade away and we will now behind all these people and the Tour to continue our lives, our ride, our trip.