Epic 130-mile Day: London Monaco Ride Stage 3

Maybe I’m weird but, I’m very grateful for the chance to get up at 5 AM to finish the final edits of my upcoming feature story in Yachting World (on super-slow Wi-Fi and after riding 100-miles the day before–you’re welcome Toby!!), and then ride 235-kilometers (that’s 130-miles for you nice folks at home) across the lush green fields of Northern France…

…with some pretty fantastic people who are trying to help Blue Marine Foundation save the oceans for our kids…then get a massage, and then drink a few cups of coffee, and then lay absolutely still on my oh-so-soft hotel bed for about 30 minutes,

and then get up, walk about .1 kilometer to eat a bloody blue steak and be regaled with stories of cycling, royalty, and extremely large yachts, and then stumble back to again sit prone, on my hotel bed so I can relive this special day all over again.

But that’s exactly the type of Tuesday I’ve had. And apart from the early wake-up call, that’s pretty much the day that my new friends that are on this London Monaco journey had. Not to shabby for your average, everyday, Tuesday spent hammering at 20-miles-an-hour (or whatever the kms/hour) past churches in sleepy, little French village after sleepy little French village.

And while I’ll also be the first to admit that I’m kinda sweet on telling stories with the written word, the lead photo (that I shot with my trusty iPhone at about kilometer 10 this morning) pretty much sums up our long and rewarding day in the saddle. Bloody spectacular as my english cousins over here would say.

And forgive me if I offend, but you must admit Swizzle-cycling-style seems to have gone to whole new level today, don’t cha think?

And no, I’m not a Pro cyclist but….I did have a pretty special moment with just about 20 kilometers to go that has changed me forever. Now, I’m grateful to say that I had pretty good form today (all of the folks in our group did!) but, things can get weird once rides go into way over 100-mile territory, so I had the brilliant idea to put some Haribo candy in the back pocket of my oh-so-stylishly euro Le Col jersey at lunch just in case I needed a bit of boost to propel me into our awaiting hotel in Trois. And then I sat up, and riding no hands allowed me to take the package out of my pocket, rip it open, and partake of the best, most pure, most refined, most sublime sugar experience I’ve ever encountered.