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It’s my first morning in France, ahead of my cycling Camp in France. I always try to get here a few days early – even before my staff which lately has been my Dad, my brother, and my best friend Kevin. This year I’m here three days ahead of my crew and five days ahead of my campers.
I fell asleep last night at 1:11AM (4:11PM back home) and woke up to the serenity that is Villard Reculas – literally no noise other than the chirping of birds and the faint tinkling of the bells attached to the necks of the local herd of goats.
As I type, I’m looking out at a view that is beyond spectacular. It takes me back to a time when my “job” involved the simple task of waking up and tackling roads and trails, rivers, lakes, and oceans around the world – testing myself . . . I just got goose bumps.
So I’m going to shammy up and ride some hills. I realize this sounds terrible – and Traci, I apologize, but for the next three days I’m “going pro.” Daddy and husband are far, far away – in mind and body. Back to a place I lived in for 25 years.
We shouldn’t forget our past. After all, it shapes our future. And whether the memories are terrible or glorious – they helped us grow. It’s time to pay homage.
I’m going for a bike ride.