Final team dinner and a vision
7/23/06
Final Team Dinner in Paris
Around a long table, on the second floor of a stunning restaurant, we gather for the last dinner. To ease the transition to the real world, we are not required to wear our off-the-bike team uniforms.
Unlike the meals of the past 3 weeks, which were all about feeding your body enough calories, carbohydrates, and protein to get through the next ride, this is a celebration.
Tonight, Director Joe Tonon, who is usually telling us where to be and when to be there has no worries in the world. He makes a toast to salute each individual member of the team.
There is a menu involved in this dinner, and we all have to make a choice. Some hesitate, as we usually eat family style, and just shovel whatever is put in front of us into our gobs.
Today, we’ll gather in Joe’s room at 1:00 pm or so to view the Tour. But not until then. The Director needs some sleep.
Now that the Tour de France Challenge is over, we focus our attention on some new challenges.
First up, for the few of us on this trip who are courageous enough to be wed in Holy Matrimony, is the “Save The Marriage Challenge.” This will be every bit as grueling as training for and participating in the 3-week, 3000 plus kilometer ride we just endured. The past 10 months have involved a lot of time on the bicycle, and precious little time doing what married men are supposed to do, that is what they’re told. No doubt there will be some apple picking, baby sitting, shopping for fabric, house cleaning and other forms of reparations in our future.
To our cowardly teammates who live in a blissful state of single-dom, trading in one happy girlfriend for the next, we have nothing but acrimony. You all need some structure in your lives- a long list of things to do, some in-laws in inhospitable parts of the country to visit, a large box of assemble-it-yourself furniture to make you want to off yourself. You need to learn the meaning of “duvet cover and dust ruffle.” You need to learn the import of curtains. You need to have all your bachelor gear and your open schedule tossed out in the ash pile.
Yes, I am speaking to you Joshua Dean Powers, as well as you Mr. Kildow, and if you don’t stop clowning around at the far end of the table, why, Father Riley will keep you around after school to clean the erasers, he will.
Second, The Pay The Bills Challenge. Everything about the Tour de France Challenge is epic, including the fiscal aspect. Sacrifices were made and now Mr. MasterCard is waiting on the front stoop of the house, with open palm.
Third, The Fix Up The House Challenge. Yes, in our absence, the dreaded list has only become longer. A little putty here, a little paint there, a few hundred trips to Home Depot, maybe a temper tantrum, and domestic dispute over what color to paint something, and soon enough, it will all be in good order.
We’ve all had strange dreams during this trip. One of my teammates is dreaming in French, even though he doesn’t speak the language.
I didn’t have a dream, but I did have a vision.
Fifty years from now, we open in an assisted care facility. Inside a small, tidy room, painted some sad hue of bright green is an old man, lying in bed. He has an IV tube in his arm, and he’s frail.
He’s struggling to breath, and there are scars up and down his arm from the numerous times he’s been poked, prodded, tested, and revived.
A well-read book on his bedside table, The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand, waits for him. As he naps, a pretty, young nurse walks into the room carrying a tray with the dinner that is perfectly prepared for the toothless: mashed potatoes, apple sauce, pureed vegetables, and a Hoodsie cup of ice cream.
“Dinner time,” she says.
The old man’s eyes open. His face is gaunt, his arms are thin, his hair is all gone except for one sad tuft on the back of his head.
Slowly, he sits up, looks at the young nurse, and says, “Are you new here?”
“I am,” she says. “My name is Heather.”
“Heather, why don’t you pull up a chair and I’ll tell you all about the time I rode the Tour de France. Not for the money, nor for the glory. But just for the absolute sheer hell of it.”
She sits down, listens, and thinks to herself, “My God, what a spectacular liar.”
Final Team Dinner in Paris
Around a long table, on the second floor of a stunning restaurant, we gather for the last dinner. To ease the transition to the real world, we are not required to wear our off-the-bike team uniforms.
Unlike the meals of the past 3 weeks, which were all about feeding your body enough calories, carbohydrates, and protein to get through the next ride, this is a celebration.
Tonight, Director Joe Tonon, who is usually telling us where to be and when to be there has no worries in the world. He makes a toast to salute each individual member of the team.
There is a menu involved in this dinner, and we all have to make a choice. Some hesitate, as we usually eat family style, and just shovel whatever is put in front of us into our gobs.
Today, we’ll gather in Joe’s room at 1:00 pm or so to view the Tour. But not until then. The Director needs some sleep.
Now that the Tour de France Challenge is over, we focus our attention on some new challenges.
First up, for the few of us on this trip who are courageous enough to be wed in Holy Matrimony, is the “Save The Marriage Challenge.” This will be every bit as grueling as training for and participating in the 3-week, 3000 plus kilometer ride we just endured. The past 10 months have involved a lot of time on the bicycle, and precious little time doing what married men are supposed to do, that is what they’re told. No doubt there will be some apple picking, baby sitting, shopping for fabric, house cleaning and other forms of reparations in our future.
To our cowardly teammates who live in a blissful state of single-dom, trading in one happy girlfriend for the next, we have nothing but acrimony. You all need some structure in your lives- a long list of things to do, some in-laws in inhospitable parts of the country to visit, a large box of assemble-it-yourself furniture to make you want to off yourself. You need to learn the meaning of “duvet cover and dust ruffle.” You need to learn the import of curtains. You need to have all your bachelor gear and your open schedule tossed out in the ash pile.
Yes, I am speaking to you Joshua Dean Powers, as well as you Mr. Kildow, and if you don’t stop clowning around at the far end of the table, why, Father Riley will keep you around after school to clean the erasers, he will.
Second, The Pay The Bills Challenge. Everything about the Tour de France Challenge is epic, including the fiscal aspect. Sacrifices were made and now Mr. MasterCard is waiting on the front stoop of the house, with open palm.
Third, The Fix Up The House Challenge. Yes, in our absence, the dreaded list has only become longer. A little putty here, a little paint there, a few hundred trips to Home Depot, maybe a temper tantrum, and domestic dispute over what color to paint something, and soon enough, it will all be in good order.
We’ve all had strange dreams during this trip. One of my teammates is dreaming in French, even though he doesn’t speak the language.
I didn’t have a dream, but I did have a vision.
Fifty years from now, we open in an assisted care facility. Inside a small, tidy room, painted some sad hue of bright green is an old man, lying in bed. He has an IV tube in his arm, and he’s frail.
He’s struggling to breath, and there are scars up and down his arm from the numerous times he’s been poked, prodded, tested, and revived.
A well-read book on his bedside table, The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand, waits for him. As he naps, a pretty, young nurse walks into the room carrying a tray with the dinner that is perfectly prepared for the toothless: mashed potatoes, apple sauce, pureed vegetables, and a Hoodsie cup of ice cream.
“Dinner time,” she says.
The old man’s eyes open. His face is gaunt, his arms are thin, his hair is all gone except for one sad tuft on the back of his head.
Slowly, he sits up, looks at the young nurse, and says, “Are you new here?”
“I am,” she says. “My name is Heather.”
“Heather, why don’t you pull up a chair and I’ll tell you all about the time I rode the Tour de France. Not for the money, nor for the glory. But just for the absolute sheer hell of it.”
She sits down, listens, and thinks to herself, “My God, what a spectacular liar.”
posted by joe berkeley at 10:03 PM
3 Comments:
You did it, Joe! One day at a time, on revolution at a time. Good for you!!!
I'm reading Happiness is a Choice. One thing I noticed in reading your humorous and entertaining story is your ever present willingness to see the good in each of your teammates and the best in each situation. I wasn't there to see how well you floated to the top of the mountains, but one thing is for sure: you were a good teammate.
Your blogs are truly an inspiration.
The way we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
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