We cheer with them. Lance wins Le Tour de France that day, but we don't know it yet. We finish a class in international relations. We pedal in front of Stage 12 into Revel. Bule firmament and heavy clouds compete for the sky.
Sunflowers remind that our man is in yellow.
Twenty minutes from Revel, the clouds win and pour buckets of warm water. A few spectators take cover under big roadside trees. I am alone, soaked with the hiss of tires on smooth wet blacktop. It is sunny at the finish line. I dry out.