tour de france

The Prologue

Tomorrow is my 30th birthday. To mark the occasion, while I will permit myself a small glass of champagne (and probably a little cry) celebrations must be muted and existential crises need to be, if not entirely averted, then at least postponed. For at dawn on Sunday morning I will spray on a layer of lycra, don a pair of boots not made for walking and join several thousand others at the start of this year’s Etape du Tour. Ninety miles and some 30,000 revolutions later – barring disaster – it will be over. Continue reading