I wasn't kidding yesterday when I said I can't remember what the hell I wrote about before the Tour. Hell, I don't even remember what I did before the Tour. For three weeks (minus two rest days), we've been getting up early, watching live coverage on TV, getting to work a tad late, and racing home in the evenings to watch the re-broadcasts of each stage two or three more times before going to bed. We've had such singular focus on the race that we're going through serious withdrawal. Chris looked at me this morning before leaving the house and said, "What are we going to do tonight?" I had no answer.
This is temporary, I know that - it happens every year. This time it's only slightly different in that the era of Lance is over. We'll still be watching the Tour next year, though, cheering on someone else.
And we do have other things to talk about. Namely, we're still supposedly going to be traveling in September, though we don't yet know where (we're starting in Berlin, but after that it's a mystery) or for how long. I don't generally leave planning for a trip until this late, so it might be, by default, more of the spontaneous kind of travel Chris is always wanting to try (and which my Type-A personality resists mightily). Even before that, Chris' sister is coming for a week-long visit in August, before she begins her work-a-day life as a music teacher, and we're coming up with a list of possible activities to interest her (though she's already put in a few requests, all involving food - I like her style).
So, there's much to do, and much to talk about. But I'm sure you won't begrudge me this one day of Tour mourning, will you? Gee, thanks.