I would have liked to be able to report that during the Vuelta my hors categorie ironing mountain has been much reduced; but that would be a lie. If anything it’s grown and having sorted it into various piles, in an effort to make it look as if I’ve done something, it now closely resembles a Vuelta
parcours, not dissmilar to this. The small 3rd category climb is my pile of ironing while the remaining peaks are my husband’s. I have yet to figure out how this man generates so much ironing. I can only give thanks that his favoured sport of the moment (cycling) has kit which does not need ironing. A major improvement on tennis and golf where both kits have to be ironed. In addition, it requires some ingenuity to restore the snowy whiteness of tennis attire after he’s played on clay courts. It’s probably no different to dealing with the cycling attire of teams Francaise des Jeux, Columbia-HTC and Cervelo after a day riding in the rain. I wonder what they use? My weapon of choice is low temperature Ariel, plus Vanish (for whites), on a long, cool wash-cycle.
The wind of recent days has sucked the humidity out of the air and lowered the temperature a couple of degrees: ideal cycling weather. In addition, the heat haze has gone leaving clear views of both the coastline and hinterland for miles around.
My husband and I set off just ahead of the club on Sunday morning. Riding up to Le Rouret over tarmac still painted with the names of those who took part in this year’s Tour de France. At Pre du Lac we tagged onto a large group of riders who’d taken the opportunity to refill their bidons at the fountain. Halfway to Grasse, they suddenly all swerved right up a small tributary road. Who was I to argue with the collective, cumulative knowledge of the peloton. We followed and after a couple of short, steep ascents and descents found ourselves on the N85 Route Napoleon leading to St Vallier, by way of the Col du Pillon.
The hills were most definitively alive with the sound of cyclists. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many on the road. But then the French holidays are over and everyone is back at work. My husband remarked that I seemed to know most of them, or rather most of them know my name.
You see, my christian name, pronounced correctly, sounds exactly like the french word for “darling” and engenders amusement and affection in equal measures. Not long after I started riding with the club on a regular basis, I passed a clubmate, going in the opposite direction, in a group of about 30 riders. He hailed me from the other side of the road “Salut Sheree”. This occasioned some ribbing as the rest of the peloton queried why he was being so familiar with a woman who was not his wife. I could hear him vainly explaining that “Sheree” was my christian name.
While a lot of woman cycle, not many cycle with clubs. On average, we make up only 5% of those taking part in local pointages, cyclosportifs, brevets and randonnees. We all know one another by sight, if not by name. I am one of the fortunate few able to cycle most days and am therefore a well known figure on my distinctive bike.
It’s the combination of these two factors that accounts for my being somewhat infamous. But it’s rather companionable when you’re cycling along to be hailed by your name by those passing in either direction.