Just as Christmas comes each December, and with it the anticipation and joy of the season, so the Tour de France comes each July. For what seems like forever, this means I get on a plane a week from now and fly to Paris, rent some sort of fast sturdy vehicle, and head off to find my press credential. Then I spend the next 23 days chasing the bike race around France. The month of July and road-tripping around France are synonymous in my mind, so much so that it seems weird to be staying home this year.

Once in a great while, I find it within myself to run over to the hill near my house that I call the Palm of God's Hand, and then push up that half-mile or so to the top. On a good day it is enough to run it just once, because the way is steep and the sun burns down hard on the unshaded path. If you watched footage of the fires from last autumn you'll know the sort of terrain I'm talking about; a good number of those blazes were a mere hundred yards from that hill.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spent the weekend with my wife in Jackson, Wyoming at the Snake River Lodge and Spa. It is a cozy little retreat, although the service bore the indifferent air that comes with seasonal help. It was one of those good food/good wine/trail run weekends. I ran long on Saturday, chugging up the mountain as a light snow flurry fell, enjoying the sound of snowmelt-fed streams and the rustle of tall pines blowing in the wind. Ran with Callie yesterday, coming upon herds of foraging elk and otherwise paying attention the whole way, lest we stumble upon a bear.

"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop." - Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland  

Trying to make order of my day....

Track season is winding down, which means it's time to start planning for cross-country, even though the first race is four months away. Back when I got into coaching it was something of a lark; a way to implement the knowledge I'd gained through decades of competition and training while at the same time ridding myself of the long-held dream that I might somehow qualify for the Olympic Trials. I had no idea that I would come to see some of the kids as my own children, in a way. I had no idea that I would spend hours doing mindless bureaucratic functions. And I had no idea that I would begin a constant search for the perfect fundraiser.

Here I am at McCarron International in Las Vegas,  my whirlwind three-day Land Rover/Nevada Passage adventure coming to an all-too-short end. It has been eye-opening to say the least, particularly for someone who doesn't do much in the way of offroad driving and who thought of Nevada as comprising just two distinct entities: Las Vegas and desert.