Long Road Home.

Really wasn't that bad. Sneaking Goran in and out of hotel rooms has never been so worth it. Kris and I hit the jackpot by scoring a hotel room in Provo that had OLN. We got the watch the Floyd explosion and redemption stages in the Tour de France. It puts our idea of suffering into perspective.

Russian River Rope Swings. Floated all day to beat the heat.

Goran stayed in the water most of the day. He was still paddeling in his slept that night on the hotel floor.
Picnik in the shade with some Fume' Blanc and our Maitre De' Kris w/a K.
Back home. Time for r&r and one of my favorite days on the calinder. I must be a obnoxious euro cycling fan encarnate. There is nothing I enjoy more than screaming at triathletes as they slog up the steep pitches of old stage road.

I should have taken a lesson from Landis and just kept a bottle in my hand. Riding through the California heat wave sucked. Two bottles on the front side feed and one on the back. Nine in total but i'd say I drank about six. Three more than any thing I've done in competition.

The perfect gut. A good three inches over the belt line. The avalanche of flab, seemingly about to fall on my shoulder. Is this what happens when you stop riding?

Super COMo Mom.

Ahh, the suffering didn't stop at the XC. I lasted longer that ever (16:40) at the short track, in slightly warmer weather.