Jen See's previous (sportif) work for The Toast can be found here.
July means long days at the beach and ice cream in the shade. It also means bike racing. For three weeks each July, the Tour de France hurtles through the countryside in a blur of kaleidoscopic color. There are sunflowers and rainstorms and massive mountain passes. The riders’ deeply etched muscles shift and twist under leathered skin. Their legs tell
Jen See last wrote for The Toast about cycling. She's very sporty. The clutch pedal feels cold under my bare foot, and there’s sand lodged in deep between my toes. I’m pretty sure I have ten of them, but I can only feel two or three. Sky, air, sea, they’re all grey, so much so that it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. The heater in my VW is episodic.
I’m working in my kit again. I thought I could escape, but then my phone started nagging. So I sat down to answer it and to reply to that other thing, and to edit that one thing and to make that other thing. Sitting still is hard. I just want to go ride. The internet is such a dick sometimes. So here I sit, my padded shorts feeling like diapers in my cushioned office chair.
