Last September I went to Europe for my first time. As soon as I landed in Florence, Italy I was inspired. I took hundreds of photos and wrote pages of witty, apt, and flowery observations. When I got back to the US all I could think about doing was going to Europe again. I started collecting ski area vacation planners and seriously considered trying to learn anything in French, German or Italian. But sadly this is about as far as I got.
Then in late winter I remembered a long-standing offer a friend had made. This friend goes to France every July for this little sporting event they have over there. This friend had on multiple occasions said Raquel (he calls me Raquel) you should crash on my floor and ride my coattails through France sometime. And this friend restated the offer when I called him in March and said Roberto (I call him Roberto) I am seriously considering riding your coattails this July, you see I am turning 35, my marriage is falling apart, and I can think of no better rite of passage into my now single, late-30's than being surrounded by hundreds of men in spandex who weigh less than I do.
This is how I came to book a Mileage Plus ticket to Geneva and a few days of following my dear friend around the Tour 'D' France. (I am aware that Le Tour is actually Le Tour de France, but in honor of my friend Roberto I shall refer to it as he pronounces it.) Then I mentioned this plan to my best friend Ms. Lara Beth Mitchell, also a very dear friend of Roberto's. Beth too had an abundance of United miles, three hours and ten agents later she had a ticket to Paris and now this jolly threesome had a plan. Roberto would work, Beth and I would eat and drink our way through the Tour D France and generally try not to distract Roberto too much.
Of course the ultimate goal here is to be the girls who hand out a jersey to that day's leader. We aren't picky - pink polka dots, green, heck if there is some obscure lemoncello jersey given to the guy who shaved his legs the best that stage, I'd settle for that one!
This was Plan A, the plan from which all others sprung and it was a damn fine plan.