Interruption of service?

The morning newspaper confirmed that it has been a coolish summer with the information that the temperature has reached the average high only three times in July. Today seems likely to be the fourth, although it still needs a couple of ticks to make it. I rode at mid-day, it was sunny and warm with light breezes.

I rode over to the big city on the west bank of the river. I rode north to the end of the river road and then veered over to North Second Street to explore a bit further. There is a bike lane on North Second as it passes through an area devoted mostly to manufacturing plants and metal salvage yards. I rode all the way to 36th Avenue before starting back.

That bike path doesn't get very much bicycle traffic as I have ridden on gravel roads with less sand, gravel and trash on them than what I rode over trying to stay mostly in that lane. It was necessary to stay in the lane as there were lots of pretty industrial trucks zinging by in the traffic lane and they seemed pretty resistant to the idea of sharing the road, even that part of the road clearly marked as "bike lane". Even with the trucks though, it was pretty interesting, very different from the Eight Lakes Tour, and a nice ride.

I came across this within half a mile of home and immediately assumed that I was in for an unannounced, and as usual, an uncompensated interruption of service. I had a rant all made up before I even got all the way home.But alas, service is still on, I am on the internet with cable TV and the third or fourth daily replay of le Tour de France droning on in the background.

I said this when he won the Tour in 2007 and I am going to say it again, the current Tour leader doesn't look clean to me. For me, Contador too closely fits the Michael Rasmussen mold, a skinny climber who unexpectedly? also discovers the ability to time trial at a such a high level that he is able to defeat the likes of Cancellara, the Olympic time trial champion. By the way, I am also firmly on record with suspicions about both of the Schleck brothers. None of those guys pass my personal duck test, they don't look or ride like they are clean. Quack, quack, quack: Dirty.