Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 4

What an amazing stage -- with Contador, Evans, Hushovd, and Gilbert all battling it out at the finish! The "Wall of Brittany" certainly lived up to its evocative name, here in its first Tour de France appearance as a stage finish (See interesting comment from Trevor of the Purple Traveller blog below, correcting an earlier version of this post where I wrote that it was the Wall's first-ever appearance in Le Tour. Thanks, Trevor!)

Like yesterday, the scenery was just incredible. Gone are the red roofs of the Vendee region. Here in Brittany, we're being treated to the beautiful greys of the shops, houses, and village cathedrals, and the deep greens of the forests. And so it's that dark, mysterious forest that is the subject of my TdF watercolor for today, as the peloton races through Brittany on its way to the Mur de Bretagne.

Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 3

There were so many dramatic scenes I could have chosen to paint for Stage 3. The peloton crossing the incredible St. Nazaire Bridge, Tyler Farrar forming a "w" with his fingers as a victory salute to the late Wouter Weylandt, and Yellow-Jersey wearer Thor Hushovd cheering on his teammate Farrar at the finish all would have made for wonderful subjects.

But one of the things I love about watching the Tour is discovering the little slices-of-life that make Old World France so unique. I've been visiting with my parents in North Carolina this week while on vacation, and one the things my mother (who is a great Tour de France fan) enjoys seeing are shutters that actually work!


Here in the US, shutters are pretty much decorative. They're just nice window dressings permanently nailed open. They don't even have hinges anymore. But in France, sometimes the shutters are open and sometimes they're closed. Sometimes they're bright blue, red, green, or brown. And sometimes, if you look closely enough, you can see a Tour de France fan inside wearing a yellow shirt and hat cheering on the race.

So to all the French fans throwing open their shutters, waving the Tri-Color, and shouting "allez! allez!" at their favorite riders ... this painting is for you.

Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 2

For this very exciting Team Time Trial stage, I was going to paint the winning team, Garmin-Cervelo, racing through the beautiful village of Les Essarts, with "Etape 2" (Stage 2) rising out of the background. But after painting the riders so stark against the white paper, I looked at it for a moment and thought: "you know, that's pretty nice just as it is."

Because the mechanics of a team time trial are a beautiful thing alone. An even line of riders, speeding ahead at rates of over 40 mph, rotating leaders at the front like a graceful machine ... it's a thrilling site.

Keen observers will notice that I did not include Thor Hushovd's Polka Dot King-of-the-Mountains jersey in this painting. That's because it just didn't look right on Thor! We're used to him in green, sprinting toward the finish ... not laboring up a mountain in polka dots (besides, it really belonged to Philippe Gilbert, who was in the Yellow Jersey). So I took a little creative license and gave Thor a matching Garmin-Cervelo outfit. After winning yellow at the end of this stage, I'm sure Thor was happy to be out of those polka-dots too.

I may go back and finish this painting at some point. But for now, it's all about Garmin-Cervelo. Congrats our great American team!

Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 1

The Tour de France is back!

For me, the month of July is all about the Tour. That means watching the coverage on Versus each evening, and then breaking out the watercolors to continue what has become an annual tradition on this blog ... a Tour project! Because after seeing something so monumental and beautiful every night, you just have to do something.

And this year, my project is all about color.


Sometimes abstract, sometimes more literal, and sometimes a little of both, I hope to capture a bit of the real -- and even imagined -- colors of each stage. Connecting each painting: "Etape", the wonderful French word for "Stage".

This year, the Tour literally seemed to rise from the sea, as the riders crossed the Passage du Gois -- a road that twice-a-day is completely submerged by high tides, connecting the Beauvoir-sur-Mer to the Vendee region of France. We didn't see much of that crossing on T.V., since it happened very early in the race. But it was that long mysterious road that still formed the mythology of this stage.

And so today, even with all the drama of crashes and sprints that shook up the General Classification ... it was the peloton's crossing of the sea that was foremost in my mind. The blues of water and sky, browns of the seabed, the greens of the Vendee countryside, a hint of red for all those red-roofed towns, and one long, dark road illuminated by the peloton ... those are the colors that stood out in my mind in Stage 1.

As an aside, June was a very eventful month for me, which I'll be reporting on within the next couple weeks. I just finished the two-day, 150 mile Boston-to-Provincetown MS Ride -- an incredible experience. So stayed tuned for details!

Zoncolan

It could be something from Science Fiction, as in...

Han Solo stopped for lunch on Planet Zoncolan.

...or fantasy...

The villagers ran for cover at the sight of Zoncolan, the fiery dragon.

...or politics...

The left-wing crowd marched on the square, carrying signs proclaiming their candidate, Zoncolan.

But no, it comes from the world of cycling! The Monte Zoncolan is one of the toughest mountains in the 2011 Giro d'Italia, and, as Universal Sports commentator Todd Gogulski described it: "One of the most wicked climbs in all of cycling".

The road to the top winds through green forests, dark tunnels, and treeless heights. It's so narrow that team cars have to be left at the base while mechanics follow their riders on motorbikes. One of those motorbikes couldn't take the 22% grade and broke down in a great puff of smoke. I imagine some of the riders were ready to do the same.

There's something very Italian about the Zoncolan climb. The motorbikes were chugging away behind the riders, the spare bikes were draped precariously over the mechanics' shoulders, protests on an earlier climb led to the Zoncolan being routed earlier into the stage, the fans were wild, and the scenery was stunning -- all of which gave it a feeling of controlled chaos peppered with so much passion and love.

And then there's that wonderful word ... Zoncolan. It just doesn't look right in boxy print. It needs to have a darker edge to it, like something hastily painted on the side of a wall late at night when no one's looking.

Rather than paint a realistic scene from the climb, all I wanted to do was write that word with the flair it deserves. So that's what I did, against a backdrop of those rich green and brown colors that make this singular mountain stage so beautiful.

A Quiet Ride

Bike rides can be epic and grand, or contemplative and quiet. It's often those quiet rides that are the most evocative, bringing back thoughts and memories that extend well beyond the ride itself.


Words are like that too. For each of us, the simplest of words can be filled with a wealth of personal meaning.

One of my favorite words has always been "rambles". Miriam-Webster's online dictionary defines it as: a leisurely excursion for pleasure; an aimless walk. That's really nice. But for me, what makes the word so special is that it reminds me of Don Adcock.

Mr. Adcock was my high school private flute teacher in my childhood home of Raleigh, North Carolina. In addition to being a great jazz and classical flutist, he was also the director of the North Carolina State University Music Department and the best flute teacher in the city.

Nothing got by Mr. Adcock during my lessons. Rushing the tempo, ignoring a dynamic marking, or missing a note would provoke an animated “What?! Did you hear what you just did?" I wish you could have heard him say those things though, because they were spoken with a voice full of humor, enthusiasm, and a love of music and teaching. Mr. Adcock was tall and thin, with a full head of grey hair, and despite struggling with arthritis that severely limited his own flute playing, he seemed to bound into the room with an endless supply of energy.

One of Mr. Adcock's favorite flute exercise books was "60 Rambles for Flute" by Leon Lester. Each Ramble was only a few lines long, but they were jazzy little gems.

“I just love these little Rambles,” Mr. Adcock would so often say, looking over my shoulder at a few bars I had just played. The Rambles weren’t all that difficult technically -- they had none of the twisty finger combinations found in the notoriously tough Paris Conservatory etude books. But those sweet little Rambles had a unique difficulty all their own. They were about learning to play a melody, and playing it beautifully. With enough practice, you can teach your fingers to perform just about any series of notes. Playing a tune with a singular beauty takes something far deeper.

When I was deciding on a name for my blog, "rambles" was the first word that came to my mind. Although I didn't consciously name it after that exercise book, I could hear Mr. Adcock's voice saying the word and it felt perfect. Through those short, lilting melodies, my teacher taught me that even the simplest things have an inner beauty and complexity all their own. Given a little dedication and care, they can unfold into something truly extraordinary.

I'm sorry to say that last Saturday my mother called me with sad news. Don Adcock had passed away.

I wish I could do something like paint a watercolor, as I did in the last post about the very public death of cyclist Wouter Weylandt. But the death of a teacher and friend is more difficult than that. Sometimes the best we can do is simply set aside some thoughtful moments in the days ahead, reminisce with family and friends, take a quiet bike ride, and remember.

Moving Tribute at the Giro

The riders, team leaders, and race organizers created a beautiful tribute to Wouter Weylandt on Stage 4 of the Giro d'Italia.


In this atmospheric watercolor I painted, depicting the last few miles of Stage 4, the line of Weylandt's eight Leopard-Trek teammates lead the peloton to the stage finish, joined by Tyler Farrar -- a good friend of Weylandt's on the Garmin-Cervelo Team, whom the Leopard-Trek riders thoughtfully invited to ride with them.

Not only did the riders choose to neutralize Stage 4 in honor of Wouter Weylandt (which means they just rode together as a pack without racing), but they organized themselves with a very touching choreography. Each of the teams spent a few minutes at the front of the peloton, ending with Weylandt's team, Leopard-Trek.

The smooth progression through the beautiful Italian Riviera, the poignant hand-written signs and applause from the Italian cycling fans lining the side of the road, and even the sensitive commentary by the Universal Sports announcers all made for a very moving tribute, full of camaraderie. Only in cycling could this occur.

It was a very sad day, but so full of heart.