So, I feel that my readers have been deprived. The watchful wino is therefore back, with more material. As promised, today's post will cover the sojourn I made with a Marine buddy to the Tour de France, 2009.

It was Lance Armstrong's comeback year, and I was not about to miss it. The idea got started when I realized, what is stopping you from going? Nothing. Just get the plane ticket, drive to Mont Ventoux for the pen-ultimate stage of the race, where all would be decided, drink some good wine, and go from there :-)

So that's what we did. My friend had a travel agent acquaintance in California. She graciously got us a wicked price on Air France, and I just needed to send her a check, which I promptly did.

We showed up in Paris, my home away from home. Spent a day there, got a train to Marseille, rented a car (a Renault Picasso diesel), and we were on our way through the southern French countryside to a place called Vers (Pont-Du-Gard). We showed up there after getting a bit lost and taking in the amazing scenery.

Upon arrival, there was a group of brits, aussies, and new zealanders quaffing the local wine, and they invited us to partake. It just so happened that we had procured about 4 bottles ourselves at the local Carrefour, the french version of Walmart, and we pulled those out, along with the corks, and had at it.

I pontificated on international affairs for a while, convinced all concerned that the US was not as nefarious as they had been led to believe, and we parted ways for an early morning trek out to the Pont-Du-Gard (the famous, ancient roman aqueduct in the area - see above for a shot).

After exploring there, it was time to set out for Mont Ventoux (le Geant de Provence - above) for an overnight in the car, in preparation for the race the next day.

We showed up for the race. Without cooking facilities, we were left to munch on French saussicon sec and a few bottles of local vino. Both, along with my ability to speak French, contributed to the pandemonium of the evening (that and a about 1 million other people who showed up to watch the race).

The next morning, with not too much of the Irish flu abounding, we undertook the treck up the 18km mountain. Made it about 15k before the Gendarmerie coraled everyone to the side of the road; the race was approaching. And they wizzed by. We saw the eventual winner, Alberto Contador, Lance himself, and the Schleck brothers ride by the Chalet Reynard, where we were posted, and then it was over. An amazing experience.

After which we promptly got lost on the way down. No worries. I used my language skills to hitch a ride with the Gendarmes back to our car. So sirens blaring and light flashing, I ended up with a police escort, door-to-door service :-)

Spent the rest of the vacation on the beach at Juan-les-Pins, and headed reluctantly back to Charles de Gaulle airport. Again, an experience I highly recommend, if you ever get the chance.

More to follow. And in case you were wondering, the signature Loose! I typically close with is a reference to the English longbow men of old...

Loose!