Sunday, 21 July 2013

Park de Triomphe

Following in the wake of this year's Tour de France my Dad and I embarked on our own journey around the ever-lovely and currently in full bloom, Stanley Park.

I'll argue that our vistas were just as stunning as those in France.

We had the prodigious North Shore Mountains, like the bold strokes from Mother Nature's paintbrush, sweeping upwards against the blue canvas of the sky. Sail boats were rocking gently out on the rolling sea. Steep cliffs and trees hugged one side of our paved bike path and the ocean was on the other.

Happily wedged between a rock and a wet place, so to speak.

As I peddled around Stanley Park I did note a few similarities and differences between our excursion and France's infamous one. There were a handful of other bicyclers all moving in the same direction (courtesy of a separate biking lane and directional arrows) and, even if not necessarily a team, we were all enjoying the salty breeze whipping off the water and the spectacular landscape unfolding before us.

Our journey did not quite last as long as the Tour's twenty three days, more like an hour of leisurely cruising, and there were no victory laps around the Arc de Triomphe but a few hills did require some extra stamina to get up and over (a triumph in itself).

Upon completion there was no one standing beside our vehicle (which meant we still had money left on the meter, thank goodness). Neither of us was wearing the sacred canary yellow winner's jersey (I had dressed in red and he in tie-dye) and there was no award or medal to be hoisted proudly above our heads.

But not to worry, all this pedalling was not in vain because the scenery of Stanley Park is absolutely winsome.