Here is a simple thing: this morning, Pete and I went out on an early bike ride. The air was crisp and clear, the sun bright, the power walkers looked jaunty. I rode the majority of the course with my hands over my head, pretending to win a stage of the Tour de France – one of the tough stages in the Alps, where the winner really sticks it to the entire peloton and not one of the flat stages where twelve large men cross the line so close together only the cameras can tell who won. Oh who cares? It’s a stage at the Tour and my sponsors will go crazy! I win!

…And then I was yelling at the driver going the wrong way on the one way park road in a decidedly Jersey fashion.