The Story of No. 133

   There is a picture running through my mind this morning, probably because I watch too much of the Tour de France these days. Even as I flick on the TV for a moment before sitting down to read and write, there is the Tour again. They have already started on Stage 16, and I am caught up in it for a few minutes before I remember why I am sitting here on this couch in this early hour.

   I see this picture, taken from the helicopter showing this giant snake of riders writhing down some back road in a far away country. This, of course, is the peloton, the mass of riders from participating teams as they do their jobs on the way to the end of the day's race.

   But here is the shot that presents what I see in the Tour:

   A mass of faceless riders, filling the road, trying to do their individual jobs on a team that is looking to capture a prize at the end of 21 days of racing.

   The book I want to read is one written by a member of the peloton, a man that no one outside his family and friends knows, a man that is only known to those who watch the race by the number on his back, the man that rides in the peloton, with other men in the same situation, who has a story to tell.

    I see that 198 men began this tour on Stage 1. Now there are 169 left on Stage 16. The TV media has been quick to tell us about the leaders of the race, the men who are in the hunt for the four jerseys presented on the podium in Paris at the end of Stage 21, but how about the rest? How about No. 133 in the red and black? What is his story?

   No. 133 does have a story, but so does No. 83 and No. 46 as well as the faceless No. ??? farther up or behind in that pack of riders. There are 169 stories in the group in Stage 16 on today's ride. These are all connected by the effort of the peloton, but each has a life before the race and one after. They may connect again, but maybe not. Stories abound.

   This morning already I have talked to a man with his dog on the cart path, waved to a man practicing on the golf course, another wave to a man backing out of his driveway, a nod to the yard workman trimming a bush and a wave to a stranger going by in a car. All those people are living in a story that is important to them.

   Sometimes I wonder what their life might be like. What are their thoughts, fears, triumphs or concerns?

   Then I wonder to myself, is it just curiosity on my part as I think about others, or do I really care about them, especially those that I do not even know?

   Faceless people inhabit my world. They will be out there today. If I think on them at all, will it be curiosity or something else?

   I pray for eyes to see and a heart to care.

   Their stories are important, too…..