Afoot

My drive to get to France cannot be questioned. I’ve grown more serious about it with each cloistered hour spent parked in my office. How I plan to get there, though, is a question that I admit I cannot directly answer. Out of pocket? Sure, but that wouldn’t be prudent. After all, I once turned down law school to save money, and staring in the eye of a Masters program, I need to put something in the bank in case I don’t receive a stipend. Friendly donations? Let me answer that question with a question: Are you going to give me money to cycle around France? Some people might offer a little assistance, but raising funds for this takes more time than I can give at the moment. In a perfect world, I would rely on my budding skills in writing and research to piece together an unparalleled social critique to pay the bills. [I think I hear a little scoffing among the chirping crickets.] Hey now, I’m getting there, word by strategically typed word. Each of these presents an option worth pursuing, despite the seeming unlikelihood of any of them coming to fruition. In my mind, the gears never stop spinning. In some circles, I could be considered a touch anxious, if not obsessed, while in others, I’d be an outside-of-the-box thinker. I prefer the latter.

I mentioned my promotion. This was a mutually beneficial move by my superiors: I’m a familiar face in a familiar role that didn’t need much training, and I got a raise. I moved up the ladder because my friend and coworker, one step above me in the office, was moving to Jerusalem to study for a year. He earned a Fulbright grant to study political philosophy. One afternoon while ignoring stacks of paperwork, we started to talk about our academic interests. I studied liberal arts, and I’m still a sucker for sociological theory. He studied philosophy [You don’t say!], and still reeks of a thinking man. Eventually, the topic came around to his research grant, how he earned it, and what it meant to be a Fulbright scholar. My gears still grinding, a light bulb popped above my head right as he told him to apply for a Fulbright to study the social, political, and economic effects of the Tour. I could visit each town at which a Tour stage starts and ends before and after the race. At the time, I thought this was a flawless plan, so much that I contacted Fulbright advisors from DePauw, my alma mater. Conveniently, one of these Fulbright advisors had been my first year advisor and she remembered me. She loved my idea and desire to go after it. However, she found one small problem in my proposal: I don’t speak French. None. Nada. Solamente hablo ingles y español. ¡Hijo de puta, mae!

This brings me to today. I’ve been in constant contact with my advisor. She’s not a cycling fan by any definition, but, damn, she’s smart, and thinks outside of the box, too! She suggested something to me this afternoon that, thinking of it now, I’m embarrassed to say never crossed my mind. Logically, it breaks down like this:
I speak Spanish and I like cycling. In Spain, there are cycling tours. Therefore, I should propose a similar project for Spain.

Duh! ¡La Vuelta a España! Held annually in September since 1955, it is one of the Grand Tours of cycling, along with le Tour de France and il Giro d’Italia. I’d study the same effects of the race on Spain [i.e. how the fanaticism and flood of tourism affect the native culture and economy] that I would have studied for France.
I know what you’re thinking.

Flipflopper. It’s not the Tour. You lied, liar!

Oh, did I? Did I mention that Fulbright grants last one academic year? Relying on my savings, I’d be able to study in Spain, and then travel to France to ride the Tour, and perhaps watch it! Ah, sweet proximity! This is coming together quickly, and I do feel rushed. However, I’m energized and hungry. I’m attacking this head on and with my greatest effort.