The excitement of hearing the TV helicopter approaching

I'm not a photographer, nor do I claim to be one. My little digital camera is rather pathetic, as are the pictures I take with it. But sometimes, by sheer luck, a few of the pictures I take turn out to be pretty acceptable (at least I think so). That was the case at this year's Tour of Flanders.

About the pictures:
Since I was in Flanders, I was required by law to take pictures the local flag, shiny legs, riders looking exhausted, middle aged women trying to get into someone else picture of Tom Boonen, young girls admiring Ted King, and a washing machine full of cycling pantaloons. You know, the standard Belgian vistas that everyone admires when visiting that part of the world.

Notice the fact that there are no pictures of the actual race. There's a reason for this, and let me explain it. As I hear the TV helicopter approach at races, my palms start to sweat a bit. I'm overcome with excitement, and the five year old in me can't believe I'm actually standing on the side of the road in Europe, watching a race of this caliber.

Actually, even the adult version of me can't believe it either.

For the most part, I'm simply unable to take pictures as the race goes by, because I fear I'll miss a real moment for the sake of capturing it in a not-so-great picture that I'll end up deleting anyway. I'm overcome with this excitement every time I know the race is coming, despite the fact that I aim to see races go by as many as six or seven times.

Perhaps one day I'll be able to take some pictures during a race. Perhaps a couple of them will be pretty good. If that ever happens, I'll be happy. But I hope I never stop getting excited when I hear the TV helicopter approaching.

And lastly, two unrelated pictures that I didn't take, but go well together. Ruben Dario Gomez on a breakaway at the Vuelta a Colombia in the early 1960s (which I posted not long ago, and was taken by Horacio Gil Ochoa), and Rigoberto Uran training in his native department of Antioquia in 2010.