As the Grand Départ grows imminent, less than five days away, I’ve been putting the final touches on my preparations. During my two days in Tours with Florence and Rachid I was able to lighten my load by better than ten percent. I sent home a box of cold weather gear (a fluff jacket, tights, gloves, booties) and a few other items including stuff from Cannes—the program, a bag and some literature. I was also able to unload a few things on Florence and Rachid—a paperback, another bag from Cannes and some road booty— a water bottle, a knife and a bright pink cable for recharging one’s phone.
I mailed the box the day before we indulged in one of the favorite pastimes of the French, a vide grenier, a huge communal garage sale. Every town has at least one during the warmer months and advertises it for weeks. Those are the most common signs I see every day. Florence and Rachid could go to one or more every Sunday all summer in the many communities that surround the large city of Tours. The one we went to was alongside a large park in downtown Tours. I was hoping I didn’t find something I really wanted, not wishing for the added weight or having to send another package home. I was looking for books on cycling, especially one of the fifty by Jean-Paul Ollivier. That I could leave behind and pick up on another occasion.
I saw quite a few books among all the knickknacks, but none on cycling. It’s likely though that Florence will start finding them, as she is a great devotee of the vide grenier and will be happy to have something to look for. Florence has long intended to pay the nominal fee to be a vendor herself. She was surprised to see someone she works with at a table, the lady in the photo above. She had a few books. Florence asked if she had any by Ollivier and was surprised that she knew who he was, though she had none of his books.
The only sports books I saw was one on rugby and another on Zidane, the French soccer hero. If I had been looking for something to read in English, I would have had only one choice, a book on London. There were plenty of well-worn classics by Zola and Balzac. Florence’s one purchase was a Balzac. Rachid came close to buying a sketch signed by Picasso going for a mere fifty euros, a real steal if it were authentic. Someone else swooped in and got it while Rachid was contemplating it. The woman also had a portrait of Johnny Hallyday that she was sure to sell. One of the more popular items among the many sellers were bicycle helmets for children. There were a few bikes, but nothing of note. One guy had two Skoda sun hats from The Tour de France caravan. He had them priced at twenty cents.
If I’d found an Ollivier, especially one of his books on Bobet, that could have been the highlight of my visit to Tours, but instead it might have been watching France defeat Argentina 4-3 with Rachid to advance to the final eight in the World Cup. Rachid certainly had his heart in the game, not even relaxing when France was up 4-2 with less than five minutes remaining. A two goal advantage is generally insurmountable. He wanted a fifth goal so he could really relax. When Argentina closed to within one he felt fully justified in wanting that extra goal. It was the first of two games for the day, my first soccer doubleheader ever. The winner of the second between Uruguay and Spain would determine France’s next opponent. It would have been nice to face Spain so France could knock out the two biggest stars of the tournament, Messi of Argentina and Ronaldo of Spain, but Uruguay prevailed saving some honor for South America. Of the final sixteen teams, nine are from Europe and four from South America, with Russia, Mexico and Japan rounding out the field. France and Uruguay will go at it Friday the evening before The Tour commences.
There was no bike ride with Florence and Rachid this year as they have become attentive to the air quality index and the ninety degree heat had put it at a level that was inadvisable for outdoor activity. That meant for the first time in the two months I’ve been in France I went a day without riding the bike. It was no doubt good for the legs. It gave me ample time to sort through my gear and make some repairs and adjustment, including gluing the sole back on one of my Tevas and scrubbing the scum out of my four water bottles.
I thought I might replace my chain and tires in Tours, but decided to put an extra hundred miles on them and do it in Cholet. It turned out to be an opportune time as much of my gear was wet from a deluge the day before and I could lay them out in the sun while I tended to my repairs. I’d put over 3,000 miles on my chain since arriving in France. I generally replace it after 2,500 before it starts wearing the teeth on the cassette. Fortunately there was no excessive wear and the new chain was fully compatible. I also made adjustments to my derailleurs making it easier to slip onto the big chain ring up front and the small ring in back for when I really need to push it.
It was nice to be back in Cholet where the countdown outside the mediatheque was a J-5. The library was taken over by bikes.
There were also several displays of cycling books, one featuring an Ollivier on Bobet. There are so many French books on cycling it was a genuine surprise to find none at the vide grenier. They may be just too prized to relinquish.
My greatest final adjustment and relief for The Tour was buying a new battery to charge with my generator hub. My two batteries had worn out and had finally stopped charging at all just before Tours. The new battery came with a cable identical to what I had been using. I was thrilled to discover that my old cable had become defective and it was the root of all my charging headaches the past month. I never would have guessed it. It showed no wear whatsoever. I was certain it had to be the generator or the transformer or most likely just worn out batteries. But the batteries are fine and now I am too. If I had lost my ability to generator electricity I would have been back to scavenging it at cathedrals and tourist offices and campgrounds, which I wouldn’t have much time for as I chased the peloton.
My chase has been made considerably easier too by finding a train from Brittany to the Alps that can accommodate me and my bike, saving my legs some 400 miles. Florence had been helping me find one, but we were continually stymied by the bike slots all being filled. We had been looking for trains from Rennes and Nantes and Tours to Annecy, but there were none in the three or four day window that would have worked for me. A most helpful agent in Cholet found a train with two transfers from Vannes, about fifty miles south of Mur de Bretagne, to Lyons, fifty miles from Annecy, and with only a five euro charge for my bike. That works fine other than getting me into Lyon at ten pm. I ought to be able to watch the Roubaix stage and then the World Cup final later that evening, hopefully featuring France, in Annecy the day before The Tour entourage arrives the next day, some flying and many making the long drive. I ought to be well rested and ready for the mountainous second half of The Race.
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