Stage Seventeen

A third straight day of triple digit temps.  I managed to lay low for six hours during the most intense heat after getting in a good morning ride, followed by an equally satisfying evening ride.  Though I was still riding in the 90s I didn’t feel as if I had suffered a day of being baked as I did the previous two days. After staying out of the sun mid-day and staying well-hydrated, I didn’t end the day in my tent feeling as if I needed to drink and drink.  I reached Ganges by eleven, a city I have some acquaintance with having passed through it a dozen times or more on the way to or from Craig. Two years ago Janina and I enjoyed the best campsite of our ride across France outside of Ganges along a river with an absolutely divine swimming hole.  It was hard not to return to it, but I needed to keep riding.

For the first time, I was able to sample the library in Ganges.   Unfortunately it’s summer hours were just nine to one.  I had hoped to make it my afternoon refuge until four when I would venture off to a bar for The Tour, but it was probably for the best that I was forced to go elsewhere, as it was stuffy and stifling without air conditioning nor any open windows, just a few fans stirring the fetid air. At first I thought the electricity was out, as no lights were on to contribute to the heat. This was ovenish in its own way, a slow simmer.  

I tried a park bench after it closed, but the pavement around it radiated heat.  I entered “cimetiére” into my GPS.  There was one just a few blocks away within fhe city.  It had the water I was looking for so I could periodically soak my head and shirt.  Pouring water over my head, as the racers have been doing the past two stages, makes surviving the heat considerably easier.  It also had a bench in the shade and a rare outlet adjoining its toilet.  This was a dramatic contrast to the mayhem of The Tour I was in the thick of less than 24 hours ago. Despite the heat, three others paid a visit to the cemetery during my time there.  Relatives regularly visit graves of a loved one in France, not bringing flowers, but rather a brush and rags and water to add a shine to a tombstone.  Those performing the ritual were an elderly man and later an elderly woman with her granddaughter, no doubt fulfilling a promise they made to a spouse.

I had a handful of bars to choose from.  I had verified that a less than glitzy one had a television earlier in the day, but it was rather small so I tried another.  On a hot day such as this no one was sitting out in the sun.  The Cafe de France had a larger television and it was tuned to The Race.  I had been monitoring the progress of the peloton before seeking out a television so knew there was a breakaway of more than thirty riders fifteen minutes up on all the significant players in The Race on this last benign stage before three monstrous days in the Alps.   But these thirty would be racing with vigor for the stage win while the rest conserved their energy for the Alps, when all hell will break loose.

I knew I had chosen the right bar when I saw the day’s “L’Equipe” laying on a table and when my menthe á l’eau was served with a carafe of cold water twice the size of the glass I was given with two fingers worth of mint syrup.  This was the traditional way, not very often observed.  My drink would start out strong and then get progressively thinner as I added more and more water to it.  The consistency might vary, but it would be fully refreshing from first sip to last.  

A category three climb before the plunge to the finish in Gap had nullified the aspirations of all the sprinters, otherwise their teams would not have allowed a break to have so much time.  Just before the climb the Italian Matteo Trenton riding for the Australian Michelton-Scott team made the winning move.  He had more energy left than anyone else and was able to hold everyone off and claim the fourth stage win for Mitchelton-Scott.  And there could be more to come in the Alps if Simon Yates infiltrates another break as he did twice in the Pyrenees.  They were almost gimme wins for him, as he is one of the top climbers in the sport and winner of last year’s Vuelta.  The peloton has only allowed him in the breaks because he purposely lost boatloads of time, over an hour, in the early stages so he would be no threat to the GC riders.  It’s enabled him to sneak off with the lesser lights in the peloton and then finish them off.  It’s what Nibali could be doing if he’d only lose more time.

Next up are some of the most notorious climbs in the Alps all in one stage, the cols de Var and Izoard and then the Galibier, which I crossed nearly two months ago having to push my bike through snow.  It will be the next great separator and test for Alaphilippe.  Matt White, former teammate of Armstrong and director of Mitchelton-Scott, predicts Alaphilippe will be over an hour down before Paris.  Tomorrow could be the first giant step in that direction.  The question then is who inherits Yellow.  Will Pinot continue to be the dominant climber and leave all behind again or will Bernal shine at the upper elevations that are his forté or will Thomas grind it out as he did last year in the Alps winning two stages or will the German or Dutch up-and-comers, Buchmann and Kruigswijke, fully assert themselves or will Landa launch a monumental attack.  Anything is possible.  It will be riveting and the stage couldn’t be more spectacular.  This is a day that fans of racing live for.