Stage Sixteen

It’s been ovenish 100-degree heat the last two days. Fortunately I haven’t been under pressure to get down the road so both days I retreated to the shade during the brunt of the heat. On Monday’s Rest Day I planned to ride fifty or sixty miles of the Stage Sixteen loop that began and ended in Nimes, similar to the Brussels Stage One I would cut off some of the loop and get back to Nimes the next day in ample time not to have to be at the mercy of the whims of the gendarmes. 

The neutralized zone went on for six kilometers ending with the double course marker indicating The Race was on.  I’d gotten a late start after my late night with Ralph so didn’t even get to the Pont du Gard, fifteen miles into the stage when the heat grew too oppressive to push on when I didn’t really need to. When I came to a cemetery with a spigot of cold water and a cluster of trees I made it my oasis for the next three hours until the temperature relented. I felt blessed to have cold water, as I’ve been at cemeteries where the water came out hot and stayed hot even after I had filled all the three-gallon containers clustered around the spigot.

Every twenty or thirty minutes I’d duck my head under the spigot once again and soak my shirt and neckerchief. The second time I disturbed some bees who gave me a couple of stings that led to a swollen wrist. They chased me out of the cemetery through its side entrance. The desperate need for water made me warily slip back in half an hour later.  I was quick about my business before they could mount an attack. When the thermometer on my cyclometer dipped to 96 degrees sometime after four, I could feel the temperature becoming more tolerable than when it had been in triple digits.  As I resumed my ride the breeze I created helped cool me down.  The sun was noticeably less intense not so high in the sky.

It felt good to be back riding and approaching the Pont du Gard, the ancient Roman aqueduct that the peloton will be riding over.  If the organizers had chosen to have the route ridden clockwise it would have come late in the stage and a lot more TV viewers around the world would have had the opportunity to see the spectacular image of men hell bent on their bikes crossing this World Heritage Site. But since the racers entered and exited it on narrow service roads. it may have been decided to have them ride those stretches early on when it wasn’t crunch time.  

There were course markers before and after the Pont, but none on it. I’m not sure if I was violating a taboo to be riding my bike over the Pont, as I hadn’t done it on two previous visits, including this spring on the way to Cannes, but no one stopped me as I glided past the masses on foot walking it. The Gard River below was full of swimmers. I opted cooling down in the air-conditioned visitor center where I knew of an outlet to charge my iPad.

By seven the temperature had fallen into the 80s and remained there until I stopped riding at nine. There weren’t a great many people stationed along the route as there usually are, though some had marked their spots for the next day. I had as fine a campsite as I’ve had off in an olive orchard down a dirt path well away from the road. It’d been a short day of riding but fifty miles in such heat fifty felt as draining as if I’d done a hundred.

The next morning I picked up the route back to Nimes in Uzès, eighteen miles from the finish. I arrived well before the heat had become overly suffocating. The fan park full of sponsors at the stage start was mobbed. One could earn a polka dot jersey and cap by riding a spell on a stationary bike staring at a screen of race footage emulating the racers.  

The start was by the Roman Coliseum, now used for concerts and bullfighting and other events. The team buses were lined up nearby. A steady trickle of riders pedaled down a fenced off stretch to a platform by the start line where they went through the ritual of signing in as they must do before each stage or suffered a fine. It gives the fans a chance to cheer their heroses.  After signing in they’d return to the cool of their team buses awaiting the start. Some were wearing ice packs on their backs. I sat in the cool of the tourist office overlooking the proceedings.  

After the racers set off I went over to scout out the finish area a mile away. There were no fans there yet claiming a spot along the finishing stretch as there would have been if it hadn’t been so beastly hot. No one was even passing out water yet. The Giant Screen was at the 200-meter mark and there were patches of shade to sit under. I continued on to the local Decathlon to replace my front tire, which I didn’t need to do in Brussels, and also my rear derailleur cable which was fraying at the lever, poking my hand if I gripped it too strongly.  

It’s bike department had The Tour on its television. There wasn’t any need to pay it any attention on this flat stage, as nothing was likely to happen, especially in this heat, until the final sprint. I then spent an hour in the cool of a nearby McDonald’s taking advantage of its air conditioning, WIFI and electricity. An hour before the stage finish I returned to the Giant Screen. The entire finishing stretch was mobbed as if it was a pleasant fall day. I found some shade beside a police van until an officer ordered me to move my bike. I didn’t want to leave it in the sun, so sidled up against a building that still gave an adequate view of the screen. 

The five-man break that never was given much more than a minute leeway was reeled in a mile-and-a-half before the finish, ample time for the sprinters to get in position. The young Aussie Caleb Ewan became the first sprinter to win two stages this year, joining Simon Yates and Julian Alaphilipe as double stage winners. After twelve stages of a different winner each time, there have been three repeaters in the last four stages, and if Pinot can win a stage in the Alps to go along with his recent win in the Pyrenees, that will be four stages in a row of double winners.  

I had planned to head back to the Pont du Gard after the stage, where the next day’s stage would start, but since I’d be doubling back to Nimes afterwards and continuing to Le Caylar for the Slow Travel Festival, I opted to start riding to Le Caylar, eighty miles away, so I could avoid the mid-day heat the next day as well.  By riding in the relative cool of the morning and evening the next two days I could easily make  it to Le Caylar by Thursday evening to be in time for the first program at nine a.m. Friday.  So it was farewell to The Tour.  I’ll just have to make do with watching the final five stages on television.