Stage Thirteen

I didn’t dare push on hoping to find another bar down the road when I came upon one in Puivert at 4:15, a full hour before Geraint Thomas then Julian Alaphilippe would be the last two riders to set out on the 18-mile time trial route in Pau. I wanted to see the entirety of their rides, especially after Alaphilippe promised to “hurt myself as much as possible” giving an all-out effort to keep the Yellow Jersey.

He fulfilled his promise with a stunning ride, besting Thomas by fourteen seconds and winning the stage, only the third time trial victory of his career. He became the first rider this year to win a second stage. With the effort he summoned on the time trial course, he is demonstrating nothing is out of the realm of possibility. The French may have their first winner in thirty-four years. I will have to get my hands on “L’Equipe” tomorrow. The front page headline will be one of unrestrained glee. There will be story after story further extolling this new French hero.  

For the sake of the French, and The Race, one has to hope Alaphilippe didn’t dig so deep today that he can’t recover for the next stage with its finish at the summit of the Tourmalet. Simon Yates suffered such a fate a year ago at the Giro when he gave too big of an effort in a time trial to maintain his lead in the race and outdo the time trial specialists. The Tourmalet will give Alaphilippe his next chance, as he did today, to prove he is for real and has transformed himself from a one-day specialist to a Grand Tour contender.  

He definitely has the conviction and could well will himself to another performance for the ages. He may be inspired by his failure to win the World Championship last year despite being a heavy favorite. Whenever he sees Valverde in the rainbow striped jersey that could have been his he may get a boost of energy. Once again he ended his ride with mighty hugs that could have crushed the less fit before collapsing to the pavement. He sat perched on a kerb guzzling a chilled bottle of Vittel water just as I had been hoping for myself in Toulouse two days ago. 

Alaphilippe’s incredible performance deflects all attention from what was anticipated to be the biggest story of the day—who was the stronger of the two Ineos riders, Thomas or Bernal. Many thought Bernal would win the stage, but he came in 22nd, losing 1:22 to his teammate, putting to rest for at least a day the contention of who should be the team leader. All could change on the climb up the Tourmalet, Bernal’s strength, but the time trial is “The Race of Truth.” If so, Pinot is still a strong threat, losing only thirty-five 

seconds to Thomas and riding with a grim determination that portends well in the days to come. It continues to be a humdinger of a race, largely thanks to Alaphilippe.

The young woman bartender asked if I was sticking around until Sunday when the peloton would pass through this small town. She could hardly believe that I had been following The Race from Belgium and was continuing on to Nimes for the two stages that will include the spectacular Pont de Gard. She said her brother and father were at their nearby home watching the stage, as they do every day. It would be the fourth time in her life that The Tour had passed through her village and when it didn’t she and her family went to see it somewhere in the vicinity. I asked her what her favorite item was from the caravan. She didn’t even have to think to say the tiny sausages.

I was a day early for the course markers to guide me, but official Tour plastic garbage bags with The Tour logo had already been set up along the route, confirming I was on course. I have brought such bags home as another Tour souvenir and once presented Christian Vande Velde with one.  Although he was quite aware of course markers, he didn’t know about the garbage bags mostly hidden by the crowds.  I didn’t quite reach Limoux, where Sunday’s stage will start, so I could well encounter the course marker crew setting out from Limoux in the morning as well as the Day Ahead riders. They’ll be giving me doubletakes not having seen me since Stage Four and going the “wrong way.”

For those concerned about how big of a dent Ralph’s thirty-five mile ride in an ambulance and several hours in the emergency room two days ago put in his pocketbook, they will be amazed to learn that there was no charge, even though he hails from Scotland. Such is the medical system in France.