Stage Two

Merckx continued to be a strong presence with huge photographs of him mounted on buildings and smaller ones adorning poles along the eighteen-mile team time trial route through Brussels.

There seems to be a bottomless reservoir of stirring photos of Eddy capturing his intensity and charm.

The route also featured a symmetrical conglomeration of bikes designed by a genuine craftsman. Those with a sharp eye will notice that the course marker in the background has a new logo in two of its corners, the first change in over fifteen years. I wasn’t planning on adding any more this year to my collection, but now I must.

Rather than hanging around Brussels all day waiting for the time trial to commence at 2:30, I had a glorious day back biking in pastoral France where homage is paid to their Tour at every turn. I completed eighty miles of the next day’s stage as far as Reims, then started in on Stage Four, getting twenty miles down the course for my first century of The Tour, commemorating the centennial of the Yellow Jersey.  I ought to set a goal of one hundred miles every day, but that will be thwarted after Stage Four when I meet up with Yvon and spend a couple days with him in Mulhouse for the two stages in his backyard. 

I spent a little more time than anticipated on the bike as I couldn’t find a bar to watch any of the day’s action until I reached Reims shortly after it ended, just in time to watch the Jumbo-Visma team of yesterday's stage winner take the podium.  The Yellow Jersey inspired them to beat Ineos by twenty seconds. It was a remarkable performance by the Dutch team. All twenty-two teams were within two minutes of one another. A mere twelve seconds separated the second through eighth teams with the biggest surprise the French FDJ team of Thibout Pinot only losing 12 seconds to Ineos. Pinot may be a genuine threat.  Froome before he crashed out of the Dauphiné did comment that he  thought Pinot was the strongest climber there.  Three of the five French teams in The Race finished in the bottom four, as the French teams generally do.

The new course markers hadn’t been posted when I started riding at 7:30.  I kept waiting for the crew in three yellow vans that puts them up to catch up to me and start marking the way.  When I stopped for groceries at 9:30 I came out hoping to see that much-anticipated sight of course markers, but no such luck.   I had to continue to navigate on my own, going astray through one tricky town and missing a turn later adding several kilometers to my day.  

If I weren’t carrying such a load I could have latched on to several of the groups that passed me at a good clip that are riding the route a day ahead.  There are more than ever doing it. There were three groups of women and the same of men, each with support vehicles driving along with them.  The largest group of women with more than twenty-five I had ridden with last year and were maintaining a pace I could manage passed me while I was paused eating.

It wasn’t until 11:30 that the marking crew caught up to me and gave a friendly toot remembering me from years past.  With the way now marked it was as if a yellow carpet had been unfurled for me to follow.  Shortly after noon I saw the crew pulled over being diligent about having their lunch.  A little further I came to a cemetery, where I stopped for water and to have some lunch too, waiting until the crew returned to work.  They didn’t take the traditional hour-and-a-half break that most stores take, just thirty minutes.  One of the vans stopped and offered me a bottle of the official Vitel water.  

Later in the day another cyclist pulled up alongside me and called out, “Hey George.”  It was Ralph.  I knew he was in Brussels and that he intended to ride several stages, but our styles are so dramatically different, he on a carbon-fiber bike carrying just a small bag on a rod jutting out from his seat post and staying at hotels that he has already booked, it is next to impossible to coordinate meeting up.  We managed it three years ago at his only other Tour appearance at the first stage finish at Omaha Beach won by Mark Cavendish.  He’s meant to return for a more substantial dose, but hasn’t managed to do it, thwarted one year when his bike was stolen in Strasbourg.

Today was his first genuine ride along The Tour route.  He asked if all the white campers with Tour course markers in their windows were official Tour vehicles, not realizing that fanatical followers often claim a spot along the road a day ahead of time.  He’s in for a big thrill tomorrow when he rides the final thirty miles of the stage over four categorized climbs that will be packed with fans. He plans to ride a couple more stages, but taking advantage of the train to reach them.

We both gloried in the unparalleled French countryside.  It was all the more wonderful after all my time in densely populated Belgium.  Riding through vast swaths of forest and fields of grains on rolling terrain that go unbroken to the horizon in every direction on roads with no traffic was like a sip of cool water on a hot day.  One is enveloped by peace and tranquility.  Climate change and all the other malevolent issues become a distant concern.