Stage Two



I broke camp to another murky day, nearly smothered by a thick, low-hanging mist.  There’d be no aerial footage of today’s stage if it remained like this.  But within an hour the mist cleared and for the first time in three days I saw a patch of blue in the sky.  Before I could stop and dig out my solar panels and put them atop the gear on the back of my bike, the clouds took over the sky once again. 

But by early afternoon the clouds began breaking up and blue began to predominate.  The temperature reached seventy for the first time since I arrived four days ago.  I could shed a layer and within a couple of hours I had dry feet on the bike for the first time in three days.  

Course markers weren’t an issue this day, as I only rode fifteen miles of Stage Three towards its end, well before the marker crew would reach it later in the day.  I left the stage at Josselin, where the helicopter cameras will greedily devour its castle overlooking a river the peloton will ride along.  This all so common picturesque French town was teeming with tourists walking its historic streets.  

I then had a forty-mile interlude off The Tour route, picking up the Stage Four route in Bain-de-Bretagne.  The town was ready for the tv cameras with a polka dot jersey pointing skyward in a roundabout. 

I didn’t come upon a town with a bar open on Sunday until a little after five in Loheac, ten miles before Bain-de-Bretagne.   I exalted when a saw a crowded outdoor cafe a couple blocks away, counting on it to have a television inside.  It did, but it wasn’t tuned to The Tour.  No one was watching it, so it was no issue for the bartender to put on The Race.  It was fifteen miles to the finish and the climactic two steep climbs of the Mur-de-Bretagne, “Mur” meaning “wall.”

After getting my first menthe à l’eau of these travels, I fetched my iPad and charger and sat down to enjoy the last half hour of the stage.  Before long two others had joined me.  Before the peloton reached the Mur it passed the bar where I’d been sitting 24 hours earlier watching Stage One.  The young Dutch tornado Matthieu Van der Pole exploded from the lead group on the first climb of the Mur, not intending to stay away, but to collect the eight second bonus for being the first.  

He was intent on overtaking Alaphilippe and gaining the Yellow Jersey and he’d need those bonus seconds to do it. He had had high hopes of winning the first stage and taking Yellow then in this his first Tour de France to honor his recently deceased grandfather Raymond Poulidor, who is adored by the French for being second to Anquetil multiple times and having never worn the Yellow Jersey in his long and storied career.  

This much beloved figure has been a long-time ambassador for The Tour, accompanying it for years up until his death.  I have seen him up close often enough, even once in his home town on the occasion when a street was named for him, that I feel as if I know him well.  Over the years people have often shouted Pou-Pou, his nickname, at me as I’ve ridden by.  We bear no resemblance, just being older, plus the French love uttering “Pou-Pou.” The Tour route has always abounded with signs reading “Merci Pou Pou.” 

Van der Poel had made gaining the Jersey such a strong objective, his team had a yellow bike ready for him, and he had already decided that he wouldn’t wear yellow shorts as many Yellow Jersey wearers do, but to stick with black.  He was greatly disappointed when he failed to win the first stage, as many had predicted he would, knowing how much he wanted it and how he has lately had his way on the bike with some shockingly dominant performances that has even taken the breath of Lance Armstrong.  

So coming through today, overcoming his eight second deficit to Alaphilippe, left him overcome with emotion.  I felt fortunate to witness his triumph and all his exhilaration in real time,and not have to read about it or watch a replay.  The cameras lingered on him as he lay collapsed on the ground and as Alaphilippe came by to give him a hug and Pogacar, last year’s winner, too.  It would be hard for anybody not to be happy with this result.  

After watching the riders for half an hour pound their pedals with such vigor I rode a little harder when I resumed riding.  But I didn’t want to ride too hard or too late, as I was well ahead of the peloton.  I’d be riding the Stage Five Time Trial the next afternoon, two days ahead of the peloton.  But it means that I can ride that eighty-five mile jump to the Stage Six start in Tours without any pressure.  Not only will I meet up with friends on that stage, but I will also at last meet up with the peloton and see what the caravan has to offer.