Stage Eleven

 

I arrived in Nimes with ample time to be in no rush to find a bar to watch the assault on The Ventoux, so I could scout out the start of Stage Thirteen in front of the ancient Roman Coliseum, which has been serving as a bull ring in its later years.  I was hoping it would be draped in Yellow or have a giant Yellow Jersey dangling at the starting point. But no such desecration had been inflicted on this World Heritage site.  

Nor had the matador out front exchanged his cape for a Yellow one.  Nor had anything Yellow been added to the bull across the street. 

The only evidence that The Tour would be coming to town the next day were the Yellow course markers leading to the finish a few blocks  away on a main arterial road, and posters all over warning of the congestion The Tour would cause for the two days it would take over the large city.  The poster was pleasing enough to the eye to pass as an official Tour poster one would want to hang in a rec room.

There was no disappointment though in the bar I found a few blocks from the Coliseum on the route the peloton would take out of the city.  It had two large screen TVs tuned to the Tour and a copy of L’Equipe laying on the counter.  I was served my menthe á l’eau the traditional way with a large carafe of ice cold water to go with a glass with an inch of mint syrup and a few ice cubes, enabling me to stretch the drink for the nearly two hours of action. The syrup is strong enough, that all that water hardly diluted the flavor as one continually added water to the glass. 

The bar tender also invited me to bring my bike into the bar.  He couldn’t have been more hospitable, also filling my water bottles before I left with the ice cold water most bars have on tap.  

The action on the screen was fully mesmerizing.  When I arrived with nearly forty miles left in the stage after the first of the two passages of The Ventoux, Alaphilippe was part of a six-rider break four minutes ahead of the Yellow Jersey group.  The tv producers couldn’t have asked for more.  Alaphilippe received the vast majority of air time, even after he was shed when Van Aert sped away and two Trek riders gapped him as well.  

When he was momentarily absorbed by the Yellow Jersey group and then shed by them as well, that was the last we saw of him.  Cavendish had to be relieved that Alaphilippe didn’t overly extend himself going for the win, as he’s going to need him tomorrow to chase down the break so the stage ends in a sprint for him.  He’s been doing yeomen’s work in the service of Cavendish and seems as thrilled with Cav’s wins as if they were his own.  

Today belonged to Van Aert, winning by over a minute.  He gave his team Director in the accompanying car a broad smile and a pump of the fist as he approached the Two Kilometer to go arch, knowing he’d won the stage, the first for Jumbo-Visma this year, somewhat blunting the pain of losing Roglic.  

Pogachar effortlessly rode with his rivals until Jumbo-Visma’s young fourth placed Danish rider Vingegaard attacked before Carapaz did.  The two of them left Uran and Carapaz behind, the third and fifth overall riders.  O’Connor in second had already been dropped and was fast losing his place on the podium as expected.

After several minutes Vingegaard dropped Pogachar, to the astonishment of all.  The announcers screamed “incredible.”  It was the first instance of his showing any vulnerability.  By the time he crested Ventoux, fourteen miles from the finish, he had gained nearly a minute on Pogacar. 

Uran and Carapaz had nearly caught back to Pogachar and did early on the descent.  The three of them together caught Vingegaard before the finish, all finishing together with Pogachar spurting in just ahead.  The last couple of miles into and through Malaucene were as familiar as the back of my hand as I’d been there the day before.  It was especially nice to see the painting of cyclists and the contours of Ventoux on a wall when all made a turn less than a kilometer to the finish line.

The top four riders finishing together seems to have sorted out who the contenders are. Despite Pogachar slightly faltering it is still a race to see who will be first after him among the two South Americans and the Dane.  It will be a good battle.

There was no transfer to the next stage after the one I had just completed, as I wish it always was, so I could immediately start riding Stage Thirteen.  Part of the several mile neutralized zone out of the city was on Avenue Kennedy.  It was clogged with rush hour traffic.  I managed twenty miles before finding a place to camp.  I would have gotten further if there had been course markers, as I went astray a couple of times in a town that was having a festival the night before The Tour.  

The course marker crew caught up my with me at 1:30 today making my entry into the sprawl of Nimes almost painless.  They ought to overtake me by ten tomorrow.  I got enough of a jump on the day-head riders none passed me.  Tomorrow will be a different story.  They’ll be starting early, as it is a long 140 mile stage.