Stage Ten

 Cavendish is making an even greater mockery of the sprint competition than Pogacar is of the overall, easily winning his third stage today, leaving him one shy of Merckx’s record of 34.  He’s going to smash it and probably win more stages in this Tour than he ever has.  He simply has no competition this year.

He’ll tie the record Wednesday in Nimes with tomorrow’s double ascent of Ventoux leaving him out of the picture.  And then he’ll break it Thursday in Carcassone before the peloton ventures into the Pyrenees for five stages, where Cavendish will be just trying to survive.  Then there will be two more sprint stages, including the last day on the Champs Élysées.  He could leave Paris with seven stage wins and thirty-seven for his career.  

Merckx in a recent interview said records are meant to be broken, as if he didn’t much care. But he added, “Cavendish will never win The Tour, something I’ve done five times,” putting him in his place.  

I was riding Stage Twelve, once again a day ahead of those a day ahead of The Tour, during the Stage Ten action.  I thought I could make it to Vallon Pont d’Arc by five for the finale, but the terrain was too demanding, so I missed Cavendish with upraised arms once again.

It had been threatening rain all day.  It finally came as I passed through the tourist town on the fringe of the Ardech Gorge.  There were campgrounds on either side of the road after I passed over the Ardech River, sparing me of having to set up my tent dripping wet, as I waited out the worst of the storm in the receptionist area, then found some thick trees I could camp under.  I’d failed to find WiFi all day, so the campground was doubly, if not triply appreciated. 

I began the day finally reaching the Stage Eleven route, nearly one hundred miles from the end of Stage Ten, another beastly transfer in a year of beastly transfers.  The EF rider Australian Lachlan Morton, who is part touring cyclist, is actually riding the entire route, along with the transfers, as a touring cyclist, albeit super lightweight on his carbon fiber team bike.  He has a bivouac sack and has the option of camping or hoteling.  He is a fanatic pushing the limits on all things bicycle.  For a short spell he held the Everesting record a year ago.

The actual race route is a little over 2,100 miles.  The transfers add another 1,300 miles to the riding.  He’s doing up to 200 miles a day and is trying to reach Paris before the peloton.   He could beat them by days, as he’s already well into Stage Fourteen entering the Pyrenees.  I was ahead of him at one point and was hoping to encounter him, but he passed me early in the morning after my late night with Florence and Rachid at the campground in Tours.  

The Stage Eleven Ville Arrivée, Malaucéne at the foot of Mont Ventoux, was well-decorated.  

There were cyclists everywhere setting out for the Giant of Provence.  Its not simply Mont Ventoux, but Le Mont Ventoux,

I’ve been up it several times over the years, so had no need or time to do it again.  I did ride up it a bit to see what road graffiti there might be or decorations, but mostly restricted myself to the finishing straight outside of town.

It was a reasonable transfer of twenty-eight miles to Saint-Paul-Trois-Chateaux for the start of Stage Twelve.  It is a relatively frequent Ville Étape, so there was a minimum of decoration, not much more than a digital clock counting down the days to The Tour’s arrival it traditionally erects at a roundabout. 

Sometime before noon tomorrow the day-ahead riders will be catching up to me and so will the course marking crew.  It will be a happy occasion to have course markers guiding me after being without since Stage Seven into Le Creoset.  

After plane trees, then vineyards and sunflowers, I’ve reached another feature that epitomizes France, fields of lavender., (and nuclear power plants). Whenever I come upon a field I let up on the pedals to prolong my spells of inhaling their fragrance.  

 

Fresh off a month of cycling in the US, where there isn’t much variety to the terrain and it’s vegetation for days on end, the variety of what France has to offer is astonishing.  All day long I marvel at how amiable France is in every way.  Nothing epitomizes it more than clusters of men enjoying one another’s company on the town’s pétanque pitch.