Telluride Townies

Friends: The small town of Telluride, nestled in the high mountains of southwest Colorado, is a haven for active outdoors people with a progressive bent. For the second time in the past decade-and-a-half these townsfolk are attempting a free bike program. The first ended in disaster when all the pink painted bikes that were available to anyone on a "see bike, take bike" basis either disappeared or were trashed.

Two months ago the New Community Coalition in conjunction with the town library started a bike borrowing program. They collected an assortment of donated bikes, painted them pink, converted them to single speeds and equipped them with a handlebar basket. They are known as "Telluride Townies." Anyone with a library card can borrow one of the present stable of fifteen bikes for four days and renew it indefinitely as long as there are bikes in stock.

The program has been a fabulous success, "Our most successful program ever," one librarian said. Tourists, as well as locals, have been taking advantage of the bikes. Any visitor can acquire a temporary library card for five dollars, putting down a twenty dollar deposit and then receiving fifteen dollars back when he leaves town.

The bikes are kept locked outside the library, each with a number on it. All one need do is select a bike to his liking, tell the librarian the number, and present his library card. He is then given the key to the lock that he will use to lock the bike wherever he goes, though that isn't entirely necessary in this laid-back, casual town. If he fails to return or renew the bike in time, he is charged $5 a day. If he should lose the bike, the fee is $250, which can be worked off volunteering for the library. So far that hasn't been necessary.

The bikes are meant for getting around town and enjoying the three mile bike path through the valley floor rather than taking on the mountainous terrain, as without derailleurs and multiple speeds there's not much chance of anyone climbing the steep inclines all around. With their baskets they have been especially designed to encourage people to bike, rather than drive, to the the grocery store at the far end of town.

This is my 18th straight late summer visit to this enlightened town. I was initially drawn to Telluride to attend its renowned film festival. I've been drawn back each year since for the film festival, but also by the spectacularly beautiful box canyon it takes place in and by the many people who live there who share a love for adventure. When I learned that first year in 1992 that this small town of just 2,000 people was always in need of volunteers to put on its world class film festival that attracts over three thousand people each Labor Day weekend, I signed up. I am now a full-fledged staff person, getting to spend a month in Telluride enjoying a paid vacation.

It feels like a privilege to be out here. Today I spent time working with a woman who spends ten months of the year living in Thailand teaching yoga, a woman who regularly goes to Bhutan to volunteer at a medical clinic and another woman who leads trips to Japan. The night before I had dinner with friends whose son is traveling around the world by bicycle, also a friend of mine. Also at dinner were two woman artists who were leaving for New Zealand in a month to attend an art festival where their work had been accepted.

One meets one fascinating individual after another in this town. Another of our dinner companions was an artist who wild camps outside of town during the summer months and then spends a good part of the winter in Death Valley, also living out of his tent. He is part of the local "Woodsie" community. He comes in and out of town on his bicycle and also makes his yearly migration to Death Valley via bicycle. He has traveled the world by bicycle. He plans to be in Greece this spring. We might just meet up and do a circuit of the Black Sea.

Later, George

Touring Websites

Friends: I have been following the travels of Tim and Cindie Travis ever since they set out for South America from Prescott, Arizona on their bikes over seven years ago. When they began their journey they thought they had saved up enough money to last seven years on the road. They discovered along the way that they could actually earn a living as touring cyclists, selling articles and photos and giving lectures and publishing books (two so far). They are now more than breaking even and do not plan to quit the touring life until old age or health issues force them to.

They maintain a web site (http://downtheroad.org) and send out periodic updates on their travels and the attention they attract from the media. Their latest report mentioned an interview with a fellow touring cyclist, Darren Alff, who also maintains a website (http://bicycletouringpro.com) promoting cycle touring. The thirty minute interview offers at least one worthwhile nugget of insight into the mind of long-time touring cyclists. Tim said when asked what their favorite times have been he says usually its the day they've just spent on the bike. He can pin point perhaps ten days that have been their worst, but when it comes to the best, any day spent touring is an exceptional day. He did not say at what point in their travels he came to this profound realization.

Tim and Cindie know they are blessed to be touring without any strict deadlines, enabling them to take their time. His foremost advice to anyone setting out on a tour is that they take twice as much time as they initially planned to cover the same distance.

Their interviewer, Darren, is an eager 25-year old who has been touring since 2001. He is six months into a European tour. His website is rich in how-to articles for aspiring touring cyclists. He lists ten things that cyclists should take with them that they might not otherwise consider. He is also a proponent of stealth camping. His site includes other interviews with touring cyclists, including a recent one with a Canadian he encountered in Macedonia. He likewise had been on the road for six months. They both said they had not encountered another independent touring cyclist in all those months. Darren is determined through his web site to get more people out touring. I wish him the best of luck. He is certainly making a concerted effort.

Later, George

Montereau-Fault-Yonne, Ville Départ

Friends: With my arrival in Montereau-Fault-Yonne, starting point for the final stage of this year's Tour, about 50 miles outside of Paris, I have now ridden all or part of 16 of the 21 stages of this year's race, not as good as last year's 20 of 21, but right around my average these past six years.

This year's route was particularly heavy on transfers from stage finishes to the next day's start, so much so I was wondering if the course had purposely been designed to thwart anyone from trying to follow The Race by bicycle. The gendarmes sure seemed to be in on the conspiracy, as they were extra fierce this year in harassing me. One cop in a car ordered me off the course several minutes after the peloton and all the team cars and official vehicles had passed, including the final vehicle with "Fin de Course". As soon as that "Fin de Course" vehicle passed, I hopped on my bike and headed down the road. That's always been accepted policy. But not by this cop. He told me I had to wait 15 minutes before I could continue on. And he actually expected me to sit there and look at my watch and count down the minutes before proceeding. If he'd been serious, he could have called over to a nearby gendarme to quarantine me, but he just sped off. After giving my neck a rub I took off after him.

The Race's final transfer from Mont Ventoux to here was by far the longest, some 400 miles, possibly a record. The total number of transfer miles this year increased the course's official distance of 2,100 miles by nearly 50 percent. There was another transfer of over 200 miles before the first rest day, and several in excess of 50 miles. No one likes them except those who are pocketing the fees from the city that paid for the privilege of being a Ville Etape.

While the peloton was whisked by TGV train after competing its climb of Ventoux, I remained faithful to my bike. I nearly resorted to alternate means of transportation this year for the first time, but I never managed to meet up with Jesse and his car-driving posse. I wasn't disappointed at all to be saved from being transported by car. It no doubt would have been exasperating as hell trying to coordinate the desires of five others--deciding on meeting points and camp sites and getting food and how many miles to ride each day and when to set out. I might have destroyed a computer keyboard or two pounding out the tales of that experience. It would have enabled me to ride more miles of the actual race route, but at what cost I can't say. I was interested in sharing the exaltation of several first-timers to The Tour, as well as teaming up with Jesse once again, back for his third. Maybe next year with a little more advanced planning it will happen.

I arrived in Montereau with five photos remaining in my old-fashioned, non-digital camera, hoping the town would have enough bike art and celebrations of The Tour still standing to finish off my roll. At the roundabout outside of town were a couple of mannequins covered in greenery straddling bikes in a flower bed. That was photo number one. Many of the shop windows were still adorned with bikes and such, but none exemplary enough for a photo. I'll have to hope for some worthy bike and Tour acknowledgements as I follow the route towards Paris.

I have been negligent in photographing any of the road graffiti this year. There was an abundance on Mont Ventoux, as many people arrived a couple days early to secure a spot and had plenty of time to decorate the road. A fan of English rider Bradley Wiggins was quite busy writing "Wiggo" on steep turns and "15 Seconds," the amount of time he needed to make up his deficit on Lance for third place.

People with causes take advantage of the opportunity to convey their message to the thousands of people that will be traveling The Tour route and watching it on television. On Ventoux someone had frequently written "Non Au Parc." Someone else had come along and added "Fig" to the "Non," turning it into "Fignon," a French two-time winner of The Tour in the 1980s who was diagnosed with cancer just before this year's Tour. If the local authorities do not approve of someone's political message they send out a crew with black paint to paint over it.

One of the biggest hits of this year's Tour, along with the crew passing out the Bouygues Telecom jerseys, was a couple of Nike vans passing out packets of three sticks of thick yellow chalk several hours ahead of the official publicity caravan. It gave those early arrivals something to do. Few though were using it to write exhortations to Lance.

My biggest prize was finding two Liquigas team water bottles along the road, bottles I had been on the hunt for, as they were one of the few team water bottles I had never found in my years of following The Tour. They are a distinctive mellow green. That will be my bottle in the airport and on the plane tomorrow as I fly back to Chicago. It is an eye-catcher that will mean something to any racing fan. Liquigas is an Italian company, but any racing fan knows that it sponsors a Tour team. Liquigas had an exemplary Tour, with one rider finishing in the top ten and another winning the climber's red polka dot jersey.

Usually the rider wearing the polka dot jersey goes red polka dot crazy, putting red polka dots wherever he can, on his gloves, his helmet, his shorts, his socks, his sun glasses, his bike, his teeth. When Pellizotti took possession of the jersey he surprisingly continued to wear his green Liquigas shorts, as if he was being faithful to his sponsor. It was quite a surprise, as Pellizotti, like any Italian, is extremely fashion conscious. The green shorts clashed quite garishly with the red polka dot jersey. But he was just waiting until he received a repainted red polka dot bike before he went with the red polka dot shorts and gloves and all else.

"Cycle Sport," an English monthly, will no doubt have an array of snide remarks about Pellizotti in polka dots, probably wondering why he didn't polka dot his long curly hair as well. Hardly an issue passes that it doesn't ridicule his hair. A glance at the photos of the magazine's staff explains why, as they are all follicly challenged. Hair is not the only thing they are short on. Integrity is another. They continually deride Lance, though when he announced his return to cycling they put him on their cover three straight months. They know what sells on the news stand.

If there were an English Better Business Bureau I would unleash them on the magazine. Last July it published a letter-to-the editor of mine and named it the letter of the month, the "Star Letter," earning me a 160 dollar Fiz-ik saddle. I'm still waiting to receive it despite repeated assurances from Nicole in marketing and deputy editor Edward Pickering, that they were about to send it. I finally told Ed that he could hand deliver it to me in Monaco at The Tour start. He said he wasn't attending The Race this year, and didn't care to entrust the mission to a minion. Instead, he said he would send me a bunch of racing DVDs and energy bars and maybe a skeleton he had hanging in a closet, not exactly the saddle I had been promised, but at least something. That was over a month ago and still nothing.

Lance has brought back so much more attention to the sport, dramatically increasing television ratings and no doubt magazine sales, maybe the "Cycle Sport" staff will finally be in a mood to live up to their promises. Ed will be hearing from me again soon. If anyone else would like to raise this issue with him, his email address is edward_pickering@ipcmedia.com.

Green was a theme of this year's Tour for me, not only scoring a pair of green Liquigas water bottles and the battle for the Green jersey between Cavendish and Hushovd, but also discovering an emerald green mint drink served in French bars--menthe à l'eau. It is a combination of mint syrup with water. It is as refreshing as it is pleasing to regard. Some bars serve it with a quarter glass of syrup and a bottle of ice cold water on the side. It is a traditional French drink that would immediately win the favor of any bar tender when I ordered it, indicating that I was somewhat wise to their culture, just as when I would address someone with a "Madame" or "Monsieur" along with "Bonjour." I grew to look forward to a menthe à l'eau. It took a bit of the sting out of having to watch a stage finish in a bar rather than on the jumbo screen at the finish line, as I would much prefer.

Every year I make new discoveries about the French culture and ways. I look forward to all those that await me next year. Next year's race could be the most riveting in years, as Lance will definitely be on a mission. He could surround himself with the most American team ever. Rarely did he have more than one or two fellow countrymen on his team in his seven victories--George Hincapie and someone else. It will be interesting to see if he can entice Hincapie from the Columbia team to rejoin him. It will be interesting, too, if he enlists the services of former teammate Floyd Landis, disgraced winner of the 2006 Tour, who has served out his two-year suspension and is back racing in the U.S. No chance to bring back Tyler Hamilton though, as just a couple months ago he tested positive again for an illegal drug. He's gone for good this time. Lance will no doubt have Leipheimer at his service as well as Chris Horner, one of the great warriors of the peloton, who was tragically left off the Astana roster this year. He will be a demon in Lycra next year. Bring it on.

Later, George

Mont Ventoux

Friends: The most popular person on Mont Ventoux, that stand-alone monster of a mountain in Provence, as an estimated half million fans flocked to its steep and forbidding slopes Saturday, was the man dispensing Bouygues Telecom jerseys, one of five French teams in The Tour.

When I came upon him he was parked two miles below the summit, and two miles above the tree line. The last time I had seen him was at the summit of the Colombiere. There was a neat and orderly line of five or six people at his window awaiting their handout that time. By the time I parked my bike and sauntered over, he was on his way and I missed out.

There was no danger of him escaping me this time though, as his van was surrounded by an ever accumulating swarm of frenzied fans in a panic that he would run out before they got one. They weren't so desperate for a souvenir, but rather for an extra layer to protect themselves from the fierce, coldly biting wind that was ravaging the upper reaches of the mountain.

Even those who came with blankets and coats wanted an extra layer. It was 10:30, six hours before the racers were due. Those who were determined to last until then were already hunkered down in what crevices they could find protected from the wind. I was fully prepared with 50 pounds of gear on my bike, though I had sent home my tights before The Tour began. I still had a wool hat and gloves to go with a sweater and vest and more layers. I hadn't expected such cold though. The day before in Nyons, less than 30 miles from the summit, it was so sweltering hot at the outdoor cafe where I was watching Cavendish win his record tying fifth stage of the race, an overhead misting device sprayed the cafe's patrons every minute or so. I sat as close to the nozzle as I could.

That night though a northerly wind moved it, rocking my tent all night long. It was so strong it was a challenge to dismantle the tent in the morning to keep it from blowing away. As I wound around the back side of the mountain before making the long climb to its summit, I was somewhat protected from the full fury of the wind. I was also helped by a paceline of a trio of three Dutch cyclists. As we climbed higher the road was lined with parked cars and campers on both sides Leaving a passage not much wider than a car's width. There were many, many more people walking than biking clogging the narrow roadway. When the Dutch guys paused I latched onto an older French guy who shouted "attencion, attencion" to clear the way.

Four miles from the summit the forest ends and the landscape becomes lunar. There is a ski chalet and a wide open space where two roads to the summit merge. It was thronged with cyclists and pedestrians trying to decide if they wanted to go higher, or to make this their vantage for the day.

I knew from my last visit to The Ventoux five years ago for the Dauphine-Libere time trial, when Lance finished third behind Iban Mayo and Tyler Hamilton, that there was a water spigot off to the side of the chalet. I feared it could be a half hour wait to fill my water bottles. But only a handful of people knew about it. It was a brutally hot day my last visit. I needed to wear a long sleeve shirt to protect my arms from the intensity of the sun. I was prepared to fill all my water bottles for a long day in the ovenish heat, but on this day I figured four bottles would be enough.

The final four miles to the summit are the mountain's steepest, close to 10 per cent. It was more like 20 per cent into the blast of the wind. A mile from the summit is the memorial to Tom Simpson, the British cyclist who died at that very spot in the 1967 Tour overcome from heat and amphetamines. Nearly everyone who passed paused to mount the dozen or so steps and give a close look to the words on the slab of marble or to place a momento before it, along with the dozens of other items left by fans. I went around the backside and emptied out the small packet of ashes of Joey the Schnauser that I had carried for over 5,000 miles, about as many miles as she had been transported over her life across Iowa doing RAGBRAI on the back of Kathy's bike. I tried to protect them from the wind and place them under a rock, but most were sent flying.

As I neared the summit I peered about for the giant television screen mounted atop the 18-wheeler that transports it. There's not a great amount of room at the summit, so I wondered if it would be there, or if it was, whether the wind would be too strong to put it up. It was not to be seen. I asked an official if it it would come later, but he said it wouldn't. Then I had the dilemma of sitting up there in suspense for hours wondering how the race was unfolding, as the racers approached and then fought their way up the mountain until they emerged from around the bend where the Simpson memorial was for the final mile to the summit.

It was a suspense I did not care to endure, so after lingering at the summit for several minutes finishing off a liter bottle of chocolate milk and sharing the revelry of the swarms of cyclists who had made it to the top, most taking photos of one another, I continued on biking down the backside of the mountain, the third of the three arteries to its summit.

From Ventoux I had 500 miles to bike back to Paris for my flight five days later. It helped to be getting a jump on that, especially since I would initially be battling a strong head wind. I stopped at the town 18 miles away where the press headquarters for the day was set up and found a bar to watch the race. As it had been the last several days, people continually slipped into the bar to check on the race's progress and then was packed for the final 20 minutes of the stage.

France this year was somewhat akin to my experience of bicycling through New England in the fall when the Bosox were in the middle of a pennant race. Baseball was the prime topic of conversation then. The Tour, even without a French rider in contention, had captured the interest of just about everyone, much, much more so than in my five previous Tours. Everyone wanted to know if Lance had it in him to hold on to third place. And he did. Not only did most bars have the race on their televsion, most had that day's "L'Equipe" laying around as well.

Andy Schleck made several accelerations trying to shed Lance hoping that his brother Frank could hang on as he had on the Colombiere, enabling him to surpass Lance and slip into third place, but the only one able to keep up was Contador. Andy would let up, allowing Frank to latch on again, then repeat the process, but brother Frank did not have it in himself this time to keep up and shed Lance. Nor did Lance have the strength to keep up and put further time on Frank or anyone else. The strong head wind helped to neutralize their efforts.

Usually the third and even the second place rider of The Race is long forgotten. This will be a rare Tour when everyone will remember the rider who finished third. And even before this year's race concluded, people began talking about next year's Race when Lance will return with a team of his own sponsored by Radio Shack. It will be one of three American teams in The Tour. Last year was the first time there had even been two. Speculation began flying about who Lance would recruit for his team. There was even talk that he was interested in the Schleck brothers.

Later, George

Aix-les-Baines, France

Friends: Back in his heyday Lance dominated The Tour with his legs. After a three year absence, despite returning with not quite the same dynamite in his legs, he is still dominating The Race, but with his personality and his legend.

After faltering in Tuesday's stage, falling behind the leaders by 30 seconds on a category one climb, but then recovering and rampaging back like the Lance of old to rejoin them before the summit, the front page headline in the next day's "L'Equipe" was "Armstrong does not abdicate."

Yesterday's third and final foray in the Alps on the Tour's most challenging stage with four category one climbs and one category two was a bit much for Lance, as he lost two minutes to Contador and the Schleck brothers, falling to fourth overall. He could regain a podium spot though today in the 25-mile time trial around the unspeakably beautiful alpine Lake Annency. Whether or not he finishes on the podium, he is not dispirited. He has demonstrated he is more than competitive and a force to be reckoned with. He has vowed to return next year in better shape. That's exciting news for all race aficionados. Lance is most definitely an animator in all respects. He lives up to his motto--"Go hard or go home."

I arrived at yesterday's finish in the ski town of Le Grand Bornard by eleven after finishing off the category one Col de Colombiere, 15 kilometers from the finish. I arrived in ample time to find an Internet and file a report, but in this touristy town the only Internet outlet was charging three euros for 15 minutes, way beyond my budget. That's about my limit for one hour of Internet time. Just after I arrived, clouds moved into the valley and a light drizzle began, the fourth mountain stage with rain. It was an off and on rain for several hours, just effecting the early part of the race, causing a few falls, including Menchov turning on a painted line.

The day's broadcast on the huge screen at the finish line began at one o'clock, giving us four-and-a-half hours of virtually uninterrupted racing action. The camera was focusing on Thor Hushovd in the green jersey when the telecast began. My first thought was that he was off the back and in trouble, as he is not a climber. But he was off on a solo breakaway gobbling up a few more intermediate sprint points to sew up the sprinter's jersey.

He was all tuckered out when the peloton hit the final two category one climbs 25 miles before the race finish. The first was the Col de Romme just outside of Cluses. It had never been included in The Tour. It began with a killer grade of better than ten per cent for its first two miles, a steeper start than L'Alpe d'Huez. Sastre attempted to repeat his heroics of last year on L'Alpe spurting ahead, but it was too much for him. The afternoon before it took all my might standing on the pedals to manage the climb. It was just under six miles. There was a four mile dip after its summit to the start of the Col de Colombiere, another killer with an average grade of just under nine per cent. Those back to back at the end of a 100-mile stage would be tougher than Mont Ventoux.

I camped on the descent from the Col de Romme, doing something I rarely do, setting my tent up right alongside the road. If the race had come from the opposite direction, my sliver of turf would have had a couple of RVs already parked on it, but few care to establish a watching point on a descent with the racers flying past at 50 miles per hour. I had camped the previous two nights on narrow ledges just above the road in gorges with a minimum of flat spots. There is so little traffic after dark in the mountains, I didn't have to worry about my sleep being interrupted, and the terrain so steep, there was no worry of deranged wart hogs on the loose.

As I began my day climbing the Col de Colombiere it hardly seemed like a weekday, as there were hundreds of people on foot and on bike flocking to the mountain. As always, it was a thrill to be a part of this throng of devotees, thousands of them gathering for an all day picnic on the mountain. Only official cars were allowed on the road even at that early hour. There were police barricades at the top and bottom of the climb.

The large screen in Le Grand-Bornard was in a semi-graveled parking lot alongside the race course. It was one of the larger viewing areas I've encountered. I tried several different spots for my vantage. I left the first as the exhaust from an idling truck was drifting past. I abandoned my second spot as there was a nearby smoker. Body odor sent me scurrying from my third, before I finally settled on a corner location on a slight rise. I flattened a cardboard box for a dry and soft cushion to sit upon. I was near a booth that was tossing small packages of biscuits to the crowd.

I was hoping to finally connect with Jesse the Texan, but we continue to miss each other. I did run into the English school master though once again, with his son and daughter-in-law. He was as exuberant as ever, thrilled that Wiggins could finish top five.

There was a huge exodus of cyclists from Le Grand Bornard after the finish all flocking down hill to Lake Annency. Once I reached the lake I followed the yellow course markers for the next day's time trial around the top third of the lake before breaking off and heading towards Mont Ventoux. Friday's stage begins 60 miles from Lake Annency, another most unfriendly transfer for me. But I'll make it well before the peloton and be on schedule to reach Saturday's finish atop Mont Ventoux before they do. I'll be content to watch the time trial in a bar later this afternoon.

Later, George

Geneva, Switzerland

Friends: There was simply too much pep in the young legs of Lance's teammate Contador and the Schleck brothers for the old war horse Lance to keep up on the climb to the Swiss ski resort of Verbier and the finish line of the 15th stage of The Tour. Lance has looked painfully hollow-eyed and at his limit whenever there has been any climbing during the previous 14 stages. It was no act, as he once famously hoodwinked Jan Ullrich on L'Alpe d'Huez. Lance needed his German teammate Andreas Kloden to pace him the last few miles, finishing over a minute and a half behind Contador, though holding second in the overall standings. Eight riders finished ahead of him, including Cadel Evans by nine seconds. I couldn't tell if he muttered to Lance as he passed him, "c'est fini," as Lance pronounced of Evans' chances over a week ago.

With Leipheimer out of the race with a broken wrist, the next American to cross the line was Vande Velde, a disappointing 22nd on the day, 2:41 behind Contador. He dropped to 12th in the standings, 3:59 back, his podium aspirations gone. The biggest surprise of the day was his English teammate Bradley Wiggins coming in 4th. He's never been known as a climber. Few are stronger on the flats though. He won two gold medals on the track at the last Olympics. Since then he has lost 25 pounds, making him into a potent climber. He is the surprise of The Tour so far.

An English school master, who I met at last year's Tour and rode several hours with after the Dignes-les-Baines stage, and encountered again this year was thrilled by the result. Wiggins had tossed him his water bottle a few years ago when he was on a long solo breakaway. The school master later had him autograph it. The school master spotted me and my loaded bike along the race route just after the peloton had set out from Pontarlier, a veritable miracle. It was the second stage he had seen this year. He's in a camper once again with his wife. He is headed to Lake Annency and a campgrounds right on Thursday's time trial course around the lake. There are two more stages in the Alps before the time trial. Contador is looking so invincible, the race ought to be decided by then, though anything could happen on Mont Ventoux on Saturday, two days later.

Lance has conceded the obvious and vows to be Contador's domestique for the remaining six stages. The question is if Lance can hold off his teammate Kloden and also if this will be his final race or if he will return next year. Kloden has twice finished on the podium. He has served as a super-domestique for both Ullrich and Vinokourov over the years, pacing them up mountains just as he did for Lance up Verbier, sacrificing his aspirations. Lance did let Kloden sprint ahead at the end to finish a couple seconds ahead of him, securing a fifth overall place in The Race.

As I followed the peloton out of Pontarlier I was on the alert for a "L'Equipe," the French daily sports newspaper, along the road. The caravan is passing out copies this year. It is the most exciting item for me that the caravan has ever dispensed. It is a sports periodical without peer that I occasionally even buy. It reports on The Tour with an incomparable thoroughness and intelligence, devoting up to eight pages an issue to The Race. "L'Eqipe" is owned by the same company that owns The Tour de France--ASO, Amaury Sports Organization.

Since The Race was short on sponsors this year, "L'Equipe" was added to the entourage. I arrived in Pontarlier at eleven, 45 minutes after the caravan had set out and an hour before the official race start. It didn't take me long to find a discarded copy in one of the translucent green plastic trash bags hung along the course route. That gave me plenty of reading material as I watched the last two hours of the stage in an Irish bar in a small ski town.

Unlike most of the other items the caravan gives out, the crew distributing "L'Equipe" looks for adult males to hand them to, rather than children and pretty young women. They do toss out refrigerator magnets indiscriminately, one of the few items I will scramble for. I'm also on alert for the food items--crackers and sausage, and also the pen one sponsor tosses. Quite a few sponsors toss key chains. The only one I'm interested in is one with a yellow jersey with "Rotterdam 2010" on it. Rotterdam will be the start of next year's Tour. That will be a sensational starting point, as the Dutch greatly embrace The Tour, almost as avidly as the Belgians. The Dutch start means a couple of days in Belgium as well. The Tour has skipped Belgium the past two years. It tries to make a visit every other year, just as it does to "L'Alpe d'Huez." The Belgians line the road two and three times as thickly as the French and make a wild, boisterous party of it, often with quite a bit of drinking. The best part of Belgium for me is that the Belgian gendarmes are far more lenient than the French in letting bicyclists continue riding on the course right up to the arrival of the caravan.

The oddest item the caravan is tossing this year is a balloon with a plastic nozzle for inflating and a handful of pebbles inside as a noise maker. That is less obnoxious than the long plastic tubes that people clang together to make noise. One of the most popular items, the red polka dot cycling cap, is slightly different from last year's version, as the Champion supermarket is no longer the sponsor of the King of the Mountain competition. Rather it is Champion's parent company, Carrefour. This year's hat includes the Carrefour emblem among all those red dots.

Later, George

Pontarlier, Ville Départ

Friends: I had expected to be biking luggage-free the past three days, but I failed to connect with Jesse at Vittel. But if I'd been accompanied by a support vehicle, I might not have spent too much time on the bike these last three stages, as it has been raining most of the time, and I would have missed out on some fine riding and more exceptional experiences.

I was able to watch the final ten miles of yesterday's fourteenth stage at a portable roadside tavern with Stella Artois on tap. There was a small television at the bar with a crowd standing in front of it. I'd had a great hour's ride after the peloton had passed me, scavenging three course markers and four water bottles. Two of the bottles were from teams I hadn't collected over the years, Caisse d'Epargne and Liquigas, and another was a bright orange Euskatel bottle that is among my favorites.

It was turning into a great day, even though earlier in the day I was soaked and shivering, with hypothermia nipping perilously close. It was cold enough that I was wearing a long sleeve shirt for the first time in days along with a sweater and vest under my Gore-tex jacket. But that was barely enough to keep me warm, as my bare, soaked legs were allowing more body heat to escape than I could retain with my multiple layers on my torso. I was fully prepared to stop at any moment to set up my tent along the road and crawl into my sleeping bag to warm up.

In rural France on a Saturday, one simply doesn't find warm spots to retreat to. I thought I was in luck in one town when I passed by its Mediatheque, a fancy name for a library. I was due to send out a report anyway. But a sign on its door said it was closed due to the Tour de France passing by. I came close to stopping several times in search of warmth when I started becoming uncomfortably cold, but each time the rain dissipated just long enough for me to recover, before reinflicting its punishment. By mid-afternoon after I had been halted in a medium-sized town, the rain relented for more than a few minutes and blue patches appeared above. I had been cowering under the awning of a small shop, while all about me the road was lined with people under umbrellas and ponchos. The pavement dried and I could later even stop and do some wash.

Stages 13 and 14 into and out of Colmar have been along the German border. There is more of a German flavor to the environs than French. Many of the towns end with "heim" (German for home)--Wintzenheim, Pfaffenheim, Ungersheim. People along the road shout "Hup-hup" rather than "allez-allez." The television at the beer stand was tuned to the German broadcast. The commentators were much more restrained than the French.

George Hincapie was in a 12-man break eight minutes up on the peloton. The German announcers seemed to take as much delight in rolling "Hincapie" off their tongues as do the French announcers. They blurted out his name almost exclusively. I didn't realize it was because he was far enough ahead of the man in yellow back in the peloton that he was the virtual leader of the race and would inherit the coveted jersey if the break could hold its time advantage.

It wasn't until he crossed the finish line and there was a brief interview with him in English that I learned he could assume the sacred yellow jersey if the peloton finished five-and-a-half minutes after his group. But the peloton managed to chase back just enough time to keep the yellow jersey on the back of the Italian who has worn it the past week, though by just five seconds. Hincapie moved up to second, just ahead of Contador and Lance. That will all change today with a mountain top finish in Switzerland.

As I walked back to my bike, a tall lanky guy in his 30s followed me and asked if I spoke English. He was attracted by my panniers and asked how it was following the Tour as a touring cyclist. He had been following the Tour the past five stages since Limoges with a car and bike, he said. After several minutes he divulged he was the guy who chases alongside the peloton wearing a football helmet with the horns of a Texas longhorn steer while brandishing a large flag, sometimes the American flag and sometimes the Texas state flag.

I'd been eager to meet this guy ever since first seeing him on television and in magazines and newspapers a few years ago, but had never spotted him out along the road. He is the American version of The Devil, though unlike The Devil, he isn't perpetually in costume. The Devil is such a fanatic he wears his costume when he flies to races that he can't drive to. He causes quite a commotion if the airline personnel don't know who he is when he tries to walk on with his pitchfork.

The "Longhorn Steer Man," also known as "Antler Man," depending on what costume he's wearing, introduced himself as Dore Holt. He had done his routine several miles back on a steep climb. He always selects a steep climb, enabling him to somewhat keep up with the racers. He said he's good for 80 meters or so and that he warms up for an hour just before the racers arrive. He had stumbled upon this outdoor bar with a television, just as I had.

Like The Devil, Dore has a sponsor, the Rudy Project, an Italian company that makes sun glasses. His costume has "Rudy" on it. A French guy, who met him at the Giro this year and was telling me earlier in The Tour what a nice guy he was, thought that was his name. Before Dore revealed who he was, I never would have guessed I was talking to the "Longhorn Steer Man." He was a surprisingly normal guy, not the wacko I suspected he might be. He lives in Seattle and works for Boeing. His first Tour was in 2002 when he was laid off by Boeing and given a nice severance. He is back with Boeing now.

He was inspired by The Devil and Lance's book "It's Not About the Bike." He's on good terms with the premier Tour photographer, Graham Watson, who likes his photogenic image ambling along behind the racers with flag afurl. Watson's latest coffee table book of photos features two of Dore. He has three costumes--a football helmet with long steer horns honoring Lance, a helmet with elk antlers honoring Leipheimer, and the most recent addition, a helmet adorned with an eagle honoring fellow Washingtonian, Garmin's ace sprinter, Tyler Farrar, the first person from Washington to compete in The Tour.

We talked for nearly an hour. Only once has he gored someone with his horns. It was Lance's chef. Dore was waiting to meet Lance for the first time before the start of the final stage of the 2002 Tour into Paris, when he turned his head and just barely nicked the chef below his eye. He said if he ever seriously injured someone, that would be it for him. He had missed the last three Lanceless Tours, though in the interim he has followed the Spanish Vuelta and this year's Italian Giro. He had never acquired a Tour course marker, so I gave him one of those I had just scavenged. He said he plans to start a website so people can keep up with him. He is a fanatic football fan too. He considers Austin, home of the University of Texas and its great football team, as well as Lance, a holy site. I look forward to meeting up with him again. He has a fascination with Japan too and was excited to learn I had biked there as well.  He was eager to go to my blog and read about my impressions of the Land of the Rising Sun.

Later, George