Stage Two

For the first time since I can remember I was able to roll up a dry tent this morning, saving me a few ounces of weight.  If it weren’t wet from rain, it had been soaked from a dew. It stayed so warm last night I had no concerns of dew and was able to go without my rain fly for the first time in these travels, saving me a few moments breaking camp.  It has come to that, with every second possibly mattering.  

I rode until after nine last night and was back at it before eight.  I had ridden twenty-five miles of the course after biking twenty miles from the Stage One finish in Fontenay-le-Comte to the next day’s start in Mouilleron-Saint-Germain, a nice forty-five mike nightcap.  Even in the early part of the stage there were dozens and dozens of camping vans parked along the road with their inhabitants sitting at roadside in chairs at a table under a canopy, eating or drinking or reading or playing cards or a board game, everyone in an amiable mood, many responding to me with a “Bon Courage.”

My goal for the day was to bike forty miles to Les Lucs-sur-Boulogne, watch the caravan pass, then head north beginning the one hundred mile transfer the race entourage would make from the Stage Three time trial to the Stage Four start on the other side of the Loire.  I intended to watch the stage finish in La Roche-sur-Yon forty-nine miles south from Les Lucs, in a bar in the decent sized town of Les Moutiers-en-Rietz, twenty miles in the other direction from Les Lucs.  All went to plan other than finding an open bar with a television, a challenge on a Sunday in France other than in tourist towns or the bigger cities.  Even the PMU bar was closed in Les Moutiers.  

The lone bar open was more of a restaurant and didn’t have a television.  But I was at least able to fill my water bottle with the frigid water that bars dispense in France, so cold there is no need for ice.  That left me a little happy but I was disappointed to miss Sagan’s ninth career Tour win, outsprinting Démare (No-No), having to read about it when I came to a McDonalds with WIFI over an hour after it happened.  Yesterday’s Colombian hero, Gaviria, went down in a crash as the sprint approached and was not a factor, nor Cavendish once again, through Greipel was right there coming in fourth after his twenty-sixth yesterday. 

No catastrophe befell the GC contenders as happened the day before with the first 52 riders across the line receiving the same time today.  So Sagan will ride the Stage Three time trial in Yellow and barring a major miracle will relinquish it to someone on BMC or possibly Sky.  It’s the third time he’s worn Yellow, but never for long.  I’ll be watching it on a television somewhere along the Stage Four route.  Getting the results in a McDonalds is not what I came to France to experience. The McDonalds along a main road beside the coast was so packed I couldn’t access an electric outlet to charge my iPad.  Traffic was backed up trying to get into the parking lot.  A woman with a clipboard was taking orders from cars before they entered the parking lot as the drive-up window had such a long line.  McDoanlds are hugely popular.  Billboards advertising them can even be pleasing to the eye.

I had a welcome two-hour mid-day rest waiting for the caravan to arrive.  It was twenty minutes behind schedule, which it adapts to the speed of the peloton, so it must have been relaxing in the heat.  I only got a small taste of the caravan’s offerings on Stage One, as it doesn’t throw much to the massive  crowds at the finish, as it could cause chaos.  I did notice quite a few of the floats had deluxe, high-backed seats for VIPs to sit in, a new feature, allowing them to ride out in the open rather than in a team car.  The VIPs were all well-dressed and looked as if they were  accustomed to first class treatment though they were wilting from their long day in the sun.  Four paramedics had to carry a teen-aged girl on a stretcher who had passed out.

My position in a town, rather than out along the roadside, wasn’t much better than being at the stage finish for collecting what the caravan was dispensing.  It was a bit parsimonious in this setting as well.  All I gathered was a micro-sized biscuit, the smallest I’ve ever seen, and a bag of candy.  The offerings didn’t seem noteworthy enough for me to give the caravan much priority this year, other than a box of juice that was being handed out, rather than thrown, to those right at the roadside and with hand outstretched ready to grab it.  I’ll be ready for it next time.  There were the usual hats and keychains and the always popular madeleines.  I didn’t notice any wrist bands, though I did meet a guy along the road earlier in the day who had gotten several on Stage One.  He was in a camper van adorned with a multitude of banners of Tour sponsors.  The sponsors drive the route well before the caravan and hand them out.  People are happy to put them on display, as if they are a great trophy.

A truly prized item is a cheap version of team jerseys that several of the French teams selectively hand out.  I was lucky one year to get a couple of them.  One has to be at the right place at the right time to score one.  They are light weight Lycra so they wouldn’t much add to my load.

There doesn’t seem to be a daily Tour newspaper this year, an item I coveted. It’s twenty-four pages were filled with features on riders and local celebrities and people associated with The Tour and Tour history all exalting the event.  I made a strong effort to get one every day, sometimes having to scavenge  one from the trash. Nor is the daily national newspaper “Aujourdui” being handed out.  It offered a lot of good reading on The Tour and news in general.  Vittel too has greatly reduced the amount of water it is handing out.  People used to walk away after the caravan passed with one of the two different shopping bags being given away packed with goodies.   Now people barely gather enough to stuff in a pocket.  But maybe it will be different out of a town without so many people.  Hopefully I’ll find out on Stage Four.