Stage Three

 

From the very beginning of the day I was passing small enclaves of camping vans parked along the road, many with picnic tables already set up with couples having breakfast oblivious to the traffic passing by.  They were living the Tour de France experience and would have it no other way.  

As I closed to within twenty miles of the stage finish in Bayonne I came upon a van parked alone, a smaller version of the more popular home on wheels that most preferred.  And then my eye caught its markings.  It was the vehicle of the German superfan Didi, known as the Devil, who is almost as synonymous with The Tour as the Yellow Jersey.  The driver’s side window was open.  

I slowed to see if Didi could be seen.  And there he was in all his glory sitting behind the wheel peering at his phone.  He immediately recognized me and gave me a hearty greeting.  He grew up in Eastern Germany so had no background in English and has never picked it up, nor French, so there was no communicating other than the good cheer of seeing a fellow devotee of The Tour.  He used to shout “musée” when I past him, as he knew I had visited his museum near Berlin of the many different bikes he has concocted, some in the Guinness book.  He wasn’t at the museum at the time of my visit, so I picked up a brochure and dropped it by him when I passed him at The Tour later that year, giving him much delight.

Not long afterwards reuniting with Didi  I spotted a two euro coin on the road, well worth stopping for.  It was like finding a stack of ten quarters.  It was actually the second one I had come upon, the previous just before I entered Spain.  It made me wonder if there could possibly be a counterfeiting ring in the vicinity.  I had already passed the first and upon close examination this seemed perfectly legit.  One doesn’t hear anything about counterfeiting these days, but it could be going on.  

It brought to mind the two-bit, quasi-mafiosa types who force mini-French flags on fans for a euro during The Tour, giving them something to wave when the peloton passes.  These sleazy, nefarious characters would be likely suspects of passing, if not manufacturing, counterfeit coins.  And not long after they came to mind I came upon the first of this repugnant bunch clutching a handful of the flags besieging a row of parked vans.  Those guys are a blight on The Tour.  The very sight of them turns my stomach, not only that they sucker so many people into buying these cheap tokens of fandom, but that so many people fall prey to their sheningans, and fork over a euro or two if only to appease them. 

The thirty miles of the days route I followed into Bayonne was away from the coast and through small villages.  I kept hoping a supermarket would turn up, as I was down to madeleines and nuts, as no supermarkets had been open on Sunday in Spain the day before.  I was eager for some chocolate milk and a quiche and bread and sandwich fixings.  I was growing hungry, and was forced to wait until Bayonne to eat.  I was counting on at least a supermarket on the run-in to this big city, but there was none. They were all on the other side of the city. 

I was hungry enough to not even seek out the Giant Television screen at the finish nor to see if Credit Lyonnaise had started passing out yellow hats.  Plus I didn’t want to be tempted by an idyllic grassy setting with shade to come back and await the peloton, which hadn’t even set out from Spain yet.  I didn’t care to delay the thirty-one mile transfer to the next stage start in Dax until after the stage finish when it would be a mad rush by many of the Tour followers to get to Dax.  

I would put off my first Giant Screen viewing experience of this year’s Tour until Nogano, the next day, when I’d be in no rush to be on my way after the stage, as I didn’t intend to plunge into the Pyrenees for stage five and six, but rather make a leisurely ride towards Bordeaux, where stage seven would conclude.  I had seen Tour starts in Pau and Tarbes, where five and six would be commencing, a few times over the years and had no need to renew acquaintances, though they both have their charms. 

Once again I was thwarted in finding a bar or cafe with a television to watch the finish.  I had been thwarted too in getting a SIM card for my iPad In Bayonne to have access to internet anywhere, as the outlet of the French provider, Orange, wasn’t still closed undergoing renovation as it had been last week when I passed through on my way to Spain.  So I had to wait until I reached Dax an hour after the stage had visited for WI-FI.  An English couple was peering into the closed tourist office when I arrived.  I asked, “Did Cav win?”  They replied, “No, he finished sixth.  Hopefully he can do better tomorrow.”

The favorite for the Green Jersey, who won two sprint stages last year including the all-important final stage on the Champs in Paris, the Belgian Jasper Philipson took the stage thanks in part to a superb lead out by van der Poel.  Cav was right there so there is still hope he’ll yet win a stage and surpass Merckx for the most Tour stage wins.  Sagan came in 23rd demonstrating he will be a non-factor after dominating the Green Jersey competition for years, winning it six times. 

My next order of business was to find the course markers for the next day’s stage.  A crew was already setting up barriers and loads of locals were watching the huge operation.  A course marker was nearby and I was on my way, knowing it would lead to the André Darrigade statue I had checked out last week. It was looking more prominent than ever adorned with a course marker, though the variety with black stripes on its bottom indicating this was the neutralized zone and the racing had yet to commence.  

I had to go a mile further past several roundabouts when the road became clear of impediments and the fury of the opening kilometers could commence with riders attempting to form a breakaway. The hammer goes down when the peloton comes upon two course markers mounted one on top of the other.

I proceeded ten miles before slipping off the road to camp in a field behind a tree farm and beside a corn field, another marvelous sight marred only by the barking of a deer shortly after I had set up.