Friends: As with any major sporting event the Tour de France has amassed a vast reservoir of statistics during its century of existence, enough to give any gathering of bicycle racing fans material to debate and recount and marvel over for hours.
And since the different route every year is as much a part of the race as the racers, there are as many statistics relating to the route as to its participants and their heroics. There are stats and related trivia on every mountain the peloton has climbed--the Tourmalet was one of the first included in The Tour and has been climbed more than any other mountain, even twice one year, once from each direction. There have been more than 500 Ville Etapes with ten new ones this year, more than usual. The longest Tour was 5,745 kilometers in 1926, compared to 3,500 this year. The total distance of all 95 editions (there were none during the two world wars) is 350,000 kilometers.
One statistic I haven't uncovered, though I'm sure its out there somewhere, is the number of miles of plane trees each Tour has biked past and the total number of plane tress included in each year's route. Today's route through Provence could have set a record, as much of the first half of this 122-mile stage was blessed by the shade and shelter of those magnificent trees that line many of the roads all over France, through towns and cities and out in the countryside. Many date to the Napoleonic era. It is said Napoleon planted the trees to make it cooler and shadier for his marching troops. We bicyclists enjoy them equally, appreciating not only their practical use but their regal beauty as well. One feels almost triumphant passing under the arcade of shade they provide for miles and miles.
Unfortunately, they didn't line the entire route today. I would have greatly welcomed them towards the end of the day's stage, when the day had heated up into the 90s. I was down to less than one bottle of very tepid water as I began the day's final climb, ten miles from the stage finish, as the sun beat down with a vengeance. Then a minor miracle. Just short of the summit I saw what I first took to be a mirage--a van slowly driving along dispensing two-liter bottles of water to the fans. I wasn't desperate, but I happily grabbed a bottle and partook of a few gulps of the sweet, fresh, cool water, expressing silent thanks to the great consideration of the race organizers. They truly are attentive to the most minor of details to make it a superlative experience for all. There is always water passed out to the fans lining the last kilometer of the course, to keep them there for the TV cameras if nothing else, but still a significantly caring gesture, something I've never experienced in the bleachers of a baseball game.
I was very nervous about making it to Digne-les-Baines before the course was closed down today. Having to cover 85 miles by two p.m. would demand my biggest effort so far. Plus the last 60 miles were a gradual ascent from 600 feet elevation to over 2,000 feet as we approached the Alps, somewhat like the gradual climb across the plains of the U.S. to Denver. There was no early tailwind today, as I've enjoyed the past few days. I was only averaging 12 mph, which meant seven hours in the saddle for me. Since I had started at seven a.m., that left no time for a break.
After an hour a group of 20 men, all but two wearing identical jerseys of some Australian corporation, flew past me at 20 mph. I recognized one of the two guys wearing the non-matching jerseys from years past, as he was a guide for the Australian tour company Bike Style and was wearing the company jersey. We've chatted before, but today he was too engrossed in being a guide to even acknowledge me with a "how ya doin' mate." I could understand, as he wouldn't want his clients learning that one could be doing this on their own for a pittance of what they were coughing up. Despite their speed, I was able to latch on to their pace line and stuck with them for ten miles or so until we hit a steep climb. There were two over-sized guys at the back, who I thought might struggle enough that I'd be able to hang on, but even though they lagged, they didn't lag enough. I let them go rather than kill myself to keep up.
About an hour later along came Jesse the Texan and Skippy the Australian. Turns out I have seen Skippy in the past and not only at The Tour but also at the Dauphine-Libere race. He's an older white-bearded guy, tall and grizzled with a bit of a paunch accentuated by the Lycra jerseys he wears. I had assumed was Italian, as he bore all the earmarks of the tifosi, not only in his dress and his high-quality carbon fiber bike, but also that he is a groupie of a sort, hanging out around the team cars before and after stages.
He rode with Jesse and I for a spell and then forged on ahead, pushing a big gear rather than spinning. We caught up to him as he stood beside a camper drinking a glass of wine. Jesse said he seems to know everyone following The Tour. He rode along with us some more and then took off. Again we passed him sipping a drink and talking with some folks. The next time he caught us he urged Jesse to speed it up and to latch on to his wheel so they could finish off the stage in time to start heading to the next one.
My two drafting sessions with the mini-Aussie peloton and then with Jesse and Skippy increased my average speed to nearly 15 mph and the conversation kept me on my bike rather than pausing to eat or rest as I otherwise might have, though I now could afford to take a quick break. By the time I crossed the final pass, the road had been closed to all but bicyclists. Still, every flic I passed from the summit into town looked as if he were itching to step out and order me off my bike. Jesse said he rode with an Australian earlier in The Tour who just barged past them at full speed shouting "Aussie, Aussie" if they tried to stop him.
I've beaten the peloton to the finish four straight days now, my best effort ever. Its always an exciting place to be and a good launch pad as soon the race finishes to start riding or heading towards the next day's stage. My string will end tomorrow as it is 60 miles from here to the start of tomorrow's stage in Ebrum, and those 60 miles include a couple of significant passes. I should arrive in Ebrum well before the day's start at 12:30. Ebrum is a first time Ville Etape, so it should be all gussied up. Rather than following the peloton into Italy, I'll head over to L'Alpe d'Huez, less than 100 miles away. There will be some tough climbs, but I won't have to push it as I have had to the past four days to reach the finish before the peloton.
Now its back to the finish line here in Digne-les-Baines, which I scouted out as soon as I arrived in town. I was in time for the hand-out of water and the two newspapers. Then I went to the grocery store and stocked up on food for the next 24 hours. The next order of business, as usual, was a visit to the tourist office to find the best way out of town when the race finishes and where Internet could be found and to see what exhibits or displays they might have or know of in town celebrating The Tour's visit.
Today's stage could well end in a sprint again. Cavendish will be going for his third straight win and fifth overall. He already holds the record for most stage wins by an Englishman in a single year and if this keeps up will have the career record soon too.
Later, George
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Nimes (Ville Arriveé)
Friends: I've biked over 20,000 miles the past five years following and preparing for The Tour. I've visited every region of this hexagon of a country, crisscrossed its 90 departéments many times, climbed its five mountain ranges, passed through all its major cities, ridden along its many rivers and canals and gorges, and yet I am still regularly awed by a particularly scenic or tranquil stretch such as I biked last night and this morning in the rolling terrain around Montpelier. Not once was there a hint that a bustling metropolis throbbed nearby, a metropolis that on previous occasions had frustrated my efforts for a clean, direct passage through, leaving me happy and relieved to be done with it and not eager in the least to return.
I had to contend with an initial surge of traffic exiting Narbonne after the stage finish, the third sprint win by the young English rising star Mark Cavendish, who rides for the American Columbia team. The absence of Tom Boonen, last year's sprint king, has allowed him to become a dominant force at race's end on the flat stages. Today's Stage Thirteen route to Nimes included a most picturesque stretch along the Canal du Midi. Boats were docked bow to stern all along the way awaiting The Tour's arrival. Too bad it comes early in the stage preventing it from being featured on television. I biked once again until dark, gaining 44 miles on the 114 mile stage, camping on the fringe of a vineyard just after the first of the day's three category three climbs, as thickly lined with campers as the Canal du Midi was with boats.
The winds have been fierce and gusting the past three days, but mostly from the west, helping me considerably except on those occasions when they have knocked the course markers akilter. One that had been pointing straight up was knocked to the right at a small intersection in a village. Since most hard turns are indicated with a pair of markers I was suspicious. When I didn't see any markers for half a mile I dug out my map and doubled back.
The stage's second climb came 22 miles beyond my campsite. About half way up I was slowly passed by a cyclist with triathlon bars who greeted me with a "Bonjour" and "Bravo" with a hint of a non-French accent. He didn't have a small chain ring on his bike and as the going got steeper I caught up with him and discovered that not only was he an English-speaker, but an American, and one of the two Texan brothers, Jesse and C.J., that the couple from Pittsburgh had told me about. I figured I had to run into them eventually. They said one was mostly going by train and carrying his brother's gear for him. They no longer have to worry about trains, as just yesterday they linked up with an Australian with a car who is also biking the course. They saw me pass last night as they were camped along the road.
Jesse's brother pulled up along side us a couple of times in the car to offer water and check on his brother. I didn't realize at first he was at the steering wheel, as I hadn't noticed it was a right-hand drive vehicle. I did notice an Australian bumper sticker, leading me to believe at first that they were part of the Australian contingent, which greatly outnumbers the Americans this year. Their first order of business in Nimes was to find the local Decathlon chain sporting goods store to buy a bike rack for the car to accommodate their three bikes. Jesse and I parted five miles from the finish as I stopped to take advantage of a large grocery store, which aren't always easy to find and are generally on the outskirts of French towns. We hope to meet up either at the giant screen or somewhere down the road tonight. They'll be looking for me.
Jesse said the Australian, Skippy, has been following The Tour for eleven years and is a great raconteur. He could be just the person I've been hoping to link up with all these years. I'm curious to see if I recognise him. Jesse attended The Tour two years ago and saw three stages, including L'Alpe d'Huez. He's been having knee problems, partially due to his gearing, but also because early on he was pushing it too hard starting each day's route at sunrise forcing him to ride extra hard to reach the finish before the course was closed. Now he does as me and starts riding the course the evening before. He on his unloaded bike forced me to ride extra hard to keep up as we conversed, though I occasionally dropped back for a draft.
I pulled into Nimes at 12:30, over an hour earlier than I had hoped, but also feeling leg-weary from having pushed it. Jesse has never done any significant touring. Most of his riding has been training for and riding in triathlons. He rides at a hard training pace rather than touring pace, a style of riding that has done in others I have met up with at The Tour and ridden with elsewhere. It is hard for some to learn to let up a tad when they have to ride such long distances day after day and with weight on their bike.
Jesse had news that the young Italian Ricco, wearing the Polka Dot Jersey of the best climber, who has won two stages and ranked ninth overall and was a force to be concerned about in the upcoming three stages in the Alps, tested positive for EPO and was disqualified this morning. I later learned that his entire team withdrew from the race. He's the third rider to test positive this year. The first was former Lance teammate, the Spaniard Manual Beltran. More and more of Lance's teammates have been caught, pointing the finger of suspicion ever more strongly in his face.
Later, George
I had to contend with an initial surge of traffic exiting Narbonne after the stage finish, the third sprint win by the young English rising star Mark Cavendish, who rides for the American Columbia team. The absence of Tom Boonen, last year's sprint king, has allowed him to become a dominant force at race's end on the flat stages. Today's Stage Thirteen route to Nimes included a most picturesque stretch along the Canal du Midi. Boats were docked bow to stern all along the way awaiting The Tour's arrival. Too bad it comes early in the stage preventing it from being featured on television. I biked once again until dark, gaining 44 miles on the 114 mile stage, camping on the fringe of a vineyard just after the first of the day's three category three climbs, as thickly lined with campers as the Canal du Midi was with boats.
The winds have been fierce and gusting the past three days, but mostly from the west, helping me considerably except on those occasions when they have knocked the course markers akilter. One that had been pointing straight up was knocked to the right at a small intersection in a village. Since most hard turns are indicated with a pair of markers I was suspicious. When I didn't see any markers for half a mile I dug out my map and doubled back.
The stage's second climb came 22 miles beyond my campsite. About half way up I was slowly passed by a cyclist with triathlon bars who greeted me with a "Bonjour" and "Bravo" with a hint of a non-French accent. He didn't have a small chain ring on his bike and as the going got steeper I caught up with him and discovered that not only was he an English-speaker, but an American, and one of the two Texan brothers, Jesse and C.J., that the couple from Pittsburgh had told me about. I figured I had to run into them eventually. They said one was mostly going by train and carrying his brother's gear for him. They no longer have to worry about trains, as just yesterday they linked up with an Australian with a car who is also biking the course. They saw me pass last night as they were camped along the road.
Jesse's brother pulled up along side us a couple of times in the car to offer water and check on his brother. I didn't realize at first he was at the steering wheel, as I hadn't noticed it was a right-hand drive vehicle. I did notice an Australian bumper sticker, leading me to believe at first that they were part of the Australian contingent, which greatly outnumbers the Americans this year. Their first order of business in Nimes was to find the local Decathlon chain sporting goods store to buy a bike rack for the car to accommodate their three bikes. Jesse and I parted five miles from the finish as I stopped to take advantage of a large grocery store, which aren't always easy to find and are generally on the outskirts of French towns. We hope to meet up either at the giant screen or somewhere down the road tonight. They'll be looking for me.
Jesse said the Australian, Skippy, has been following The Tour for eleven years and is a great raconteur. He could be just the person I've been hoping to link up with all these years. I'm curious to see if I recognise him. Jesse attended The Tour two years ago and saw three stages, including L'Alpe d'Huez. He's been having knee problems, partially due to his gearing, but also because early on he was pushing it too hard starting each day's route at sunrise forcing him to ride extra hard to reach the finish before the course was closed. Now he does as me and starts riding the course the evening before. He on his unloaded bike forced me to ride extra hard to keep up as we conversed, though I occasionally dropped back for a draft.
I pulled into Nimes at 12:30, over an hour earlier than I had hoped, but also feeling leg-weary from having pushed it. Jesse has never done any significant touring. Most of his riding has been training for and riding in triathlons. He rides at a hard training pace rather than touring pace, a style of riding that has done in others I have met up with at The Tour and ridden with elsewhere. It is hard for some to learn to let up a tad when they have to ride such long distances day after day and with weight on their bike.
Jesse had news that the young Italian Ricco, wearing the Polka Dot Jersey of the best climber, who has won two stages and ranked ninth overall and was a force to be concerned about in the upcoming three stages in the Alps, tested positive for EPO and was disqualified this morning. I later learned that his entire team withdrew from the race. He's the third rider to test positive this year. The first was former Lance teammate, the Spaniard Manual Beltran. More and more of Lance's teammates have been caught, pointing the finger of suspicion ever more strongly in his face.
Later, George
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Norbonne (Ville Arrivee)
Friends: There was a rare convergence of five touring cyclists under the giant screen at the Foix finish line yesterday. I was the first to arrive, staking claim to a shady corner spot up against a fence separating the VIPs from the commoners. I left my bike and went to fill two of my water bottles at a nearby fountain.
When I returned there were two young men with loaded bikes giving my bike the once over. They were Germans on the third day of their tour. They started out in Narbonne to the east near the Mediterranean, the peloton's next Ville Arrivee after Foix. The Germans had just pulled into Foix and were headed to the campgrounds, planning to return to see the race finish in four-and-a-half hours. They had only a little touring experience and had never ridden in mountainous terrain. They were fretting a bit about their climb out of Foix the next day. The had no intention of going anywhere near the Tourmalet knowing its forbidding reputation. They wondered if it was possible to climb it with a load such as mine.
When they returned a couple of hours later I was in conversation with a couple of wholesome young American touring cyclists from Pittsburgh who were on their honeymoon. They too were early in their tour and were neophytes at it. They had flown into Paris and then took the TGV train to Pau. They had to scramble in Paris to get bike bags for the high-speed train, which aren't necessary for the regular train.
They saw the peloton depart Pau on Bastille Day and then started biking themselves, heading directly to Foix, staying north of the Tourmalet and the Pyrenees. There was still more climbing and steeper than they anticipated in the 150 miles to Foix. They biked well after dark with the aid of the moon and fireworks to reach the Foix campgrounds on their second night. They had no idea about wild-camping and had made hotel or camping reservations for each night of their two week trip. They needed the reservations for the Foix campgrounds as it was at capacity. When they arrived after dark they were told there was no room for them until they produced their reservation and were allowed to pitch their tent on a scrap of unoccupied grass. Poor souls could have had a whole field of rolled hay to themselves if they had known better.
After the Foix stage they were taking a train to Carcasonne for a day and then another train to Nimes the day after to watch the peloton arrive. We hope to rendezvous at the giant screen tomorrow. And if not there at L'Alpe d'Huez next Tuesday. They will have a fine time climbing it if they've been struggling on the modest climbs so far. Despite the strain of the cycling, they were in an elevated spirit experiencing the grandeur of The Tour. They kept looking around at the mobs of people and all the hoopla and saying, "We don't see any of this on TV. This is amazing."
Megan said she was suffering from sunburn, though it wasn't evident. She said she put sun-block on at least three times a day, but was still fried. She was happy to stay in the shade with me while Matt went exploring to see what free stuff he could collect from all the sponsors that he saw everyone else carting about. When the caravan finally arrived and started dispersing its goodies she was surprised, as she thought the steady stream of vehicles preceding it had been the caravan. I pointed out Raymond Poulidor when he was dropped off in front of us to go hobnob with the VIPs in the fenced in area behind us after having been driven along the race course as he is every day. She was enough of a fan to know who he was but she didn't know his nickname, Pou-Pou.
She and Matt were riding Raleigh touring bikes. Their first choice had been the Trek 520 as I ride, but there was such a demand for them, none were available until September. Nor could they find a Kona or Surley, their next choices. The nearest touring bike they could find to Pittsburgh was 200 miles away. But no complaints. Hopefully I will be able to share in their honeymoon delight a couple more times.
At the stage finish, I was perfectly situated to make a quick getaway and lead the charge to Lavenet, the next day's start 20 miles away. It was half an hour before the first team car passed me and the parade of Tour vehicles engulfed the road. Two miles from Lavenet the vehicles were backed up and moving at less than a crawl. There was hardly any traffic coming from the opposite direction, so I could ride down the middle of the road. I did the same descending the Tourmalet Monday. The bicycle is always the vehicle of choice, but never more so than on those two occasions.
There was music and Tour festivities enlivening Lavenet when I passed through at 6:30 pm. I had no time to spare to linger. I found the arrows leading out of town and started Stage 12. It was peace and quiet with only a sporadic vehicle for the next three hours. I knocked off 33 miles of the stage, stopping only to eat a thawed grocery store quiche, leaving me 72 miles to the stage finish the next day. And here I am in Narbonne, with the peloton due to arrive in two-and-a-half hours. I've scouted out tomorrow's route out of town and will be on my way to Nimes, 110 miles away, in less than three hours. Things could not be going better.
Later, George
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Foix (Ville Arriveé)
Friends: The first eight miles of today's ten-mile category one climb over the Col de Portet, another brute, is so narrow I never would have guessed it could possibly be on The Tour route. Its going to be a very tight squeeze for some of the float-sized vehicles in the caravan. Sections were so narrow I had to occasionally pull over and dismount when a rare car came along. It is no wonder that it has never been on The Tour route until this year.
There were just a few spots wide enough for Tour followers to have parked their campers or set up their tents for the night on those first eight miles. The final two miles, though, traverses a wide ridge with spectacular views of the distant high Pyrenees. It was wide enough to already have been packed bumper-to-bumper with campers 24 hours before the peloton would pass. There were a handful of cyclists giving it a ride, but nothing like the throngs on the Tourmalet. Both climbs attract enough cyclists for there to be signs every kilometer bearing a cyclist and the elevation and the grade for the next kilometer. If the grade was 9.5%, the next sign would show a gain of 95 meters in elevation. Since I knew I had to get to 1,432 meters starting from a little over 300 I was happy for every gain I made on the summit.
Tackling the Portet wasn't exactly the best way for me to spend a so-called rest day, and I could have easily skipped it by continuing on the more direct and flat main highway between St. Girons and Foix rather than following The Tour route that dipped down to one of the narrow, lightly-trafficked secondary roads that make The Tour so picturesque. This route was so idyllic, it was a wonder that The Tour had never gone this way before. Though it was a much greater expenditure of energy to go this way I was very happy to join with all those who had already gathered along the route and to glimpse the homages the tiny towns along the way had to offer.
Many of the mental photos I took along the way are sure to stick with me, as well as a couple I took with my camera. One was of a bare-chested hermit of a guy who had set up his tent on a nub of a grassy cliff overlooking the road. He was perched in his camp chair, soaking in the sun, while his team banners flapped in the breeze. I also snapped a shot of a small encampment of Belgians with their black, gold and red flag flying along with a large white bed-sheet stretched between a couple of trees proclaiming, "We Miss You Tom." Tom is Tom Boonen, who was denied entry to The Tour by its organizers for testing positive for cocaine in an out of competition drug test about six weeks ago. Its not an official suspension, just a choice of the Tour de France. Boonen is such a prominent figure in Europe that it was front page news in Spain while I was there.
Cycling's governing body did not sanction Boonen for the use of the recreational drug, but Tour de France officials arbitrarily decided to refuse him entry, not wanting their race tainted by a drug-taker of any kind, reasoning that he who uses any illicit drug will be inclined to take another. If this were the U.S., Boonen could well have sicced a peloton of lawyers on The Tour. As one of cycling's premier figures, Boonen is emerging as Belgium's greatest cyclist since the greatest of them all--Eddie Merckx. Belgium was so upset with Boonen's exclusion, it withdrew its ambassador from France in protest. Lucky for France Belgium isn't Germany. It might have prompted military action. Its been nearly 70 years since Germany last invaded France after doing it three times in less than 75 years. Some would say they are overdue.
After today the racers will enjoy a three-day reprieve from the mountains. Then on Sunday they take on the Alps, venturing into Italy for two stages. There ought to be relative calm in the standings until then, despite the mere one second difference between Evans and Schleck at the top of the standings. It is the mountains that provide the excitement and lustre to the racing. When I was circling around the vast plaza in Toulouse while crews were just starting to set up the elaborate departure structure in front of its grandiose Mairie several evenings ago, searching for the course markers indicating the route out, I couldn't spot them and had to ask. The first cyclist I encountered said he was just visiting and had no idea. The second was a homeless-looking guy on a Huffy of a bike. At my query, he instantly responded with a grand sweep of his arm pointing to his left and gleefully blurted, "Tomorrow they go to the Pyrenees," knowing that it implied The Race would truly begin. Then he directed me to the corner of the plaza the peloton would exit. It was a bit of a challenge to find the course markers through the large metropolis of Toulouse, one of France's five largest cities, but only once did I have to ask if I were still on course.
Today is much more of a rest day for me than yesterday. I ended up riding 80 miles of today's route. I finished it off this morning arriving in Foix by ten a.m. I will be off the bike until 5:30. Then I'll lead the charge to tomorrow's stage start 20 miles away and hopefully get at least 20 miles further down the road giving me a good chance to beat the peloton to the stage finish, allowing me the luxury of watching the peloton on the giant screen for a couple of hours as I will do today. The following two stages involve no transfer between finish and start, so I will be in great shape to have seen the peloton pass on each of the first 13 stages. I probably won't make it to Italy, but instead will head to L'Alpe d'Huez, which will be the third and final day in the Alps for the peloton. Hopefully I will find some Internet along the way.
Later, George
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
St. Gaudens, France
Friends: Every day following The Tour is rich in stories, of the race itself, my efforts to keep up, what I see along the way and the encounters I have. Here are the lead paragraphs of some of those I would have shared had I had the time or been able to find the Internet the last few days.
As I was taking down my tent early Sunday morning at a nondescript grassy atoll at a minor T intersection on The Tour route about 15 miles beyond Toulouse, that day's gendarme guardian of the intersection was dropped off, something I hadn't anticipated, though it was no cause for alarm. She gave me a nod and a smile. It was only 7:40 and the peloton wasn't due to pass for four hours. Their early posting is one of countless examples of how supremely well-organized this monumental event is. I passed quite a few lonely gendarmes at their early morning outposts in the miles to come. I frequently caught them in the act of glancing at their watch...
Even though there are only four Americans riding in The Tour, there is a strong American influence. Christian Vande Velde, who grew up in a Chicago suburb just as I did, is perhaps the surprise of The Tour, in third place and a genuine threat to end up on the podium. He's a veteran rider who has never had the opportunity to be a team leader in The Tour and wasn't given much consideration to have any impact on the race. He rode with Lance in his first Tour win in 1999 on the U.S. Postal team. Vande Velde was the youngest rider on the nine-man team. He wore the Tour's white jersey as the highest placed young rider for a short spell. He made a grievous mistake that year, crashing in the team time trial, skidding on a wet paint mark, a rookie mistake that no bike messenger would ever make. He rode only one more Tour with Lance in 2001 before transferring to the Spanish Liberty Segurus team of Roberto Heras and then to the Danish CSC team before joining Garmin-Chipotle this year.
Besides Vande Velde, the two American-sponsored teams, the most ever in The Tour, have been making their presence felt. Columbia, a sports clothing company headquartered in Oregon, shortly before The Tour started took over the sponsorship of the German Telekom team that Jan Ullrich last rode for. Columbia has been having a sensational Tour, at one point holding three of the four lead jerseys--yellow for the leader, green for the best sprinter and white for best young rider. The only one they didn't have was the red polka-dot jersey for best climber. Columbia was the early dominant team in the race. The English sprinter Mark Cavendish, riding for Columbia, has won two stages. He's not much of a climber though, as he was the last over the Tourmalet, more than 20 minutes behind the leader. Columbia has some sharp management to have seen the opportunity to take over the sponsorship of this team and gain all the publicity it has. If I were an investor I'd be examining its price to earnings ratio and its other vital statistics...
Of the hundreds of Tour vehicles of team cars and officials and campers that passed me, 20 or 30 per minute, in the 40-mile early-evening post-race rush from the Stage six finish in Chateauroux to the Stage 7 start in Figeac, only one gave a friendly toot--one of the team cars of the American team Garmin-Chipotle. Europeans reserve their horns for assertive, rather than friendly, gestures. But people did stick their arms out to wave or to give a double pump of a clenched fist, the silent version of allez-allez. It was a rollicking, mostly downhill ride from the fringe of the Massif Central along a river. I arrived in Figeac with enough light to continue on and gain 10 miles on the next day's stage before camping at dark just as a light drizzle began...
With Bastille Day, the French equivalent of July 4, on a Monday this year, I faced the prospect of not finding an open grocery store for two days. So I finally did it. I spent five dollars and twenty-five cents on a 12-ounce jar of peanut butter. With a jar of peanut butter and a jar of honey and a loaf of bread, I'd have almost enough provisions to get me through two days, if nothing else turned up. At least the peanut butter came in a plastic jar, rather than glass, as it more commonly does here, making it a little lighter for my Bastille Day climb up the Tourmalet.
I didn't need to make much of a dent in the peanut butter, however, as I was able to supplement my supplies with some Sunday dumpster-diving. It has been chilly enough in the foothills of the Pyrenees that four liter-sized bottles of citrus-flavored water were still perspiring in the dumpster, not having cooled to air temperature. Four deli sandwiches in sealed wedge-shaped plastic containers with an expiration date of the day before were also refrigerator temperature. A bag of croissants and a day-old "L'Equipe," perhaps the prize of the dive, rounded out my harvest. They help the budget. It has taken a hit of late having to cough up three to five dollars for a drink to watch The Tour in a bar, as I have been falling short of late reaching the Finish Line and its giant screen before the racers. So far, I've been in bars for the conclusion of six of the ten stages. When I usually don't even spend ten dollars a day on food, five dollars for a drink is an extravagance...
I found a dream vantage point for the Bastille Day tenth stage, two-and-a-half miles below the summit of the Tourmalet, the most storied Tour climb in the Pyrenees, at the ski resort town La Mangie. It was beside the Relais Etape, a mini-Tour village set up somewhere along each day's stage, a tented area cordoned off for dignitaries and sponsors with food and entertainment, and, most important, a large screen carrying the cable feed of the day's race action. Sometimes the screen is situated so only the VIPs can see it, but here, those sitting along the road could watch as well, though not at the best of angles.
My site was made even more perfect with a W.C. Publique across the road. It had sinks with water spigots, which isn't always customary. It's always important to have a place to pee, whether a toilet or a secluded bush, and a source of water nearby when I have to stop for several hours awaiting the racers to pass. And my spot was made all the better by a large clan of the enthusiastic, flamboyant Spanish orange-clad Euskatel fans right beside me--children and adults. If my Stage 1 Euskatel water bottle wasn't buried deep in one of my panniers and stuffed with film and my third pair of emergency socks and underwear, I would have filled it with water and made it my bottle of choice for this stage and been one of them. It was 12:30 when I claimed my spot, three hours before the racers were due to pass and five hours before they were due to finish at the ski resort of Hautacam 35 miles beyond. Before the climbing began the peloton would pass through Lourdes, which is celebrating the 150th anniversary of the Virgin Mary visitations to a local young girl. The year-long celebration includes a film festival of movies featuring Lourdes. The Pope also plans a visit to commemorate the occasion.
I set up my sleeping pad/camp chair, plopped down and reveled in my setting, further highlighted by the surrounding snow-streaked, jagged peaks all around, a few laced with dormant chair lifts. Watching the procession of the wide-array of recreational cyclists struggling past was as entertaining as the racers to come. At one-third the speed, one could actually focus in on them and their features.
It had been an eight-mile climb, mostly nine and ten percent grade, from the small town of Sainte-Marie de Campon to this point. From the turn-off starting the climb it had been bicycles only. It was a wheel-to-wheel procession of cyclists plodding along at five to six miles per hour, mostly Lycra-clad on high-end racing bikes. There were a few on mountain bikes and lesser quality road bikes. A few had small day packs and there was one with a single pannier, but no one carrying my weight, fifty-pounds or so, including a two-pound can of cassoulet stew that I was lucky enough to buy at a small grocery store in Bagneres that was open on this holiday. The steep grade had reduced a few cyclists to walking their bikes.
I settled in for a couple of miles with a pair of English cyclists who were on their annual visit to The Tour. This was the first time, though, that they had ventured into the mountains. The Tourmalet was by far the biggest climb they had ever attempted any where, partially explaining why I was able to keep up with them. They were thrilled by the two stage wins of their countryman Cavendish. It had been front page news back home. They wanted to buy Columbia team jerseys, but the team is so new, none are yet available for sale. The Tour shops still have the team's short-lived High Road jersey for sale, and not at a discount. The team was known as High Road for a few months in its transition from being Telekom as it searched for a new sponsor.
After about 20 minutes the two guys said they were going to stop and wait for their two companions. I asked if they knew when the road was going to be closed to cyclists. They didn't, nor did they know about the ski town below the summit. I stopped for a mini-rest myself five miles into the climb and to have a bite to eat. I'd scavenged a couple of discarded Powerbar gel packs that I 'd saved for this climb, one that was laced with caffeine and promised instant action. And it delivered. The last two-and-a-half miles were almost easier than the first five. For the first time I was passing riders and feeling no pain.
It looked for a spell that it was going to be a glorious Bastille Day for all of France when the upcoming young French rider Remy DeGregorio broke from the peloton and led all up the Tourmalet. He didn't have enough to hold on for the win, but he did have an hour or more of glory. The riders were spread out over 20 minutes on the Tourmalet. Whenever an Euskatel rider passed my companions went berserk shouting out the rider's name and encouragement, earning an instant smile from the poor, suffering soul.
And today is a much anticipated rest day for the peloton, so I am under no pressure to find a bar with a television or reach a Finish Line by mid-afternoon. I'll still do 50 or more miles on the way to Foix, tomorrow's Stage 11 finish. I've done at least 100 miles four of the last five days, so my legs will enjoy only doing half that and be under no strain to reach any specific point by any specific time.
I'm having my best Tour ever, having kept up through ten stages. This morning's ride has been a bit of a challenge, as the course markers have yet to be posted. I know it is going on at this very moment somewhere behind me. When I send this off and resume my riding, it is very possible that the crew putting up the markers may have passed me by. I'm hoping I'll catch them in action, something I've very much wanted to witness.
I'm especially interested in seeing the tool that spits out the wire that holds the signs to the posts. I'm curious, too, how many people are in the crew. Is it simply a driver and a poster or are there more. I'd like to ask them if they are supplied with a map designating where arrows should be placed, or is it up to their discretion. I'd love, too, to see the huge stack of markers they have in their truck, and to learn how many they ordinarily post on a stage and what their records are for the most and fewest for a stage.
Later, George
As I was taking down my tent early Sunday morning at a nondescript grassy atoll at a minor T intersection on The Tour route about 15 miles beyond Toulouse, that day's gendarme guardian of the intersection was dropped off, something I hadn't anticipated, though it was no cause for alarm. She gave me a nod and a smile. It was only 7:40 and the peloton wasn't due to pass for four hours. Their early posting is one of countless examples of how supremely well-organized this monumental event is. I passed quite a few lonely gendarmes at their early morning outposts in the miles to come. I frequently caught them in the act of glancing at their watch...
Even though there are only four Americans riding in The Tour, there is a strong American influence. Christian Vande Velde, who grew up in a Chicago suburb just as I did, is perhaps the surprise of The Tour, in third place and a genuine threat to end up on the podium. He's a veteran rider who has never had the opportunity to be a team leader in The Tour and wasn't given much consideration to have any impact on the race. He rode with Lance in his first Tour win in 1999 on the U.S. Postal team. Vande Velde was the youngest rider on the nine-man team. He wore the Tour's white jersey as the highest placed young rider for a short spell. He made a grievous mistake that year, crashing in the team time trial, skidding on a wet paint mark, a rookie mistake that no bike messenger would ever make. He rode only one more Tour with Lance in 2001 before transferring to the Spanish Liberty Segurus team of Roberto Heras and then to the Danish CSC team before joining Garmin-Chipotle this year.
Besides Vande Velde, the two American-sponsored teams, the most ever in The Tour, have been making their presence felt. Columbia, a sports clothing company headquartered in Oregon, shortly before The Tour started took over the sponsorship of the German Telekom team that Jan Ullrich last rode for. Columbia has been having a sensational Tour, at one point holding three of the four lead jerseys--yellow for the leader, green for the best sprinter and white for best young rider. The only one they didn't have was the red polka-dot jersey for best climber. Columbia was the early dominant team in the race. The English sprinter Mark Cavendish, riding for Columbia, has won two stages. He's not much of a climber though, as he was the last over the Tourmalet, more than 20 minutes behind the leader. Columbia has some sharp management to have seen the opportunity to take over the sponsorship of this team and gain all the publicity it has. If I were an investor I'd be examining its price to earnings ratio and its other vital statistics...
Of the hundreds of Tour vehicles of team cars and officials and campers that passed me, 20 or 30 per minute, in the 40-mile early-evening post-race rush from the Stage six finish in Chateauroux to the Stage 7 start in Figeac, only one gave a friendly toot--one of the team cars of the American team Garmin-Chipotle. Europeans reserve their horns for assertive, rather than friendly, gestures. But people did stick their arms out to wave or to give a double pump of a clenched fist, the silent version of allez-allez. It was a rollicking, mostly downhill ride from the fringe of the Massif Central along a river. I arrived in Figeac with enough light to continue on and gain 10 miles on the next day's stage before camping at dark just as a light drizzle began...
With Bastille Day, the French equivalent of July 4, on a Monday this year, I faced the prospect of not finding an open grocery store for two days. So I finally did it. I spent five dollars and twenty-five cents on a 12-ounce jar of peanut butter. With a jar of peanut butter and a jar of honey and a loaf of bread, I'd have almost enough provisions to get me through two days, if nothing else turned up. At least the peanut butter came in a plastic jar, rather than glass, as it more commonly does here, making it a little lighter for my Bastille Day climb up the Tourmalet.
I didn't need to make much of a dent in the peanut butter, however, as I was able to supplement my supplies with some Sunday dumpster-diving. It has been chilly enough in the foothills of the Pyrenees that four liter-sized bottles of citrus-flavored water were still perspiring in the dumpster, not having cooled to air temperature. Four deli sandwiches in sealed wedge-shaped plastic containers with an expiration date of the day before were also refrigerator temperature. A bag of croissants and a day-old "L'Equipe," perhaps the prize of the dive, rounded out my harvest. They help the budget. It has taken a hit of late having to cough up three to five dollars for a drink to watch The Tour in a bar, as I have been falling short of late reaching the Finish Line and its giant screen before the racers. So far, I've been in bars for the conclusion of six of the ten stages. When I usually don't even spend ten dollars a day on food, five dollars for a drink is an extravagance...
I found a dream vantage point for the Bastille Day tenth stage, two-and-a-half miles below the summit of the Tourmalet, the most storied Tour climb in the Pyrenees, at the ski resort town La Mangie. It was beside the Relais Etape, a mini-Tour village set up somewhere along each day's stage, a tented area cordoned off for dignitaries and sponsors with food and entertainment, and, most important, a large screen carrying the cable feed of the day's race action. Sometimes the screen is situated so only the VIPs can see it, but here, those sitting along the road could watch as well, though not at the best of angles.
My site was made even more perfect with a W.C. Publique across the road. It had sinks with water spigots, which isn't always customary. It's always important to have a place to pee, whether a toilet or a secluded bush, and a source of water nearby when I have to stop for several hours awaiting the racers to pass. And my spot was made all the better by a large clan of the enthusiastic, flamboyant Spanish orange-clad Euskatel fans right beside me--children and adults. If my Stage 1 Euskatel water bottle wasn't buried deep in one of my panniers and stuffed with film and my third pair of emergency socks and underwear, I would have filled it with water and made it my bottle of choice for this stage and been one of them. It was 12:30 when I claimed my spot, three hours before the racers were due to pass and five hours before they were due to finish at the ski resort of Hautacam 35 miles beyond. Before the climbing began the peloton would pass through Lourdes, which is celebrating the 150th anniversary of the Virgin Mary visitations to a local young girl. The year-long celebration includes a film festival of movies featuring Lourdes. The Pope also plans a visit to commemorate the occasion.
I set up my sleeping pad/camp chair, plopped down and reveled in my setting, further highlighted by the surrounding snow-streaked, jagged peaks all around, a few laced with dormant chair lifts. Watching the procession of the wide-array of recreational cyclists struggling past was as entertaining as the racers to come. At one-third the speed, one could actually focus in on them and their features.
It had been an eight-mile climb, mostly nine and ten percent grade, from the small town of Sainte-Marie de Campon to this point. From the turn-off starting the climb it had been bicycles only. It was a wheel-to-wheel procession of cyclists plodding along at five to six miles per hour, mostly Lycra-clad on high-end racing bikes. There were a few on mountain bikes and lesser quality road bikes. A few had small day packs and there was one with a single pannier, but no one carrying my weight, fifty-pounds or so, including a two-pound can of cassoulet stew that I was lucky enough to buy at a small grocery store in Bagneres that was open on this holiday. The steep grade had reduced a few cyclists to walking their bikes.
I settled in for a couple of miles with a pair of English cyclists who were on their annual visit to The Tour. This was the first time, though, that they had ventured into the mountains. The Tourmalet was by far the biggest climb they had ever attempted any where, partially explaining why I was able to keep up with them. They were thrilled by the two stage wins of their countryman Cavendish. It had been front page news back home. They wanted to buy Columbia team jerseys, but the team is so new, none are yet available for sale. The Tour shops still have the team's short-lived High Road jersey for sale, and not at a discount. The team was known as High Road for a few months in its transition from being Telekom as it searched for a new sponsor.
After about 20 minutes the two guys said they were going to stop and wait for their two companions. I asked if they knew when the road was going to be closed to cyclists. They didn't, nor did they know about the ski town below the summit. I stopped for a mini-rest myself five miles into the climb and to have a bite to eat. I'd scavenged a couple of discarded Powerbar gel packs that I 'd saved for this climb, one that was laced with caffeine and promised instant action. And it delivered. The last two-and-a-half miles were almost easier than the first five. For the first time I was passing riders and feeling no pain.
It looked for a spell that it was going to be a glorious Bastille Day for all of France when the upcoming young French rider Remy DeGregorio broke from the peloton and led all up the Tourmalet. He didn't have enough to hold on for the win, but he did have an hour or more of glory. The riders were spread out over 20 minutes on the Tourmalet. Whenever an Euskatel rider passed my companions went berserk shouting out the rider's name and encouragement, earning an instant smile from the poor, suffering soul.
And today is a much anticipated rest day for the peloton, so I am under no pressure to find a bar with a television or reach a Finish Line by mid-afternoon. I'll still do 50 or more miles on the way to Foix, tomorrow's Stage 11 finish. I've done at least 100 miles four of the last five days, so my legs will enjoy only doing half that and be under no strain to reach any specific point by any specific time.
I'm having my best Tour ever, having kept up through ten stages. This morning's ride has been a bit of a challenge, as the course markers have yet to be posted. I know it is going on at this very moment somewhere behind me. When I send this off and resume my riding, it is very possible that the crew putting up the markers may have passed me by. I'm hoping I'll catch them in action, something I've very much wanted to witness.
I'm especially interested in seeing the tool that spits out the wire that holds the signs to the posts. I'm curious, too, how many people are in the crew. Is it simply a driver and a poster or are there more. I'd like to ask them if they are supplied with a map designating where arrows should be placed, or is it up to their discretion. I'd love, too, to see the huge stack of markers they have in their truck, and to learn how many they ordinarily post on a stage and what their records are for the most and fewest for a stage.
Later, George
Friday, July 11, 2008
Aurillac (Ville Arriveé)
Friends: Rather than continuing on to Super Bresse after the peloton passed me to the Stage 6 finish line, I left The Tour route at St. Saues at the 86-mile mark of the 122-mile stage, and headed due south for 75 miles to Aurillac for the Stage 7 finish. I didn't feel totally Tour-deprived, as there were others taking the shortcut as well. Some were fans following The Race in their campers with The Tour course markers in their rear windows. There were also official Tour vehicles with ID numbers on their back or sponsor logos on their side.
Even off route there was Tour scavenging. I found a course marker laying on the side of the road. It had scotch tape on two of its edges, indicating someone actually tried to tape it to the outside of their window. I also found a green Agritubel team water bottle, my second bottle of the day, both from French teams. The other was a bland, mostly white Cofidis bottle.
I didn't suffer too much withdrawal going 75 miles without bike tributes along the road, as I was still reveling from a very healthy dose the past couple of days. There was a great sense of community spirit up on the Massif Central and a contagion of Tour fever. Many of the small towns had similar, almost copycat, bike decorations in front of homes and businesses. Bikes adorned with boxes of geraniums atop their front and rear wheels were a popular display.
I encountered my first zealot of a gendarme (a true "flic," French slang similar to "cop") after I'd biked 38 miles yesterday. It was 11:05. He said the course had closed at eleven and I would have to stop riding even though the caravan wasn't due for over two hours and the racers three-and-a-half hours. He obviously hadn't been informed that the eleven o'clock closing did not apply to those of us on bicycles. I simply walked for five minutes until I was out of his vision and then continued on for over an hour-and-a-half passing dozens of sensible and benevolent gendarmes, just reaching my goal of the day's feed zone at the 70-mile point of the course before I was ordered off my bike again, this time by two gendarmes on motorcycles who precede the caravan by about fifteen minutes. I was helped by being able to draft a hard-riding father and son for an hour or so.
I was spent, as it was a hard day over two category four climbs and lots of other climbing. I was so intent on making it to the Feed Zone before the caravan that I didn't even stop at a cemetery to fill my water bottle. I still had two full ones, but with it now warming up, I was concerned they might not be enough to get me through my two-hour interlude waiting for the riders.
There is a water sponsor in the caravan with four floats dispensing half-liter bottles of water. When they passed I was fully prepared to be as aggressive as need be to grab their offering. Luck was with me as I nabbed a bottle from both of the floats passing on my side of the road. They pass at 25 miles per hour and hold the bottles out, rather than tossing them. It can sting when it hits the palm of one's hand. I knew better than the others around me to be at the ready and to assertively reach out for the water. Most of the other sponsors toss their goodies at our feet. A coffee sponsor also hands out their containers. PMU likewise delivers their over-sized green hands into the palms of the roadside fans.
The Massif Central is the least populated region of France, so there were fewer people along the road than usual. By the time the caravan reached the Feed Zone they were extra generous with their giveaways, as they were still well-stocked. I had my best haul yet, 21 items. I nabbed my first pretzels of The Tour. I was running low on food, as I hadn't been able to stop at a grocery store, so they were welcome too, as was the candy.
I scored key chains from six of the sponsors, one of my favorite items as they are small and lightweight. They are easy to carry in my pocket and then toss the next day to fans along the route, as I redistribute whatever non-consumables I gather. I'll have a good stock to pass out tomorrow. I may not get too far along the course though before the peloton, as there is a forty mile gap between today's stage finish and tomorrow's stage start. Hopefully the terrain will be less demanding than it has been.
I am a petit pre-caravan on those days when I'm riding the course just a few hours ahead of the peloton, giving those lining the course an early taste of what is to come and an unexpected thrill. I am selective who I toss to. I ignore the campers that are following The Tour knowing they get loads of stuff. I seek out children or people who are extra enthusiastic cheering my approach. Many of the older folks get a hearty laugh at my gesture, recognizing it for what it is. Others shout out a gracious "merci."
I biked for 90 minutes after the peloton passed and made it to a restaurant/bar for the final 40 minutes of the stage. For a couple miles after the Feed Zone, I collected a few energy bars tossed by riders who didn't need them, including a traditional home-made rice patty wrapped in tin foil that probably came from one of the two Belgian teams in the race. There is a new caffeinated coconut Power Bar that is popular with the riders. It is so potent, one bite is all they need, leaving the rest along the road for us scavengers. Mini-cans of coke, about four ounces worth, is the drink of choice. They are downed almost immediately after the Feed Zone in one quick gulp and then discarded along the road. I've never found an unopened one.
For a few kilometers the American Christian Vande Velde was a threat to grab the yellow jersey and achieve instant fame across the U.S. He was part of a two-man breakaway on the final category two climb. If he had been able to stay away it would have been a tremendous coup. His American team, Garmin-Chipotle, has been the surprise of The Tour. They are leading the team catergory. The other American team, Columbia, is second, followed by CSC, which won the honor last year. Its a token award that isn't given much attention, but it still has its significance.
Two Americans remain in the Top Ten overall, Vande Velde and Hincapie. Vande Velde might actually be able to hang in there. Maybe it will prompt some Americans to get over here. I have yet to see an American flag along the road. There have been a fair number of Australia flags, along with the usual abundance of French, Belgian and German flags waved by fans along the road or mounted on their campers.
I've met two sets of Americans at Ville Etapes, both overwhelmed by the extravagance of this event. Its enormity is beyond comparison. One was a trio of students from Virginia biking around Europe. They just happened upon The Tour and had no intent of seeing any more of it. The other was a 40-year old guy from San Diego, who also just stumbled upon it. He was a cyclist and would have loved to have been riding, but his wife wasn't much of a cyclist. They were staying at 150 euro a night hotels, enough to cover all my expense for better than two weeks.
Later, George
Even off route there was Tour scavenging. I found a course marker laying on the side of the road. It had scotch tape on two of its edges, indicating someone actually tried to tape it to the outside of their window. I also found a green Agritubel team water bottle, my second bottle of the day, both from French teams. The other was a bland, mostly white Cofidis bottle.
I didn't suffer too much withdrawal going 75 miles without bike tributes along the road, as I was still reveling from a very healthy dose the past couple of days. There was a great sense of community spirit up on the Massif Central and a contagion of Tour fever. Many of the small towns had similar, almost copycat, bike decorations in front of homes and businesses. Bikes adorned with boxes of geraniums atop their front and rear wheels were a popular display.
I encountered my first zealot of a gendarme (a true "flic," French slang similar to "cop") after I'd biked 38 miles yesterday. It was 11:05. He said the course had closed at eleven and I would have to stop riding even though the caravan wasn't due for over two hours and the racers three-and-a-half hours. He obviously hadn't been informed that the eleven o'clock closing did not apply to those of us on bicycles. I simply walked for five minutes until I was out of his vision and then continued on for over an hour-and-a-half passing dozens of sensible and benevolent gendarmes, just reaching my goal of the day's feed zone at the 70-mile point of the course before I was ordered off my bike again, this time by two gendarmes on motorcycles who precede the caravan by about fifteen minutes. I was helped by being able to draft a hard-riding father and son for an hour or so.
I was spent, as it was a hard day over two category four climbs and lots of other climbing. I was so intent on making it to the Feed Zone before the caravan that I didn't even stop at a cemetery to fill my water bottle. I still had two full ones, but with it now warming up, I was concerned they might not be enough to get me through my two-hour interlude waiting for the riders.
There is a water sponsor in the caravan with four floats dispensing half-liter bottles of water. When they passed I was fully prepared to be as aggressive as need be to grab their offering. Luck was with me as I nabbed a bottle from both of the floats passing on my side of the road. They pass at 25 miles per hour and hold the bottles out, rather than tossing them. It can sting when it hits the palm of one's hand. I knew better than the others around me to be at the ready and to assertively reach out for the water. Most of the other sponsors toss their goodies at our feet. A coffee sponsor also hands out their containers. PMU likewise delivers their over-sized green hands into the palms of the roadside fans.
The Massif Central is the least populated region of France, so there were fewer people along the road than usual. By the time the caravan reached the Feed Zone they were extra generous with their giveaways, as they were still well-stocked. I had my best haul yet, 21 items. I nabbed my first pretzels of The Tour. I was running low on food, as I hadn't been able to stop at a grocery store, so they were welcome too, as was the candy.
I scored key chains from six of the sponsors, one of my favorite items as they are small and lightweight. They are easy to carry in my pocket and then toss the next day to fans along the route, as I redistribute whatever non-consumables I gather. I'll have a good stock to pass out tomorrow. I may not get too far along the course though before the peloton, as there is a forty mile gap between today's stage finish and tomorrow's stage start. Hopefully the terrain will be less demanding than it has been.
I am a petit pre-caravan on those days when I'm riding the course just a few hours ahead of the peloton, giving those lining the course an early taste of what is to come and an unexpected thrill. I am selective who I toss to. I ignore the campers that are following The Tour knowing they get loads of stuff. I seek out children or people who are extra enthusiastic cheering my approach. Many of the older folks get a hearty laugh at my gesture, recognizing it for what it is. Others shout out a gracious "merci."
I biked for 90 minutes after the peloton passed and made it to a restaurant/bar for the final 40 minutes of the stage. For a couple miles after the Feed Zone, I collected a few energy bars tossed by riders who didn't need them, including a traditional home-made rice patty wrapped in tin foil that probably came from one of the two Belgian teams in the race. There is a new caffeinated coconut Power Bar that is popular with the riders. It is so potent, one bite is all they need, leaving the rest along the road for us scavengers. Mini-cans of coke, about four ounces worth, is the drink of choice. They are downed almost immediately after the Feed Zone in one quick gulp and then discarded along the road. I've never found an unopened one.
For a few kilometers the American Christian Vande Velde was a threat to grab the yellow jersey and achieve instant fame across the U.S. He was part of a two-man breakaway on the final category two climb. If he had been able to stay away it would have been a tremendous coup. His American team, Garmin-Chipotle, has been the surprise of The Tour. They are leading the team catergory. The other American team, Columbia, is second, followed by CSC, which won the honor last year. Its a token award that isn't given much attention, but it still has its significance.
Two Americans remain in the Top Ten overall, Vande Velde and Hincapie. Vande Velde might actually be able to hang in there. Maybe it will prompt some Americans to get over here. I have yet to see an American flag along the road. There have been a fair number of Australia flags, along with the usual abundance of French, Belgian and German flags waved by fans along the road or mounted on their campers.
I've met two sets of Americans at Ville Etapes, both overwhelmed by the extravagance of this event. Its enormity is beyond comparison. One was a trio of students from Virginia biking around Europe. They just happened upon The Tour and had no intent of seeing any more of it. The other was a 40-year old guy from San Diego, who also just stumbled upon it. He was a cyclist and would have loved to have been riding, but his wife wasn't much of a cyclist. They were staying at 150 euro a night hotels, enough to cover all my expense for better than two weeks.
Later, George
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Chateauroux (Ville Arriveé)
Friends: Whoever has been placing those hallowed course markers along The Route this year has been doing an exceptionally stellar job, above and beyond the postings of my previous four Tours. Not once yesterday as I biked the Stage Five route while the peloton was time-trialing in Cholet did I go astray or even fear I'd gone astray. I covered one hundred miles without having to consult a map, a rarity. It was so easy to follow the course it was almost as if some fairy godmother had come along with a magic wand and transformed the way to Chateauroux into a yellow brick road.
I did suffer one momentary alarm when I came to a sign warning the road ahead was barricaded and those black arrows still pointed in that direction. As I neared the barrier I saw a crew putting down a fresh layer of asphalt on the very route the peloton was due to ride in less than 24 hours. It was on the outskirts of Thouars. Rather than taking a detour I rode on the sidewalk the few blocks of the paving and remained on course.
In contrast to year's past there has consistently been a course marker one hundred yards beyond each turn the route takes to confirm that one is on the right road. It can be confusing at times which artery to take out of a roundabout, as its possible to be distracted and suffer a lapse of attention and make a mistake. This year, if I have any doubts, I can quickly confirm I took the correct artery.
At particularly sudden or sharp turns markers are often posted in pairs, one on top of the other, so there is no missing them. This year, they have been occasionally posted in triplicate. Whoever has been doing the posting may have biked the route last year and knows how tricky it can be to stay on route when following the course a day ahead of time before it is lined with fans and gendarmes and barricades and bales of hay. Or perhaps he is being paid by the number of signs he puts up. Each one takes some effort. It would be easy to be lazy and try to get away with putting up as few as possible. There has certainly been no skimping this year. I'd gladly buy the poster a beer or a "L'Equipe" for his efforts. There have also been more markers on those long straight stretches that can go on for miles, each assuring those following The Route that they are on course. It always gladdens my heart to see one. There are times when my thought can go astray and a marker jerks me back to reality of where I am--in France biking The Tour.
If I could, I would gladly accompany the crew that puts up the markers, just for a day though. Its not a full-time job I'd want, as the posters never get to see The Race, always a day ahead. The dream Tour job, the dream summer job of any French youth, is riding on one of the caravan vehicles tossing freebies to the goody-craving masses along The Route every day. They get to cover every mile of The Route every day at peak intensity and get to make a lot of people happy.
I departed Cholet yesterday at noon after seeing a handful of the riders set out on their 28-mile ride against the clock. They began at eleven and continued until 5:30. My goal was to reach Richelieu 65 miles away by 4:45 and find a TV to watch the crucial final ten riders. I had the road practically to myself for thirty miles or so, as anyone who lived within that sphere would have flocked into Cholet for the day. Those first thirty miles were a virtual death zone of no activity.
If my legs ddin't have it in them, I could also stop at Loudun, eleven miles before Richelieu. But the terrain was relatively flat and the wind was with me, so I met my goal. Richelieu was another of those astoundingly picturesque French towns with cathedral and chateau and plaza. Any tourist who stumbled upon it would want to stay for days and claim it as their own and rave the rest of their lives of their "discovery," since it isn't one of those name destinations that a travel agent or guidebook would have sent them to. After I passed over a canal and through a narrow walled entrance leading to the plaza I spotted three bars. One had the PMU logo on it for parimutuel horse racing. It would have televisions, but only tuned to horse racing even though PMU is the sponsor of The Tour's sprint competition. Another bar had an ice cream machine out front and tourists sitting at tables. The third was the Bar des Sports. There were no bikes in front, but I went straight to it.
The Tour was on the lone television. There was a newspaper laying on one table. It wasn't L'Equipe, the daily national sports newspaper, but a regional paper that was so packed with Tour stories, it could well have been. It was on the front page, the inside page, the feature page and three pages of the sports section. The headline of one story was that The Tour honored the region with going through it. There was also a headline saying that all of France was proud of its two local heroes yesterday, the French rider who won the stage and the French rider who assumed the Yellow Jersey. There were multiple stories giving the life story of both these unknown riders.
Several locals drifted into the bar as the Time Trial reached its climax. The rider in yellow, the last to start, so expended himself the day before he finished 169th out of the 178 riders left in the race, maybe the worst performance by the yellow jersey in a time trial ever. The American Frishkton also finished near the back, though Hincapie and Vande Velde, two of the other four Americans in the race, both finished in the top ten.
Valverde made his statement of how ready he was on the first stage, and today Evans did the same, finishing a surprising one minute and seven seconds faster than Valverde. Evans finished third for the day. Valverde is a better climber, so his fans needn't be too concerned. I may have to become one of them, as Valverde is one of the few riders wearing a Livestrong bracelet. Tomorrow's stage ends with a dramatic category-two climb. That will make for some exciting racing.
I will be hard pressed to make it to the finish line ahead of the peloton as I've managed the past three stages. After today's finish, it is thirty miles to the start of tomorrow's stage. I will be lucky to make it by nine p.m. Hopefully I'll have the energy to get at least ten miles into the course before stopping to camp. It will be an exciting thirty miles to tomorrow's start as it will be bumper-to-bumper with team cars and Tour staff and Tour followers.
Later, George
I did suffer one momentary alarm when I came to a sign warning the road ahead was barricaded and those black arrows still pointed in that direction. As I neared the barrier I saw a crew putting down a fresh layer of asphalt on the very route the peloton was due to ride in less than 24 hours. It was on the outskirts of Thouars. Rather than taking a detour I rode on the sidewalk the few blocks of the paving and remained on course.
In contrast to year's past there has consistently been a course marker one hundred yards beyond each turn the route takes to confirm that one is on the right road. It can be confusing at times which artery to take out of a roundabout, as its possible to be distracted and suffer a lapse of attention and make a mistake. This year, if I have any doubts, I can quickly confirm I took the correct artery.
At particularly sudden or sharp turns markers are often posted in pairs, one on top of the other, so there is no missing them. This year, they have been occasionally posted in triplicate. Whoever has been doing the posting may have biked the route last year and knows how tricky it can be to stay on route when following the course a day ahead of time before it is lined with fans and gendarmes and barricades and bales of hay. Or perhaps he is being paid by the number of signs he puts up. Each one takes some effort. It would be easy to be lazy and try to get away with putting up as few as possible. There has certainly been no skimping this year. I'd gladly buy the poster a beer or a "L'Equipe" for his efforts. There have also been more markers on those long straight stretches that can go on for miles, each assuring those following The Route that they are on course. It always gladdens my heart to see one. There are times when my thought can go astray and a marker jerks me back to reality of where I am--in France biking The Tour.
If I could, I would gladly accompany the crew that puts up the markers, just for a day though. Its not a full-time job I'd want, as the posters never get to see The Race, always a day ahead. The dream Tour job, the dream summer job of any French youth, is riding on one of the caravan vehicles tossing freebies to the goody-craving masses along The Route every day. They get to cover every mile of The Route every day at peak intensity and get to make a lot of people happy.
I departed Cholet yesterday at noon after seeing a handful of the riders set out on their 28-mile ride against the clock. They began at eleven and continued until 5:30. My goal was to reach Richelieu 65 miles away by 4:45 and find a TV to watch the crucial final ten riders. I had the road practically to myself for thirty miles or so, as anyone who lived within that sphere would have flocked into Cholet for the day. Those first thirty miles were a virtual death zone of no activity.
If my legs ddin't have it in them, I could also stop at Loudun, eleven miles before Richelieu. But the terrain was relatively flat and the wind was with me, so I met my goal. Richelieu was another of those astoundingly picturesque French towns with cathedral and chateau and plaza. Any tourist who stumbled upon it would want to stay for days and claim it as their own and rave the rest of their lives of their "discovery," since it isn't one of those name destinations that a travel agent or guidebook would have sent them to. After I passed over a canal and through a narrow walled entrance leading to the plaza I spotted three bars. One had the PMU logo on it for parimutuel horse racing. It would have televisions, but only tuned to horse racing even though PMU is the sponsor of The Tour's sprint competition. Another bar had an ice cream machine out front and tourists sitting at tables. The third was the Bar des Sports. There were no bikes in front, but I went straight to it.
The Tour was on the lone television. There was a newspaper laying on one table. It wasn't L'Equipe, the daily national sports newspaper, but a regional paper that was so packed with Tour stories, it could well have been. It was on the front page, the inside page, the feature page and three pages of the sports section. The headline of one story was that The Tour honored the region with going through it. There was also a headline saying that all of France was proud of its two local heroes yesterday, the French rider who won the stage and the French rider who assumed the Yellow Jersey. There were multiple stories giving the life story of both these unknown riders.
Several locals drifted into the bar as the Time Trial reached its climax. The rider in yellow, the last to start, so expended himself the day before he finished 169th out of the 178 riders left in the race, maybe the worst performance by the yellow jersey in a time trial ever. The American Frishkton also finished near the back, though Hincapie and Vande Velde, two of the other four Americans in the race, both finished in the top ten.
Valverde made his statement of how ready he was on the first stage, and today Evans did the same, finishing a surprising one minute and seven seconds faster than Valverde. Evans finished third for the day. Valverde is a better climber, so his fans needn't be too concerned. I may have to become one of them, as Valverde is one of the few riders wearing a Livestrong bracelet. Tomorrow's stage ends with a dramatic category-two climb. That will make for some exciting racing.
I will be hard pressed to make it to the finish line ahead of the peloton as I've managed the past three stages. After today's finish, it is thirty miles to the start of tomorrow's stage. I will be lucky to make it by nine p.m. Hopefully I'll have the energy to get at least ten miles into the course before stopping to camp. It will be an exciting thirty miles to tomorrow's start as it will be bumper-to-bumper with team cars and Tour staff and Tour followers.
Later, George
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