Tour de France, Part Two

For years I denied the obvious about the Tour de France (and bike racing in general): it was full of doping and the organization — UCI —  was complicit in the whole scandal. The profile of cycling had exploded in the US and they weren’t about to kill the yellow-jerseyed goose who was laying the golden eggs.  In 2012, when Armstrong finally came clean, it took a lot of sorting in my brain to come to terms with the truth and I decided it was a dirty sport that needed to clean itself up before I came back as a fan. However, only six months after Lance and Oprah had their little tête-à-tête, I was back on the couch with my own performance-enhancing drug — coffee — in hand. The appeal of all those quaint French villages was too much and I just wasn’t getting my fix from Rick Steves. I admit it, I’m a mob wife. 

Our trip to see Stage Five in Laruns had only ratcheted up my excitement level and Stage Six, Tarbes to Cauterets, looked to be the most interesting race of the tour so far. They would be climbing Col du Tourmalet, one of the classic peaks in Tour de France history, before descending through a number of small villages and entering Pierrefitte-Nestalas, our home for the month of July. Although we could have just walked five minutes from our place and watched them speed by in front of Mr. Vagabond, the American food restaurant in town, I wanted a deeper experience, something where I could see the riders as more than a blur. We decided on a spot above town on the switchbacks of the road to Cauteret where the riders would be slowed down by the grade. We opted to leave Coco behind today because she had been a little freaked out by all the racket the day before. She’s pretty easygoing in general but four hours of just sitting in the sun on the side of the raod would have been misery for her. 

We loaded up our backpack with food and drink, grabbed the folding chairs from the back deck, and trekked up to our spot on the D920, about 14 km from the finish line. A lot of fans were thinking like us because, by 1:30,  the roads were already lined with people. We still had two hours of waiting before the Caravan appeared and another 75 minutes after that before we saw any riders so I took a little hike in the woods while Denise cracked a beer and made friends with our neighbors on the side of the road. This time, there were no big screen televisions on which to watch the race so I had to rely upon my TdF phone app and the spotty cellular reception on the side of the mountain to keep track of the stage. As expected, the GC leaders were packed together at the front and we’d get to see Pogačar and Vingegaard dueling it out on the final climb of the day. I had no plans to be one of those obnoxious Tour fans who chase the cyclists up the hill, set off smoke bombs, or hold up a sign in front of a rider, but I’d put in my dues on my couch for years and I couldn’t wait to see the riders up close and personal.  I’d let my emotions determine my reaction.

Finally, over three hours after we set up camp, news came on the app that the riders had entered Pierrefitte and were about to start their ascent up to our position. I switched out my sun hat for my official, made in China, Tour de France baseball cap and started getting nervous: these guys were going to be just a few feet away from me! It would be like standing in right field at Fenway while Dwight Evans fielded a fly ball. The motorcycles approached and you could see the official red lead car for the Tour in front of the riders. Then something unusual appeared; a phalanx of police motorcycles, something I’ve never seen in years of watching the Tour on TV. There’s usually a couple of motos but this was crazy: I thought maybe they’d finally decided to do actual crowd control on the mountain stages where the fans can sometimes get out of hand. Later, we discovered that the reason for all the extra security was that French President Macron had decided to ride along in the lead car for that part of the stage. Thanks, Macron! 

Shortly after that motorcade passed, the lead riders rode by in a flash. I guess the 5% grade didn’t slow them down as much as I expected. Man, these guys are strong! Even if the gendarmerie hadn’t kept me on the side of the road, I don’t think I could have gotten enough momentum to keep up with these cyclists. Various groups of also-rans rode past us on their way to the top and I felt bad for these guys: they had to go through this torture every day to support their teams’ lead rider with little chance of any glory for themselves. Maybe they’re well-paid but it’s a hell of a job. 

After all the riders had made their way up to the top of the D920, we headed back home to watch the finish of the race, exhausted but exhilarated by the spectacle. It’s truly an amazing thing to see and a great source of pride for France. It was a tremendous thrill for me to see the race in person and I even briefly pondered the possibility of driving over to Bordeaux for the next day’s stage. Nah, two days were enough for me, I finally decided; I’d head back to the couch for the rest of the stages.

Later that evening we took Coco out for a run in the big, open field near our house. This time, however, the field was full of trucks and buses: Tour de France support vehicles all packing up for the day. We stopped and talked with a trio of friendly Dutch workers who run logistics for the Tour every year. They told us that they barely sleep for the three weeks of the event but it’s worth it to them: they make a lot of money in a relatively short time. We had seen the face of the Tour on the roads in the last couple of days but this was the beating heart of the organization: without these guys — three of about two thousand workers total — the rolling circus that is the Tour de France couldn’t function. We thanked them for their service and they went back to work. They would drive to Mont-de-Marsan tonight and begin setting up the media infrastructure there and repeat that for three weeks across France. I don’t think there’s anything like the Tour in the world of other sports: it’s like if you took the Super Bowl on tour across the US for three weeks and played a game every day in a different city. You’d have to be crazy to participate in something like that! Just watching two stages was enough work for us.

Upcoming posts: Denise takes the waters at Lourdes and hilarious consequences ensue when we rent some bikes. Thanks for reading!