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tour newbie
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Until a week ago the closest I had been to the Tour de France itself was 2007 when the event came to me, or at least to London, with the hosting of the prologue and Stage 1 of that year’s race. This year was to be different. With the announcement of the route in October last year, it was immediately apparent that the organisers were trying to spice things up as they often do. With an opening time-trial in Monaco over a 15km course instead of the traditional 5-7km dash it would count as a stage in its own right rather than being classified as a prologue to the main event. The twisted plot extended to the scheduling of the final four days to include an individual time trial around Annecy and an ascent of the revered Mont Ventoux that together would be pivotal in determining the overall standings. It was those final days that in particular piqued my interest and I put out feelers among some friends to establish any interest in making the trip. The allure of some truly competitive racing, the particular significance of the Ventoux to British cycling and the obvious attractions of the Rhone Valley were further added to by Lance Armstrong’s announcement that he was to bring to an end his 3 year retirement and would be contesting the Tour. Love him or loathe him, believe or disbelieve his protestations about competing cleanly, and whatever your take on the apparent motives for his comeback, it is impossible to deny that he is one of the greatest sporting icons of all time and he brings huge intrigue and drama to any arena; sporting or otherwise.
I also got in touch with a journalist friend who regularly covers the Tour and whose encouragement to get myself over there had to that point been disregarded. If I was to go and see the race for myself I wanted to do it right and in order to maximise our time on tour we would end up relying heavily on his experience, insight and connections.
The trip itself proved to be a bit of a hard sell; not to my fiancé, who also was to be the mother of my two month old son by the time the race came along, but to my friends who, although well educated in a sporting sense, didn’t quite share in my enthusiasm for the event. In the end I was to be accompanied by one other friend and would meet up with said journalist in France. The itinerary was also pared down to a more compact 3-day visit which would not take in the Annecy time-trial. Our trip would though include the stages to Aubenas and to Paris which would present Mark Cavendish with two good opportunities for the stage win. However, the legendary Ventoux stood out as the main attraction and it did not disappoint.
Plans were made, flights caught and the day of the 20th Stage of the Tour dawned. All was going to schedule and we drove to the foot of the Ventoux in good time. Then, a mere 3km into our own ascent, the engine temperature of our hire car inexplicably rocketed and with total meltdown imminent we were forced to pull over. The cooling fan had failed and we were to proceed no further. My suggestion of driving the remaining distance with the bonnet open, thereby acting as giant air-funnel to cool the engine, while hanging out of the driver’s window and navigating “Ace Ventura” style did not gain much support from my travelling companions. So, we resorted to good old-fashioned hitchhiking. The official press livery of our stricken vehicle eventually caught the eye of a passing German photographer, who was driving a German not a French car and therefore had not broken down. He gladly transported us and our lunch/carryout to within a kilometre of the summit. There we joined the throngs of committed fans who had made it to that point under their own steam and continued on foot past the defunct metrological centre adorned with the images of past conquerors of this monster climb.
Despite the fierce sunlight, exacerbated by the glare from the pale rocky terrain, the temperature was relatively cool; a result of the well-documented wind, effectively the tail-end of the Mistral, which constantly batters the mountain. In our haste to secure a lift we had remembered the baguettes and champagne but neglected to bring any additional clothing which affected one of our party particularly badly. The individual in question doesn’t have much by way of natural insulation and in these parts would be ideally suited as a “grimpeur” or climber if he were ever to participate in a sport beyond football. In search of some shelter we headed down the route of the course. This also took us in the direction of the memorial to Tom Simpson, the British world champion cyclist who, in 1967 was overcome with heat exhaustion and dehydration a mere 1.3 km from the summit while contesting the Tour. Known for pushing himself to the very limit, on this occasion he had sadly crossed it and could not be resuscitated. The stretch of road where he died is overlooked by a very fitting monument erected in his honour. Many people pay their respects every year to this widely popular character and we too would pay ours. While there we discovered that the spot in front of the monument actually provided a very favourable vantage point from which to view the race and so we stayed to watch the expected drama unfold.
There are reams of reports and plenty of footage documenting the actual day’s racing. However there was no shake-up of the general classification of the race in the way that many anticipated. A few time gaps were closed but the key positions remained essentially as they were at the start of the day. This was especially satisfying for British rider Brad Wiggins who produced perhaps his greatest ever ride in a Grand Tour to hang on to 4th place on the overall classification.
The main story of the day, however, was the immense crowd estimated at 500,000 people which had gathered primarily on the lower slopes. These were described by even seasoned Tour reporters as deeper and up to three times longer than those that typically gather on Alpe d’Huez; another iconic mountain to feature heavily in Tour legend and which is often used as the reference point when assessing crowd mass. Aside from the novelty of using the phrase “ma voiture est tombée en panne” in a real life situation rather than in a role-playing classroom scenario, the breakdown was a total disaster that had cost us the opportunity to drive up the race route and see and hear the formidable crowd for ourselves – our Germanic rescuer having elected to take the alternative quieter and altogether more prudent route up the North West side of the mountain. Notwithstanding that missed chance and without wanting to compromise my colleague’s earning potential by revealing too much of the detail of our afternoon (involving encounters with Tom Simpson’s daughter, 3-time Tour winner Greg Lemond and the current crop of British Tour protagonists), suffice to say our time spent on the mountain was extremely rewarding. To see and experience for myself the gradient of the climb and the speed with which these riders manage to ascend (and descend!) is truly breathtaking – much like the lack of oxygen. Our own adventure that day falls well short of the entry level for Ventoux legend, although it did provide the basis for a few laughs during a widely listened to podcast which my friend regularly contributes to but missed that day due to our little car snag.
Now that I have popped my Tour cherry will I now be a regular visitor to the Tour? It’s a question I have been asked several times since the weekend and I am surprised to find myself unsure as to how to respond. The whole experience was so exhilarating that I have serious concerns that a return to watch the race will fail to reach the heights (no pun intended) of this year’s trip. And so I’ll reserve any decision until at least October when the Tour organisers announce what tricks they are to play on next year’s peloton; a final day team time trial up and down the Champs-Élysées might just be worth going over for.
I also got in touch with a journalist friend who regularly covers the Tour and whose encouragement to get myself over there had to that point been disregarded. If I was to go and see the race for myself I wanted to do it right and in order to maximise our time on tour we would end up relying heavily on his experience, insight and connections.
The trip itself proved to be a bit of a hard sell; not to my fiancé, who also was to be the mother of my two month old son by the time the race came along, but to my friends who, although well educated in a sporting sense, didn’t quite share in my enthusiasm for the event. In the end I was to be accompanied by one other friend and would meet up with said journalist in France. The itinerary was also pared down to a more compact 3-day visit which would not take in the Annecy time-trial. Our trip would though include the stages to Aubenas and to Paris which would present Mark Cavendish with two good opportunities for the stage win. However, the legendary Ventoux stood out as the main attraction and it did not disappoint.
Plans were made, flights caught and the day of the 20th Stage of the Tour dawned. All was going to schedule and we drove to the foot of the Ventoux in good time. Then, a mere 3km into our own ascent, the engine temperature of our hire car inexplicably rocketed and with total meltdown imminent we were forced to pull over. The cooling fan had failed and we were to proceed no further. My suggestion of driving the remaining distance with the bonnet open, thereby acting as giant air-funnel to cool the engine, while hanging out of the driver’s window and navigating “Ace Ventura” style did not gain much support from my travelling companions. So, we resorted to good old-fashioned hitchhiking. The official press livery of our stricken vehicle eventually caught the eye of a passing German photographer, who was driving a German not a French car and therefore had not broken down. He gladly transported us and our lunch/carryout to within a kilometre of the summit. There we joined the throngs of committed fans who had made it to that point under their own steam and continued on foot past the defunct metrological centre adorned with the images of past conquerors of this monster climb.
Despite the fierce sunlight, exacerbated by the glare from the pale rocky terrain, the temperature was relatively cool; a result of the well-documented wind, effectively the tail-end of the Mistral, which constantly batters the mountain. In our haste to secure a lift we had remembered the baguettes and champagne but neglected to bring any additional clothing which affected one of our party particularly badly. The individual in question doesn’t have much by way of natural insulation and in these parts would be ideally suited as a “grimpeur” or climber if he were ever to participate in a sport beyond football. In search of some shelter we headed down the route of the course. This also took us in the direction of the memorial to Tom Simpson, the British world champion cyclist who, in 1967 was overcome with heat exhaustion and dehydration a mere 1.3 km from the summit while contesting the Tour. Known for pushing himself to the very limit, on this occasion he had sadly crossed it and could not be resuscitated. The stretch of road where he died is overlooked by a very fitting monument erected in his honour. Many people pay their respects every year to this widely popular character and we too would pay ours. While there we discovered that the spot in front of the monument actually provided a very favourable vantage point from which to view the race and so we stayed to watch the expected drama unfold.
There are reams of reports and plenty of footage documenting the actual day’s racing. However there was no shake-up of the general classification of the race in the way that many anticipated. A few time gaps were closed but the key positions remained essentially as they were at the start of the day. This was especially satisfying for British rider Brad Wiggins who produced perhaps his greatest ever ride in a Grand Tour to hang on to 4th place on the overall classification.
The main story of the day, however, was the immense crowd estimated at 500,000 people which had gathered primarily on the lower slopes. These were described by even seasoned Tour reporters as deeper and up to three times longer than those that typically gather on Alpe d’Huez; another iconic mountain to feature heavily in Tour legend and which is often used as the reference point when assessing crowd mass. Aside from the novelty of using the phrase “ma voiture est tombée en panne” in a real life situation rather than in a role-playing classroom scenario, the breakdown was a total disaster that had cost us the opportunity to drive up the race route and see and hear the formidable crowd for ourselves – our Germanic rescuer having elected to take the alternative quieter and altogether more prudent route up the North West side of the mountain. Notwithstanding that missed chance and without wanting to compromise my colleague’s earning potential by revealing too much of the detail of our afternoon (involving encounters with Tom Simpson’s daughter, 3-time Tour winner Greg Lemond and the current crop of British Tour protagonists), suffice to say our time spent on the mountain was extremely rewarding. To see and experience for myself the gradient of the climb and the speed with which these riders manage to ascend (and descend!) is truly breathtaking – much like the lack of oxygen. Our own adventure that day falls well short of the entry level for Ventoux legend, although it did provide the basis for a few laughs during a widely listened to podcast which my friend regularly contributes to but missed that day due to our little car snag.
Now that I have popped my Tour cherry will I now be a regular visitor to the Tour? It’s a question I have been asked several times since the weekend and I am surprised to find myself unsure as to how to respond. The whole experience was so exhilarating that I have serious concerns that a return to watch the race will fail to reach the heights (no pun intended) of this year’s trip. And so I’ll reserve any decision until at least October when the Tour organisers announce what tricks they are to play on next year’s peloton; a final day team time trial up and down the Champs-Élysées might just be worth going over for.
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Comments
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Great report, sounds like you had a good time. How can you not return after that?0
