News and Diary
Diary of a Tour de France fan
26/07/07
King of the mountains???
Nee naw, Nee naw. Two blue clad gendarmes whirled by astride their motorbikes. Then a whoosh of yellows, greens, oranges and pinks and a red and white spotty cap landed at our feet. Arms outreached, children excitable from the sheer noise and carnival atmosphere. The Tour de France 2007 had arrived on the Col de la Colombiere.
This was the moment I had anticipated as a keen cyclist since the age of 12. My partner, a newcomer to cycling (who swears its not just about the men in tight lycra) was here for the adventure and caught my enthusiasm.
Not having been to a big mountain stage before, as we drove up the winding road on the Friday evening we had high hopes of pitching ourselves at the very top. Suddenly the scale of the thing hit us as we saw encampments on every possible grass verge where a vehicle would fit, bedecked with German, Australian, Dutch flags and team banners.
Ten kilometrers along the climb we were finally defeated when a lady gendarme waved her hand in front of us and said ‘Route barree’. It became obvious that the chaos of le Tour already come to the little village, and so we found ourselves parked with a view towards the forest above and the smell of barbecuing food wafting from the village.
Part of the experience was to be camping out half way down the 2000m high mountain in our hired Peugeot station-wagon which somehow we had eased between two very large mobile motor-homes.
Looking for a few necessary comforts, we headed for the village. Stalls were selling colourful cycling kit with team names. Sausages were sizzling, beer flowing, the local bar doing the best trade its done in probably the last five years, and the sounds of Led Zeppelin in the distance… the local band had a captive audience for the night as we could go no further up the mountain until the morning. The crowd even watched enthralled as it took the bare chested and bandanna’d base guitarist (who was all of 17) ages to change a crucial broken string.
Just when we thought that was all for the evening, fireworks lit up the convent in the valley, a beautiful building on the slopes of the col, surrounded by magnificent craggy rocks. The splendid show lit up the sky over the village and echoed all around the valley – a superb setting for an incredible display.
And so we roll out the self-inflating mats and try to sleep in the car (by the way I’m nearly 50 and she’s not far behind so this was quite an adventure for our creaky bones). We wouldn’t have described it as our best night’s sleep as the tailgate wouldn’t close and our toes froze in the cold mountain air, and the echoes of enthusiastic supporters on the higher slopes went on long into the night. Quickly though, morning did come, a beautiful blue sky and warm too.
To our dismay, the thing we were most looking forward to – a cup of tea – was taken from us as the travel kettle blew a fuse! But the camaraderie of the Tour came to the fore as the door of the motorhome (which was looking larger and more comfortable by the minute) opened, and the French lady offered us a share of their breakfast coffee.
We picked up our bags and our cameras and started to make the trek as high as our complaining old legs would go. As a keen photographer I was hopeful that my partner was in a good frame of mind as I was about to ask her to walk a long, long way up a steep, steep slope… and needless to say it was already reaching 30 degrees centigrade. The walk was broken by several photo-stops – the village and lower slopes bedecked by a multitude of decorations including badgers on bikes, polka dot jerseys, messages of encouragement for local riders and the inevitable characters on the roadside in fancy dress – including several Vikings and a pantomime horse…
Fortunately there was so much to see that we quickly found ourselves at an excellent vantage point right next to the ‘5km a la sommet’ banners. Below us on the hairpin bend, a smart gazebo housed what looked like a dozen Dutch fans, whilst Geraint Thomas had a fan club of stripey-shirted Welshmen just above – supplying the rest of the English speakers with beer from their trips into the village. It was only 11.00 am…. Five hours to go…. Under the blazing sun… we were glad we had our traditional british brolly with us.
Anyone who hasn’t been would be amazed at how five hours felt like five minutes. With interesting people to talk to, loads of pictures to take of the surrounding scenery and a constant stream of amateur cyclists (we played spot the expensive bike as they passed) grinding up the hill. And of course our lunch which we’d lugged up the mountain (mainly cakes and limited drinks as the facilities were 5k away…)
And then the sounds of the caravan approaching. A large round of applause rose up from the village. At first there were small cars with coffee pots on top, then the official merchandise vans (£20 or E20 euros for the same thing – strange exchange rate!!!), then a huge yellow cyclist atop a car (looking strangely like David Millar), a channel ferry, the Simpsons chasing a donut and a massive fluffy lion 20ft high.
We were showered with Haribos, playing cards, cds of French r&b music (please!), keyrings, coconut shampoo and washing liquid (and we weren’t even actively collecting!). One of the most bizzare moments was seeing a 22 Stone man with a shirt 2 sizes too small scrambling down a sheer slope to collect some of the booty… he made it back to the roadside safely, if a little inelegantly.
And the air of anticipation grew as the caravan passed into the distance. The sound of helicopters tracking the riders came up the valley. The lead out gendarmes came through, as cars and motorbikes passed at a frantic speed on the narrow road, winding up beyond view. A few minutes more and even louder applause in the village below. The riders had arrived…
First it was the magenta clad T-Mobile youngster Linus Gerdermann, followed by small groups of riders, clearly struggling with the heat and the gradient of the 15k long monster of a climb. Photographically I was in ecstasy – lots of opportunities over the next 40 minutes as they wound their way up, and we even spotted ‘the Cav’ getting back onto the autobus (the final bunch of the day). And my partner even spotted the real David Millar looking just like the one on the float, but a bit sweatier! It was just a fantastic day!