Tour de France

Could I convince you to drive 4 hours in the sweltering heat to watch 200 grown men ride bicycles for 30 seconds? Could anyone be convinced? Well I convinced myself: on a day where temperatures rose close to 40 degrees, where my sandal-kept toes fried in the sun, waiting anxiously at the side of the unshaded road for a group of three cyclists who managed to escape from the peloton, who when approached didn't seem to care much about conserving their 3-minute lead.

And then the 3-minute wait for the peloton to sweep by, who did so rather anticlimatically, and I waited for the very last cyclists to pass to get a glimpse of the back of jersey #21, worn by Lance Armstrong, chatting with another cyclist at the back of the pack.

And then that was it.

My whole day and 30€ of gas for this?

Yes sir, I'll be back next year!

Cycling with the Swedes, Part 2

Another week of being that guy who drives the support vehicle...

One tiny blue van, 21 bikes: 4 on the roof, 1o on the trailer, 2 on a bike rack attached to the trunk, 5 in the car.


The disciplined Swedes in single file, headed by Magnus, the only one sans helmet. This picture was taken early in the morning, the only time that seemed tolerable this week: the temperatures rose well above 30° every day in the piercing Provençal sun, and some of the participants in the group, used to a cooler climate, had a hard time adjusting. I was in the car all week, handing out water, listening to terrible French radio, and with the AC on full blast...


The lavender was out in full bloom, offering the group a photo-stop:



Descending from the village of Oppède-le-Vieux, perched in the foothills of the Luberon Mountains.



Having noticed that there were several strong cyclists in the bunch -- like Joe, pictured below -- I decided to take a few of them on an après-ride in the Monts du Vaucluse. They had already done 50km with the group that day, but were still keen to join me. I had been sitting in the support vehicle all week, and was aching to get some exercise myself.

The 2-hour route I was going to take them on was to be tough, unlike anything they were doing with their tour guide, including a 5km climb into the mountains, to visit lost hamlets on steep and windy roads. I instructed them to be careful, drink loads of water, and stop as many times as necessary during the climb.

I paced them to the beginning of the hill, reminding them once again that it was hot, very hot, and that we could take as many stops as required before reaching the pass. What then transpired wasn't exactly as I had expected: the three of them kept a strong pace going uphill, didn't stop once, with me trailing several hundred meters behind and trying not to embarass myself silly.

When I explained to Joe that he was 20 years older than me, and that I should be keeping up, he told me that while participating in races he's passed by people 20 years older than him: "and that doesn't make me feel bad, it gives me hope for when I'm 20 years older..."

The following morning, met by the entire group and their guide, each had heard the story that I had a hard time keeping pace with the Scandinavians. Magnus explained: "I hear you go downhill very well, Stuart".

At 210 pounds I should hope so.