Yesterday's ride, from Givors to Mont Ventoux, spanned 242km, the last 21.8km of which was the ascension of Ventoux.
Below is the scene at the Chalet Reynard, 6km below the summit, some 6 hours before the arrival of the cyclists.
There were an estimated 400 000 people on the mountain: 100 times the population of the village of Bedoin. Every usable square foot beside the road -- on both sides -- was covered by tents, camper vans, people laying on air matresses or on the tarmac itself, official and less-official refreshment stands and boutiques, barbecue parties, punk hairdos, monokinis and flag bearers, people in costumes on or off their bikes (including several hot and stuffy full bear costumes), and the devil guy seen at every Tour de France stage for 20 years. I took the picture below just above the Chalet Reynard, showing camper vans set up like a long line of processionary caterpillars.
I'm the guy in the very fluorescent yellow jersey, here passing under the Flamme Rouge just before noon. You can't see my searing cramps here -- but they're there, forcing me to dismount twice. The summit was already cordoned off by this time and I was forced to turn around, but was perhaps happy to avoid the final kilometre at 10% grade. What took me close to 3 hours would later take Christopher Froome 59 minutes, after having already cycled 220km...
With the whole mountain carpeted in one giant party, the ensuing 4-hour wait didn't seem long.
And at just past 4pm, just below the Chalet Reynard, it wasn't Froome who appeared to me first. Echos of Sylvain Chavanel attacking at the base of the mountain had sent the local crowd into false hopes and raucous (and somewhat drunken) singing of the Marseillaise. But Chavanel's vie for Bastille Day glory was short lived. Nairo Quintana had attacked and appeared out of the forest first. By the time I had finished taking the picture below Froome had also passed (in 2nd position) and I missed seeing him completely. And Quintana would soon see Froome pass him and race off to the summit alone.
It almost seemed like a time-trial afterwards, the peloton breaking into over 100 crumbs: cyclists appearing in different states of suffering, flying up the mountain as the first few did, struggling for those trying to lose as little time as possible, or chatting as did the sprinters unconcerned about saving seconds, just looking to make it to the summit before the hors délai.
Already circulating on the Internet are reports to discredit Froome's superhuman climb. Regardless, it was a great show.
