M
Mike Jacoubowsk
Guest
[This is a repost of a usenet post of mine from maybe 6
months ago. As the TDF is now upon us, and some may be
wondering how best to view it, this might be a good time to
revisit it.
There's more info on seeing the TDF in person on our
website, specifically via the
www.ChainReaction.com/france.htm page.
There's also specific info regarding the final stage at htt-
p://www.chainreaction.com/diaryfrance.htm#onthechampelysees.
Hope this is helpful to somebody out there- --Mike--]
========================================================================
Someone questioned why you'd want to see the TDF in person-
"You won't get very much out of watching a road race in
person, unless you are on a motorcycle or car following the
race. Unless it's a time trial, you will stand for many
hours to get a few seconds or minutes of racing.
If you want to ride your bicycle in France, then it's best
to avoid the Tour de France, as all the roads are blocked
off for hours prior to the race."
To which I replied-
I'll have to disagree; there's very little that compares to
the thrill of being on a steep mountain climb and watching
the shattered peloton come through. You are so close to the
action that you become almost a part of it (especially if
you're flinging a handbag around), and the drama unfolds in
front of you over a significant period of time, not
fleeting seconds.
True, you've got to get to your place fairly early, as
they'll close the roads to bikes about three hours ahead of
the race, but the cars have been shut out earlier than that,
so you've got the mountain all to yourself (along with a few
hundred thousand people, many of them cheering you on as you
climb up the col). It's an experience like no other, a huge
party that you have been invited to. There will be the crazy
Dutch corner (easily identified by all the orange), the
Telekom Pigs (who really don't put Germans in the best-
possible light), the Devil himself (the guy you've seen in
all the photos, and yes, he enjoys having his picture taken
with you!), and a steady stream of overweight guys hauling
big beer coolers miles up the mountain.
Perhaps you'll ride to the top of the pass, and then head
back down to a spot you scouted on the way up... but not
before having your picture taken at the very top. You
descend maybe a couple of kilometers, looking for that spot
where, on the way up, you were thinking "Geez, this is a
nasty stretch!" because that's where the attack might come.
You look at your watch and note that it's about 2.5 hours
before they come through; quite a long time! But it passes
quickly, as you trade stories with others you meet, new
friends brought to the same place as if they were called
there by some mysterious power. You try to hear what's
happening on somebody's radio (or, if you were really smart,
you brought your own... or perhaps even an LCD TV!). If
you've got a cell phone and don't mind the cost, you call
home (if that's in the US) and ask your wife if she could
turn on OLN and let you know what's happening (never mind
that it's 6am in California!).
Before long (two hours prior to the riders) the first
competition begins... the Caravan arrives, and everybody's
acting like a little kid, trying to score whatever trinkets
& trash they throw from the vehicles. You could spend days
studying the Caravan and never figure out how they decide
who they're going to throw to (but eventually you start
analyzing trajectories and learn where stuff is likely to
land). If you're smart, you'll pay attention to the Aquarel
vehicles; they pass out bottled water, which is a very
valuable commodity when you're miles from nowhere!
The Caravan takes about 30 minutes to completely pass
through; an amazing assortment of vehicles, many of which
you simply don't believe could travel up & down the passes
safely. It's incredibly goofy and leaves even the most jaded
with a strangely giddy feeling. But you've still got an hour
and a half to go, and it seems like the gendarmes have
temporarily given up on stopping people from riding up the
hill (if you wanted to move, this is the time). An
occasional car goes flying through, perhaps transporting a
photographer or dignitary or race official to some key spot
further down the course. The tension is building noticeably;
people are talking about whatever strategy has unfolded so
far, and wondering who's going to be in the lead by the time
they get to your spot on the course.
By this time your neck is pretty fried if you haven't put on
sunscreen, and your feet a bit tired if you're trying to
walk around in racing shoes (definitely consider bringing
along some of those roll- up shoe/sock things with the
rubberized soles and mesh tops). But you're hanging tough,
along with everyone else, and something is telling you that,
at this moment, there's no place on earth better to be than
right where you are right now.
Half an hour to go and the gendarmes are aggressively
keeping people off the road. Time to park your butt so
nobody takes your place! And then, with the riders maybe 20
minutes away, you see the first helicopters, way down the
valley. The first ones you see are up high; they're used to
relay the television signals. But shortly you spot the lower
helicopters, the ones that closely follow the riders, and
you can see them moving up the valley, moving towards you.
The air becomes strangely chilled for a short period of time
as you get goose-bumps in anticipation.
Ten minutes away and, for the first time, you hear the
helicopters. As one closes in on you, it seems to almost
slow down and hover, as if the riders have stopped just
short of you. Soon, a car comes blasting through at very
high speed, with a bull-horn blasting out in indecipherable
French (as only a bull-horn can do) that the riders are just
two minutes behind! But what riders? No way can you make out
what they're saying; it's the worst Jack-in-the-box speaking
imaginable. But you catch bits and pieces of conversations
around you, and put together that a Frenchman's off the
front by a minute or two but is losing ground fast, and an
attack has just flown off the front of what's left of the
pack, which is quickly disintegrating.
And then the lead motorcycles, two of them, flying fast and
close to the edges of the road in an attempt to move you
back and make room for the riders. And they do come very,
very close. They have their prescribed line, and I don't
know what would happen if somebody didn't move out of the
way fast enough.
Now they're upon you. Lead motorcycle (with photographer),
and then the stage leader, seeming to both fly and struggle
at the same time (and in your mind you could swear that each
pedal stroke is slower than the one before). This guy's not
going to make it; the attacks behind are going to swallow
him up shortly. He's followed closely by his team car, with
the DS (team director) leaning out the window yelling
encouragement (or obscenities, if it's Saiz).
A minute or two of silence follows, and you're briefly
thinking "Is that it?" You know it's not, but you're
thinking it anyway. There were just a couple of cars, maybe
four motorcycles. But then you notice the air around you is
moving and you look up and there's a helicopter hovering
right over the top of you, and noise levels are increasing
at an astronomical rate as a flotilla of cars and
motorcycles rush past and you're suddenly in the middle of
a traveling maelstrom of activity. Don't blink now, things
are happening fast! Where are they? Motorcycles, cars,
helicopters, more motorcycles, all making quite the racket,
and now the crowd is yelling, cheering wildly, the noise
literally rolling up the hill towards you. You look down
the road and notice where people are starting to yell;
obviously the riders are within their sight! Camera, is the
camera ready?
At this point you have to make a decision (one you should
have made some time ago, but is now up for grabs). Do you
watch the events unfold, get caught up in the moment and
cheer your heroes on... or do you take photos? It's an
unfortunate fact that you really can't do both... to take
decent photos requires that you become almost detached from
what's going on. Timing is everything! Those who are there
to stand and cheer will be able to replay the event in their
mind, over and over. The photographer, if he/she doesn't get
the shot, loses everything. There's no half-way.
Zoom in on the motorcycles. Ignore those used for crowd
control; the ones to watch for are those with photographers
and race officials, as they'll be in the thick of the
action. They'll always have a passenger, and often a tall
antenna on the back. Right behind them, or maybe to the
side, will be the action, the racers who are doing their
best to blow things apart. Your heroes. Virenque (if it's
not the final hill). Heras. Lance. Ullrich. Tyler. Vino.
Guys who are looking very serious, like this is all-
business and they're at 110% and refuse, absolutely refuse
to crack. Their speed is unbelievable for such a steep
grade; these guys are simply not mortal. They turn the
throttle and see if they can push it to 11...and hold it
there for as long as it takes.
And then they're past. The helicopters, the motorcycles, the
cars, the riders... gone on up the hill. Maybe 15 seconds
later you get somebody who wasn't able to keep up, but still
doing pretty good, in no apparent danger of falling apart.
Whatever discouragement comes from falling off the back is
at least partly offset by the tremendous amount of attention
that single person is getting from the crowds! And, when you
talk with them later, they tell you they do hear you, and it
does keep them going.
Another minute or two and you get a bit larger group, riders
who are working really hard, trying not to lose too much
time in the GC (overall time). There's a bit of panic on
some of their faces; nobody looks comfortable. Nobody in
this group is going to win the stage, but there still might
be opportunities for a couple of them to move up in the GC.
Now you start getting the stragglers; people who have blown
up and are steadily losing time. These guys are going
visibly slower than those that came before, and they look
really, really awful. Mortal. Like you & me when we're
totally bonked and have three miles left on a nasty climb
and can't imagine how we'll make it over the top. No pedals
turned in anger, just anguish!
By this time things have really thinned out and maybe twenty
minutes (or more) have passed since the lead rider. You
start counting in your mind how many have gone by; it just
doesn't seem like all that many. Did everyone drop out? But
you wait a bit more and here it comes... maybe 80 guys all
bunched together, riding almost casually up the hill. Their
work was done long ago, and none of them are in contention
for anything but perhaps sprinter's points... their only
fear is the dreaded time-cut. But as long as a large number
ride together, they figure they'll all be allowed to stay in
the race, even if they miss the time-cut, because the
organizers aren't going to disqualify half the field!
And, finally, the broom wagon comes along, giving far too
much attention to the poor guy in front of it, the last
rider on the course. This guy probably doesn't have a chance
of making the time cut, but suffers on. Everybody watching
can relate to him, and sometimes the identity surprises you
(last year on the Tourmalet it was Axel Merckx).
That's what you get watching the TDF in person.
--Mike-- Chain Reaction Bicycles
www.ChainReactionBicycles.com
months ago. As the TDF is now upon us, and some may be
wondering how best to view it, this might be a good time to
revisit it.
There's more info on seeing the TDF in person on our
website, specifically via the
www.ChainReaction.com/france.htm page.
There's also specific info regarding the final stage at htt-
p://www.chainreaction.com/diaryfrance.htm#onthechampelysees.
Hope this is helpful to somebody out there- --Mike--]
========================================================================
Someone questioned why you'd want to see the TDF in person-
"You won't get very much out of watching a road race in
person, unless you are on a motorcycle or car following the
race. Unless it's a time trial, you will stand for many
hours to get a few seconds or minutes of racing.
If you want to ride your bicycle in France, then it's best
to avoid the Tour de France, as all the roads are blocked
off for hours prior to the race."
To which I replied-
I'll have to disagree; there's very little that compares to
the thrill of being on a steep mountain climb and watching
the shattered peloton come through. You are so close to the
action that you become almost a part of it (especially if
you're flinging a handbag around), and the drama unfolds in
front of you over a significant period of time, not
fleeting seconds.
True, you've got to get to your place fairly early, as
they'll close the roads to bikes about three hours ahead of
the race, but the cars have been shut out earlier than that,
so you've got the mountain all to yourself (along with a few
hundred thousand people, many of them cheering you on as you
climb up the col). It's an experience like no other, a huge
party that you have been invited to. There will be the crazy
Dutch corner (easily identified by all the orange), the
Telekom Pigs (who really don't put Germans in the best-
possible light), the Devil himself (the guy you've seen in
all the photos, and yes, he enjoys having his picture taken
with you!), and a steady stream of overweight guys hauling
big beer coolers miles up the mountain.
Perhaps you'll ride to the top of the pass, and then head
back down to a spot you scouted on the way up... but not
before having your picture taken at the very top. You
descend maybe a couple of kilometers, looking for that spot
where, on the way up, you were thinking "Geez, this is a
nasty stretch!" because that's where the attack might come.
You look at your watch and note that it's about 2.5 hours
before they come through; quite a long time! But it passes
quickly, as you trade stories with others you meet, new
friends brought to the same place as if they were called
there by some mysterious power. You try to hear what's
happening on somebody's radio (or, if you were really smart,
you brought your own... or perhaps even an LCD TV!). If
you've got a cell phone and don't mind the cost, you call
home (if that's in the US) and ask your wife if she could
turn on OLN and let you know what's happening (never mind
that it's 6am in California!).
Before long (two hours prior to the riders) the first
competition begins... the Caravan arrives, and everybody's
acting like a little kid, trying to score whatever trinkets
& trash they throw from the vehicles. You could spend days
studying the Caravan and never figure out how they decide
who they're going to throw to (but eventually you start
analyzing trajectories and learn where stuff is likely to
land). If you're smart, you'll pay attention to the Aquarel
vehicles; they pass out bottled water, which is a very
valuable commodity when you're miles from nowhere!
The Caravan takes about 30 minutes to completely pass
through; an amazing assortment of vehicles, many of which
you simply don't believe could travel up & down the passes
safely. It's incredibly goofy and leaves even the most jaded
with a strangely giddy feeling. But you've still got an hour
and a half to go, and it seems like the gendarmes have
temporarily given up on stopping people from riding up the
hill (if you wanted to move, this is the time). An
occasional car goes flying through, perhaps transporting a
photographer or dignitary or race official to some key spot
further down the course. The tension is building noticeably;
people are talking about whatever strategy has unfolded so
far, and wondering who's going to be in the lead by the time
they get to your spot on the course.
By this time your neck is pretty fried if you haven't put on
sunscreen, and your feet a bit tired if you're trying to
walk around in racing shoes (definitely consider bringing
along some of those roll- up shoe/sock things with the
rubberized soles and mesh tops). But you're hanging tough,
along with everyone else, and something is telling you that,
at this moment, there's no place on earth better to be than
right where you are right now.
Half an hour to go and the gendarmes are aggressively
keeping people off the road. Time to park your butt so
nobody takes your place! And then, with the riders maybe 20
minutes away, you see the first helicopters, way down the
valley. The first ones you see are up high; they're used to
relay the television signals. But shortly you spot the lower
helicopters, the ones that closely follow the riders, and
you can see them moving up the valley, moving towards you.
The air becomes strangely chilled for a short period of time
as you get goose-bumps in anticipation.
Ten minutes away and, for the first time, you hear the
helicopters. As one closes in on you, it seems to almost
slow down and hover, as if the riders have stopped just
short of you. Soon, a car comes blasting through at very
high speed, with a bull-horn blasting out in indecipherable
French (as only a bull-horn can do) that the riders are just
two minutes behind! But what riders? No way can you make out
what they're saying; it's the worst Jack-in-the-box speaking
imaginable. But you catch bits and pieces of conversations
around you, and put together that a Frenchman's off the
front by a minute or two but is losing ground fast, and an
attack has just flown off the front of what's left of the
pack, which is quickly disintegrating.
And then the lead motorcycles, two of them, flying fast and
close to the edges of the road in an attempt to move you
back and make room for the riders. And they do come very,
very close. They have their prescribed line, and I don't
know what would happen if somebody didn't move out of the
way fast enough.
Now they're upon you. Lead motorcycle (with photographer),
and then the stage leader, seeming to both fly and struggle
at the same time (and in your mind you could swear that each
pedal stroke is slower than the one before). This guy's not
going to make it; the attacks behind are going to swallow
him up shortly. He's followed closely by his team car, with
the DS (team director) leaning out the window yelling
encouragement (or obscenities, if it's Saiz).
A minute or two of silence follows, and you're briefly
thinking "Is that it?" You know it's not, but you're
thinking it anyway. There were just a couple of cars, maybe
four motorcycles. But then you notice the air around you is
moving and you look up and there's a helicopter hovering
right over the top of you, and noise levels are increasing
at an astronomical rate as a flotilla of cars and
motorcycles rush past and you're suddenly in the middle of
a traveling maelstrom of activity. Don't blink now, things
are happening fast! Where are they? Motorcycles, cars,
helicopters, more motorcycles, all making quite the racket,
and now the crowd is yelling, cheering wildly, the noise
literally rolling up the hill towards you. You look down
the road and notice where people are starting to yell;
obviously the riders are within their sight! Camera, is the
camera ready?
At this point you have to make a decision (one you should
have made some time ago, but is now up for grabs). Do you
watch the events unfold, get caught up in the moment and
cheer your heroes on... or do you take photos? It's an
unfortunate fact that you really can't do both... to take
decent photos requires that you become almost detached from
what's going on. Timing is everything! Those who are there
to stand and cheer will be able to replay the event in their
mind, over and over. The photographer, if he/she doesn't get
the shot, loses everything. There's no half-way.
Zoom in on the motorcycles. Ignore those used for crowd
control; the ones to watch for are those with photographers
and race officials, as they'll be in the thick of the
action. They'll always have a passenger, and often a tall
antenna on the back. Right behind them, or maybe to the
side, will be the action, the racers who are doing their
best to blow things apart. Your heroes. Virenque (if it's
not the final hill). Heras. Lance. Ullrich. Tyler. Vino.
Guys who are looking very serious, like this is all-
business and they're at 110% and refuse, absolutely refuse
to crack. Their speed is unbelievable for such a steep
grade; these guys are simply not mortal. They turn the
throttle and see if they can push it to 11...and hold it
there for as long as it takes.
And then they're past. The helicopters, the motorcycles, the
cars, the riders... gone on up the hill. Maybe 15 seconds
later you get somebody who wasn't able to keep up, but still
doing pretty good, in no apparent danger of falling apart.
Whatever discouragement comes from falling off the back is
at least partly offset by the tremendous amount of attention
that single person is getting from the crowds! And, when you
talk with them later, they tell you they do hear you, and it
does keep them going.
Another minute or two and you get a bit larger group, riders
who are working really hard, trying not to lose too much
time in the GC (overall time). There's a bit of panic on
some of their faces; nobody looks comfortable. Nobody in
this group is going to win the stage, but there still might
be opportunities for a couple of them to move up in the GC.
Now you start getting the stragglers; people who have blown
up and are steadily losing time. These guys are going
visibly slower than those that came before, and they look
really, really awful. Mortal. Like you & me when we're
totally bonked and have three miles left on a nasty climb
and can't imagine how we'll make it over the top. No pedals
turned in anger, just anguish!
By this time things have really thinned out and maybe twenty
minutes (or more) have passed since the lead rider. You
start counting in your mind how many have gone by; it just
doesn't seem like all that many. Did everyone drop out? But
you wait a bit more and here it comes... maybe 80 guys all
bunched together, riding almost casually up the hill. Their
work was done long ago, and none of them are in contention
for anything but perhaps sprinter's points... their only
fear is the dreaded time-cut. But as long as a large number
ride together, they figure they'll all be allowed to stay in
the race, even if they miss the time-cut, because the
organizers aren't going to disqualify half the field!
And, finally, the broom wagon comes along, giving far too
much attention to the poor guy in front of it, the last
rider on the course. This guy probably doesn't have a chance
of making the time cut, but suffers on. Everybody watching
can relate to him, and sometimes the identity surprises you
(last year on the Tourmalet it was Axel Merckx).
That's what you get watching the TDF in person.
--Mike-- Chain Reaction Bicycles
www.ChainReactionBicycles.com