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My longest day began on July 21st when I awoke in my hotel room in Almaty for the last time. I was up early, as I needed to pack and complete my final report in the office that day. My new colleagues took me out that evening for dinner and some beers and dropped me at my hotel around 11 p.m. I had to wait until 2 a.m. for a ride to the airport, so there didnāt seem to be aneed to sleep. At 5 a.m., my flight finally departed. Two planes, 2 trains, 3 airports, 3 train stations, 4 countries and 36 hours later, I arrived in Bordeaux at nearly midnight. Just in time to get my rental car and a meager Hertz map of Bordeaux. I was so high on adrenaline, I decided that I would drive to Pau that evening, getting directions in French, a language I do not know, form the local policeman at the station. I understood his arm signals enough to make the first 2 turns, and luck was on my side as I found the M5 and took it all the way to Pau. Pinching myself to stay alert, I arrived at 4 a.m., not a sound in the town, but every parking place was taken with cars, buses, minivans and trucks with Tour and Sponsor logos everywhere!
I think I found the only available room in town, thanks to the kind man at the first full hotel I arrived at. I quickly fell into bed an set my alarm for, yes, 3 hours later! Imagine my surprise at 8 a.m. to open my curtains and find, not Kazakh mountains, but mechanics working on high tech bicycles amidst the tour buses in the parking lot! I could practically reach out and touch them! The sky was a brilliant blue and I had arrived! I quickly dressed and descended to the lobby where I found team members breakfasting in the dining area. I took a seat at an empty table and a woman with her two children joined me at my table. A few moments later, her husband, David Plaza, joined them. How exciting! Breakfast with a racer and his family. Too bad I never learned Spanish.
There were groupies and mechanics milling around in the parking lot all morning. The French girls were great! They were in the parking lot early that first morning and gave me ideal tips on how to become a Tour groupie. Jan Urlmann, the handsome young German from the Bianchi team, was an exciting figure to encounter on my first morning in France! I even got his autograph, thanks to the lovely young French girls who were my groupie examples of patience and determination That first morning was so exciting an I was just beginning to feel comfortable with my new groupie image. Tanned and relaxed, the Bianchi team were enjoying the summer weather. Yes, that is me, the ultimate groupie! The Team Bianchi guys were all Europeans and I never developed that French and Spanish, so the best I could do was jump into the picture and look as ridiculous as a school girl in love with her gym teacher. On the other hand, my Russian came in handy on my second day. I met Vyatcheslav Ekimov from the US Postal Service Team and we chatted in Russian for a while. Nice guy.
I said fairwell to the French girls and drove off to the start in downtown Pau. I followed some of the cyclists who decided to ride to the start. The Start The crowds were overwhelming, but congenial. Many Americans, mostly cyclists, were wandering around, looking for famous cyclists, buying souvenirs, and relaxing before a long day of cycling themselves. Some racers were presented with honors before the new day of racing began. The Caravan was gathering, automobiles and floats filled to the brim and revving up again to please the crowds in the myriads of tiny villages along the route. Beautiful weather and fresh summer fragrances filled the air in this quaint French town of Pau. Distracted by my own quest for a map and official program in all the excitement, I missed the actual kick-off. It gave me all the more reason to scamper to find a spot in a tiny village along the route.
In a quiet little village, about 40 kilometres from the end of the race, all the villagers had left their homes to line the road along the course. Some had come with picnic baskets, other's with backpacks, filled with fruits and cheese and drinks to refresh and enjoy the day in the sun. Even a small skilled nursing home set up a tent in anticipation of Tour. It's a big event in France, and no one misses it if at all possible. This village is like all others during the Tour, setting up roadblocks, refreshment stands, and banners in anticipation of their day. It's a wonderful community event, not to be missed!
The Caravan, the Caravan,
here comes the Caravan!! The Tour wouldn't be the Tour without sponsors. What
better way to share their sponsorship than to ride ahead of the cyclists and
fling gifts upon the eager spectators. Claiming their viewing territory, the
crowds patiently await the parade! The Trail Blazers Umbrella's, hat's, programs,
t-shirts! Come and get them Then, the floats. The sponsors! Lovely ladies
and handsome young men stand smiling, waving, and pitching key rings, small
squares of cheese, small packets of yoghurt, gummy bears, chocolates, toys,
maps, pamphlets! Catch as catch can! But be careful not to get run over by
a float!
I staked out my place in the middle of the road on an island barrier in the small town of Biscou. There was only a small orange and white warning marker between the cyclists and me! I waited patiently for hours as the crowds grew and became more anticipatory. At this point in the race, the cyclists will have finished the grueling Pyrenees and have only the short flat burst to the finish line in Bayonne. Finally, the breakaway leader, Tyler Hamilton, crested the hill with a motorcycle brigade! Within seconds, he was right in front of me and just as quickly, he was gone. Next to come, just 4 minutes behind Hamilton, was the first peleton. Fabulous! They too would cross from right to left, directly in front of my lens. Did I get the shot? Who was there? It was only weeks later, when I finally developed my film, that I realized I had managed to capture Lance and his fellow teammates up close and personal! Lagging much further behind were 2 more peletons. They were almost as interesting, and some were even willing to smile at my camera as they passed! The crowds hung on until the end, savoring the entire experience, from the fastest to the slowest. Cheering wildly as the last man passed with pain, grit and sheer determination stuccoed to his face. Just as quickly as each group came, they went! Within seconds, they were gone. I hardly had time to snap three photos from behind, as they were out of sight and on their way to Bayonne. What an adreniline rush! What a day! I couldn't have put myself right into the action at a more unique and interesting intersection.
In a blink of an eye, it's all over. The wait may be several hours and in some locations, you have to camp overnight to get a prime view. Then the cyclists zoom by in less than a minute. C'est la vie! But now that it was over, where to next? I decided it was useless to try to make it to the end and see anything, so I drove to the start for the next day, Dax, and hung out in a caf, hoping to figure out where I would sleep that night. My second evening, through a bit of sleuthing, I happened to find a room at the hotel where there were 2 Tour teams staying, one of which was the US Postal Service. It enabled me to be part of the hotel groupie crowd yet again. I spent the morning going back and forth between the lobby and the front courtyard and the back, where the mechanics were hanging out. Groupies Unlike a rock concert, the crowds for the Tour are more subdued. Of course, it might have had something to do with the fact that the hotel was a sulfer bath spa resort for the elderly with arthritis! The majority of this crowd were elderly French couples on holiday.
The gentlemen with the yellow sweater and I conversed in the lobby in broken French and English, both of us like small children waiting for Santa Claus to come down the chimney. Lance did come down in the elevator and just as quickly disappeared into the private dining hall for cyclists. Over the 2 hour period we milled around waiting for something to happen, a lone waiter must have made about a dozen trips back and forth from the kitchen with plates of pasta, potatoes, and eggs! A sneaky glance through the crack in the door revealed about 2 dozen boxes of American breakfast cereals! I wondered what they loaded onto those trucks besides the bikes! The crowd gathered outside the back entrance to the hotel, waiting calmly for the racers to emerge and file onto their respective buses.
What an amazing feeling to be in the center of the mechanical hub of the US Postal Service and Team Bianchi! Men from all nationalities, young and old, meticulously scrutinize every inch of metal and frame on each bike. The US Postal Service uses Trek bikes: sleek, elite and light. They even allowed me to pick one up to feel the weight. My Le Mond is almost as light! The young Irish lad below was working on Lance's bike and when I asked him how long it takes him to change a tire, he replied, before Lance even knows he needs one. Hmm, wish he was in my sag wagon! They go in such style that they even have their own team masseur, a friendly guy from Poland with whom I was also able to practice my Russian. Slowly, one by one, the young men descended the solid spiral staircase from their safe rooms above and down into the crowds.! It was a gentle crowd, no one rushing up to gather autographs. Rather, they were polite and friendly, as were the racers themselves. With muscles heavily drugged on glycogen from their carb-loaded breakfasts, uniforms crisp and clean, many of the racers donned sandals and t-shirts as they slowly walked down the stairs with their duffles and onto the bus. Lean and tanned, they were like Amazonian boyscouts.
Finally, the last to emerge was Lance Armstrong himself, along with his unassuming but ever present right hand man, Ervin, with whom I had a charming earlier conversation about his home state of Texas and his own private security business (I did not know at the time who he was). Lance waved to the crowds, but did not sign autographs this morning. I discovered earlier that a hotel employee had gotten Lance to sign 2 yellow Tour hats and then sold them to the highest bidder!! E-bay be damned
The other team's members emerged as well, some of whom decided to cycle the 5 kilometres from the hotel to the start in downtown Dax. I was so busy oggling the cyclists at the hotel, that it became too late for me to make it to the start in time. So, I hopped in my little French compact and took off for Bordeaux, drafting the more solid press autos at speeds beyond our native California limits. As frightening as this seemed, the exhileration to be in the media pack and knowing that they knew where they were going, and I did not, all kept me in constant caffeinated alertness The finish After hightailing it out of Dax and following a German press car all the way down the freeway, through the blocade and onto the course, I was able to get within 1 kilometre of the finish line!
At that point, the police had another barricade and would not let me follow this car any further. I held up my camera and said in French, "photographe!" They replied where was my pass? I said, "photographe!" They signaled me to pull over for verification, at which point, I knew it was over. I dejectedly drove down the road, parked illegally on the sidewalk and ventured back to the finish line. The crowds grew steadily and the excitement in the air was vibrating amidst the rays of sunshine, waffs of beer and sounds of technofunk. You could watch the race as it happened up on the big screen, pile into the official Tour trailor to purchase hats and t-shirts, or meander around, watching the variety of people from all over the world mingling in the crowds.
Unfortunately, I was unable to stay to the end, but I'm sure it was brief and for most, unavailable, unless you were situated atop a bus stop, or telephone pole. My time was up and I was now to depart to Plum Village, a serene Buddhist monastery 80 kilometres southeast of Bordeaux for a 2 week meditative retreat. It happened to take me about 3 days to come down off my tour de France high, as these two worlds were so vastly different. I slept in a tent under bamboo trees and awoke at 5 a.m. to the sounds of bells and chanting. Long gone were the cheers of the crowds and the excitement of the race. Would I do it again? Oh, yes, indeed I would. And next year, Iām bringing my own bike along for the ride!