Stage 14 — Limoux > Foix (191 km)

What the HELL?

There is, flat out, no other sport at this level that allows fans to get this close to the action. None. You can't run alongside the quarterback, you can't touch the horses, and if you try to run onto the basketball court, you're gonna get your ass kicked out of the venue. Cycling? Totally different. Thousands upon thousands of people go up into the mountains with their campers and RVs, waiting sometimes for days for the Tour to come through. They know that it's those brutal mountain climbs that slow the riders down to a comparative crawl-- so slow, in fact, that some avid flag-wavers can run alongside the cyclists. Though tellingly, they don't last long. Even at some truly soul-crushing angle of ascent, these iron men are faster on the bike than anyone on foot. But the mountains make them just slow enough to actually SEE. They're not that whirring, thunderous blur you see on the flats or descents.

Usually, this is a good thing, this screaming insanity. It looks like a nightmare: all those people packing the roadsides so tightly the course is turned into a screaming tunnel of unimaginable noise, barely wide enough for a single rider to get through. But accidents are rare, and most fans know not to touch the riders or interfere in any way. Sure, sometimes you get morons who push or hit the riders (witness the photo I posted from the Giro a few years back of Magliao Rosa Danilo DiLuca taking a swing at some ass who'd grabbed his arm). But mostly, everyone's there for a clean, fast, exciting race.

Sometimes, though, the fervour is not so benign. A few years ago, some hideous excuse for a human aimed an air rifle at the peloton, resulting in a few bloodied riders. And today, apparently, some scumbag thought it would be amusing to try for yet more fun.

We've left the flats, we've left the Alps (sorry, I was busy), and now we're in the Pyrenees. With a vengeance. Today, not one, but two Category One climbs, the second-most-taxing classification. We started with a breakaway of eleven riders, but the mountains shredded that eventually.

Up we come to the top of the second massive climb, and what's that? It's defending champion and current fourth-place Cadel Evans! He's not riding, he's not even on his bike. He is STANDING there, under the summit banner. Standing! What the hell? One of his BMC teammates finally arrives, and there is a frantic flurry-- the newly arrived rider yanks out his back wheel, but it's not to give it to Cadel-- they've BOTH flatted. The neutral Mavic car is there with wheels for both of them, since all the team cars with team mechanics and extra tires are far, far back down the mountain. Cadel's lost a full minute from this. But off he goes, with George Hincapie to pace him back, if that's possible. But wait, another flat for another rider? And another? And another? Far ahead, now, Maillot Jaune Bradley Wiggins, safely in the peloton, sits up and slows the field down. The riders know something has happened. They can hear race radio, and their own team management. They know something has gone seriously wrong. And then, the Team Sky car is weaving forward through the pack, and they are pulling a new bike entirely for Wiggins-- he, too has a flat. But even with his new bike, the peloton stays slow-- they will wait for Evans. They will wait for a fair race.

Cut back to Evans-- ANOTHER flat for Cadel-- his front wheel this time. That's three just for him. There are now two groups ahead, one off the back. The Wiggins group is trying to wait for the Evans group. But the first five riders, remnants of today's breakaway, have gone clear without flats, and they're going for the end. Luis Leon Sanchez of Rabobank has staged a breakaway of his own, and he's leading the race alone. Twenty seconds back, Peter Sagan is in a group of four trying to catch him up. Sandy Casar and Philip Gilbert are there, too. Is there enough time?

Further back, the gentlemen's agreement to wait for Cadel Evans may still be holding, but there's not a lot of road left. All of BMC (except for Gilbert) has finally organised to pull him up-- they're 41 seconds behind the Wiggins group, and riding hard. Twenty seconds. Can Cadel get back into the stage? Will he lose time to the Yellow Jersey? Liquigas is at the front of the Wiggins group, and they seem disinclined to wait. They're pushing the pace, pulling away. What will BMC do?

Sanchez is over 20 seconds ahead, all alone, with only three km to go. He knows this stage is his.

And it comes over race radio that officials have recovered twenty-eight tacks on the road at the top of the climb. Tacks. Thrown into the road. Unbelievable. TACKS. Later, the BMC team manager will tell NBC that he estimated 30 or 40 flats on the road.

Sanchez sits up, crosses himself, his arms up and his smile enormous, basking in the glow of his fourth stage victory.

The peloton behind has, wonderfully, neutralized the race. They are waiting for the group with Cadel Evans, who is being paced back by his BMC team, all of them waving their thanks to the team cars they pass as they catch up. By waiting, Wiggins and the peloton will ensure that all the riders who lost time from flat tires will cross the line with the yellow jersey, and thus not lose any time in the general Classification. Soon enough, there's a shot from the helicopter of the peloton taking a gentle ride, with Cadel riding alongside Bradley, having a chat. This is sportsmanlike. This is one of the reasons I love this sport.

There is a gesture towards a sprint at the line, to give the crowd something to cheer, but the peloton has come in together. Everyone will get the same time. Whoever threw those tacks, and whatever they were trying to do? Screw you. This race is far, far bigger and better than that.

Race Leader Bradley Wiggins summed it all up: "We decide these things through climbs and through racing, not through someone's misfortune."