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Final Stage to Paris!
Jul. 23rd, 2013 04:24 amFinal Stage to Paris!
It’s all over but the shouting, now. But what a chorus it is.
We’re on the Champs Elysees now, and for the first time I can remember, not only is the partly ceremonial final stage in Paris taking place at twilight, under a slow-rising, glorious, full orange moon, it’s also going around the Arc du Triomphe itself. I always thought that hairpin turn on the road in front of it was just ridiculously begging for trouble.
Peter Sagan has secured the Green Jersey, and has amusingly dyed his goatee to match, one-upping Mark Cavendish’s green sunglasses from several years ago.
It’s the Bell Lap! The breakaways have been pulled back. The leadout trains are getting themselves together. The riders are speeding through the silver light as the lights of the amusement park in the Tuilleries get brighter. The front of the peloton splits into long fingers of teams, Team Sky protecting Maillot Jaune Chris Froome, who’s had a lock on that thing for almost half the race. The riders’ arms are vibrating from the tiny cobblestones on the road, but no one is riding the smooth gutter now.
Mark Cavendish has never lost the final stage, and he is absolutely not looking to break that streak tonight. Marcel Kittel and Peter Sagan have other ideas, however, and they’ve both had amazing Tours this year.
Peter Sagan has latched himself onto Mark Cavendish’s back wheel, but Kurt Steegmans is right in front, leading Cav out. The screaming of the crown builds-- this is the final race-- can he? Greipel and Kittel and Cav screaming to the line-- Cav hits his famous afterburners but-- no! NO! It’s Kittel by half a wheel! Greipel just tipping Cav for second, even! I’m stunned. My G-d. How did THAT happen?
Less than a minute later, side by side, arms across shoulders, Team Sky crosses the line, sitting up with enormous grins, Winner Chris Froome in the middle-- his smile as bright as the Ferris Wheel not far away.
Turns out Cav had a flat tire earlier, and had to fight a bit to get back into the peloton. That, plus possible bike problems-- his bike was probably tuned to within a fraction of a millimeter of its life-- and it just didn’t work out. Damn. Well, next year.
Now we wait for the presentations, and to keep us amused, there is an INCREDIBLE light show on the face of l’Arc itself. And the Eiffel Tower is GLITTERING. It’s just gorgeous!
Marcel Kittel gets the trophy for stage win, and-- I can’t describe the light show. Animated, with fantastic graphics, and dub-step, and...just, wow.
Chrostophe Riblon wins for Most Aggressive Rider. Team Prize is Saxo-Tinkoff.
And then it’s the Green Jersey for Peter Sagan-- and he has won it for the second year in a row. King of the Mountains is a wonderful non-surprise: 23-year-old Nairo Quintana, given by the Ambassador of Colombia. And just as wonderful? He’s no sooner off the podium but he’s stripped off the Polka-Dot Jersey and returned to don the White Jersey of Best Young Rider. He’ll be someone to watch for YEARS.
And the Ar turns yellow, as Chris Froome, glowing just about as brightly, arrives to be crowned. He’s joined by past multiple winners, and they all turn to watch an amazing, glorious light show on the Arc. All, of course, in shades of yellow.
“And now, a special moment,” the announcer is saying. It’s the first-, second-, and third-place winners. Froome and Quintana are joined by Katousha rider Olivier Rodriguez, and they all remove their caps for the playing of the British National Anthem.
Froome is handed a mic. He pulls out a card, and first in French, and then in English, he dedicated the win to his late mother, without whom “I probably would have been watching this event on TV.” He thanks his great team, Sky, and everyone who mentored him. Then his friends, family, and fiancee. And he notes what an honour it is to win the 100th edition (did you know it was the 100th edition?) of the Tour de France. They hand him flowers, an enormous vase, and a trophy. I’m waiting for them to add a lamp, a small dog, a pony, someone’s kid, a television, a hamburger….
I have to day, with the giant “100” on the top of the Arc, it looks rather like a horrified piece of architecture is watching over the proceedings.
Then it’s the Jerseys, and there are only three, because of Quintana’s two. Greg Lemond is there as a presenter, and Froome gets yet more decorative tableware.
And now we have the presentation for next year, when the Grand Depart will be in Yorkshire. The exchange of trophies between the representatives of Corsica and Yorkshire looks for a moment like they’re trading doorknobs.
And so that’s it. I’m happy to have, at last, seen one more stage. I missed blogging-- or missed entirely--much of the last few: from someone dumping urine on Mark Cavendish to the moonscape-finish of Mont Ventoux. But it was, as ever, an amazing race. I still love it.
It’s all over but the shouting, now. But what a chorus it is.
We’re on the Champs Elysees now, and for the first time I can remember, not only is the partly ceremonial final stage in Paris taking place at twilight, under a slow-rising, glorious, full orange moon, it’s also going around the Arc du Triomphe itself. I always thought that hairpin turn on the road in front of it was just ridiculously begging for trouble.
Peter Sagan has secured the Green Jersey, and has amusingly dyed his goatee to match, one-upping Mark Cavendish’s green sunglasses from several years ago.
It’s the Bell Lap! The breakaways have been pulled back. The leadout trains are getting themselves together. The riders are speeding through the silver light as the lights of the amusement park in the Tuilleries get brighter. The front of the peloton splits into long fingers of teams, Team Sky protecting Maillot Jaune Chris Froome, who’s had a lock on that thing for almost half the race. The riders’ arms are vibrating from the tiny cobblestones on the road, but no one is riding the smooth gutter now.
Mark Cavendish has never lost the final stage, and he is absolutely not looking to break that streak tonight. Marcel Kittel and Peter Sagan have other ideas, however, and they’ve both had amazing Tours this year.
Peter Sagan has latched himself onto Mark Cavendish’s back wheel, but Kurt Steegmans is right in front, leading Cav out. The screaming of the crown builds-- this is the final race-- can he? Greipel and Kittel and Cav screaming to the line-- Cav hits his famous afterburners but-- no! NO! It’s Kittel by half a wheel! Greipel just tipping Cav for second, even! I’m stunned. My G-d. How did THAT happen?
Less than a minute later, side by side, arms across shoulders, Team Sky crosses the line, sitting up with enormous grins, Winner Chris Froome in the middle-- his smile as bright as the Ferris Wheel not far away.
Turns out Cav had a flat tire earlier, and had to fight a bit to get back into the peloton. That, plus possible bike problems-- his bike was probably tuned to within a fraction of a millimeter of its life-- and it just didn’t work out. Damn. Well, next year.
Now we wait for the presentations, and to keep us amused, there is an INCREDIBLE light show on the face of l’Arc itself. And the Eiffel Tower is GLITTERING. It’s just gorgeous!
Marcel Kittel gets the trophy for stage win, and-- I can’t describe the light show. Animated, with fantastic graphics, and dub-step, and...just, wow.
Chrostophe Riblon wins for Most Aggressive Rider. Team Prize is Saxo-Tinkoff.
And then it’s the Green Jersey for Peter Sagan-- and he has won it for the second year in a row. King of the Mountains is a wonderful non-surprise: 23-year-old Nairo Quintana, given by the Ambassador of Colombia. And just as wonderful? He’s no sooner off the podium but he’s stripped off the Polka-Dot Jersey and returned to don the White Jersey of Best Young Rider. He’ll be someone to watch for YEARS.
And the Ar turns yellow, as Chris Froome, glowing just about as brightly, arrives to be crowned. He’s joined by past multiple winners, and they all turn to watch an amazing, glorious light show on the Arc. All, of course, in shades of yellow.
“And now, a special moment,” the announcer is saying. It’s the first-, second-, and third-place winners. Froome and Quintana are joined by Katousha rider Olivier Rodriguez, and they all remove their caps for the playing of the British National Anthem.
Froome is handed a mic. He pulls out a card, and first in French, and then in English, he dedicated the win to his late mother, without whom “I probably would have been watching this event on TV.” He thanks his great team, Sky, and everyone who mentored him. Then his friends, family, and fiancee. And he notes what an honour it is to win the 100th edition (did you know it was the 100th edition?) of the Tour de France. They hand him flowers, an enormous vase, and a trophy. I’m waiting for them to add a lamp, a small dog, a pony, someone’s kid, a television, a hamburger….
I have to day, with the giant “100” on the top of the Arc, it looks rather like a horrified piece of architecture is watching over the proceedings.
Then it’s the Jerseys, and there are only three, because of Quintana’s two. Greg Lemond is there as a presenter, and Froome gets yet more decorative tableware.
And now we have the presentation for next year, when the Grand Depart will be in Yorkshire. The exchange of trophies between the representatives of Corsica and Yorkshire looks for a moment like they’re trading doorknobs.
And so that’s it. I’m happy to have, at last, seen one more stage. I missed blogging-- or missed entirely--much of the last few: from someone dumping urine on Mark Cavendish to the moonscape-finish of Mont Ventoux. But it was, as ever, an amazing race. I still love it.