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ysobelleYou know, not to knock the whole breakneck competition and thrilling finishes and all, but there are other reasons to watch this amazing race. Today showed off three of them.
First, as ever: the scenery. It's one thing to watch a pretty travel show and hear someone blithering on about one high point after another until your ears bleed and everything becomes a series of brain-snapshots: castle, castle, lake, ruin, castle. It's a wholly different beast to watch the scenery smoothly go by, mile after mile, one place connected to another, changing through mountain to valley to plain and back again. Most of these castles were built to watch over and defend specific places-- you have to see them in context to appreciate them. And the helicopters are a godsend: one sweeping panorama after another of a lone tower watching over a sprawling, red-roofed village, a medieval church rising above its unchanged town, a brilliant river rushing through equally brilliant mountains. Sometimes, it's the amazing, funny, clever displays people paint on their roads or carve into their fields. And today, the added treat of Lourdes and its gorgeous basilica, silver-grey stone gleaming by the side of a white-frosted river. I may never see these places in person, but at least I get to see more than one tightly-framed postcard picture.
The second reason showcased today is the incredible, colourful history of this 100-plus year event, this time exemplified by the picturesquely sadistic mountain pass, the Col du Tourmalet. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Col_de_tourmalet) The Tour has gone over this pass more than any other, if for no other reason than everyone loves a little schadenfreude in the morning. The first time the Tour went over the Col was 1910, and the rider who won that stage, and that year's Tour, was Octave Lapize, who, legend says, hissed at the organisers, "Assassins!" as he passed the summit. There still sits today a statue of him on that spot. Three years later saw a story so unbelievable, could only be G-d's honest truth. French rider Eugéne Christophe (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eugène_Christophe) discovered on the Col that he had broken his fork. Tour rules at that time stated very clearly that riders were responsible for their own bikes: they rode with spare inner tubes wrapped around their bodies, and if they couldn't fix their bikes themselves, they were out of luck and out of competition. Christophe, who was leading at the time, was nothing if not determined. He walked two hours down the mountain with his broken bike on his shoulder, until he came to a village. He went to the village blacksmith's, and, with the blacksmith talking him through, spent the next three hours re-forging his own bike. Alone. Well, he had an eleven-year-old boy to work the bellows-- and for that, was penalised three minutes. He eventually reached Paris, and came in seventh. Go read the rest of his amazing history. Honest. You won't be sorry. He was an amazing man, and holder of the first-ever Maillot Jaune, which was introduced to the race in 1919-- in which year his fork broke again. This time, however, the paper which sponsored the race, l'Auto, took up a collection which brought him more money than he ever would have received had he actually won that year.
And lastly, and probably rather similarly, in the Tour de France, we get to see that kind of determination over and over again. Today's reminder of how tough and single-minded these guys can be? Dutch rider Laurens Ten Dam of Rabobank. I didn't see it happen, and I'm not sure the cameras caught it, but on the descent with the breakaway from the Tourmalet, he fell. Some reports say he fell down a ravine. Whatever it was, he got up, got back on his bike, and stayed in the race, his back black with dirt and half-shredded. He regained the peloton, and finished 34 seconds behind the leaders. Yes, falls happen all the time. I've seen men with shocking-red rivulets of blood flowing from gashed knees and elbows, yet still they keep going. It's not just the spectators out on the road, waving their regional or national or-- as in today-- Piratical flags and screaming their guts out. All these people are crazy. They are certifiably, undoubtedly, gloriously insane. How can you not love that?
Today was expected to be a crazy day, as a matter of fact. Two huge climbs usually mean plenty of drama. But what we actually got was almost sedate: too many teams are playing too cautious a game, not willing to take too much of a risk this early.
This morning saw the a big breakaway push off almost from the very start. And this time, once more, it was surprisingly successful. Early breakaways generally never last to the end of the stage. But sometimes, just sometimes, they do. It's very exciting, and inspiring, especially this time, when we hit not one, but two huge mountain passes: the Col d'Aspin, and then the legendary Col du Tourmalet. Most of the breakaway's riders-- most, but not all-- stayed a way a while, but eventually, inevitably, they fell back, where they were ridden down by a peloton led by AG2R and Astana. Armstrong showed not just his climbing skills, but some pretty fierce descending expertise, as well. (Descending may sound kind of simple-- stay upright and don't go off at the curves-- but it's not. There's an art to it I'll never understand. And honestly? Considering my distaste for heights? I'm fine with that.) Why was Astana working so hard with AG2R, team of race leader Rinaldo Nocentini? It may sound somewhat counterintuitive, but what Armstrong and Astana were doing was essentially defending the jersey for Nocentini. Astana knows his team, AG2R, is good, but not THAT good, and that it's much easier to take the Maillot Jaune from them than it would be from, say, Garmin or Columbia. So soon enough, the break was down to just two: Liquigas rider Franco Pellizotti and BBox man Pierrick Fedrigo. Jens Voight fought a long time to stay with them, and then to bridge back up to them, but he was eventually forced to fall back, eaten up by the peloton.
But Liquigas rider Franco Pellizotti and BBox man Pierrick Fedrigo are still away. The last two remainders of the breakaway, they have dropped everyone else, and as we pass into the lovely little town of Tarbes, they are also dropping their miles-long working relationship. Now, they're testing each other, trying to fake each other out, waiting for the other to make a move, not giving an inch. They have no teammates, no support-- it's just the two of them, whipping through the streets, slashing through the sharp curves. First it's Pellizotti, and it looks like he's timed it right, taking the inside line off the last sweeping turn to the finishing straight, but no! Fedrigo's judgment-- perhaps his luck-- was just that one hairsbreadth better, and given France its third stage victory this year!
So surprisingly, Nocentini, who everyone thought would lose the Maillot Jaune after one day, has now kept it three. And as tomorrow is a rest day, he'll have it at least until Tuesday. He stated he's thrilled about this, as his wife is coming to meet him at Limoges, and he'll be able to greet her in the winner's colours. After that, we have several flat stages to the Alps. And while no big shake-ups are expected on the flats, the mantra remains, as ever, "Anything can happen."
First, as ever: the scenery. It's one thing to watch a pretty travel show and hear someone blithering on about one high point after another until your ears bleed and everything becomes a series of brain-snapshots: castle, castle, lake, ruin, castle. It's a wholly different beast to watch the scenery smoothly go by, mile after mile, one place connected to another, changing through mountain to valley to plain and back again. Most of these castles were built to watch over and defend specific places-- you have to see them in context to appreciate them. And the helicopters are a godsend: one sweeping panorama after another of a lone tower watching over a sprawling, red-roofed village, a medieval church rising above its unchanged town, a brilliant river rushing through equally brilliant mountains. Sometimes, it's the amazing, funny, clever displays people paint on their roads or carve into their fields. And today, the added treat of Lourdes and its gorgeous basilica, silver-grey stone gleaming by the side of a white-frosted river. I may never see these places in person, but at least I get to see more than one tightly-framed postcard picture.
The second reason showcased today is the incredible, colourful history of this 100-plus year event, this time exemplified by the picturesquely sadistic mountain pass, the Col du Tourmalet. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Col_de_tourmalet) The Tour has gone over this pass more than any other, if for no other reason than everyone loves a little schadenfreude in the morning. The first time the Tour went over the Col was 1910, and the rider who won that stage, and that year's Tour, was Octave Lapize, who, legend says, hissed at the organisers, "Assassins!" as he passed the summit. There still sits today a statue of him on that spot. Three years later saw a story so unbelievable, could only be G-d's honest truth. French rider Eugéne Christophe (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eugène_Christophe) discovered on the Col that he had broken his fork. Tour rules at that time stated very clearly that riders were responsible for their own bikes: they rode with spare inner tubes wrapped around their bodies, and if they couldn't fix their bikes themselves, they were out of luck and out of competition. Christophe, who was leading at the time, was nothing if not determined. He walked two hours down the mountain with his broken bike on his shoulder, until he came to a village. He went to the village blacksmith's, and, with the blacksmith talking him through, spent the next three hours re-forging his own bike. Alone. Well, he had an eleven-year-old boy to work the bellows-- and for that, was penalised three minutes. He eventually reached Paris, and came in seventh. Go read the rest of his amazing history. Honest. You won't be sorry. He was an amazing man, and holder of the first-ever Maillot Jaune, which was introduced to the race in 1919-- in which year his fork broke again. This time, however, the paper which sponsored the race, l'Auto, took up a collection which brought him more money than he ever would have received had he actually won that year.
And lastly, and probably rather similarly, in the Tour de France, we get to see that kind of determination over and over again. Today's reminder of how tough and single-minded these guys can be? Dutch rider Laurens Ten Dam of Rabobank. I didn't see it happen, and I'm not sure the cameras caught it, but on the descent with the breakaway from the Tourmalet, he fell. Some reports say he fell down a ravine. Whatever it was, he got up, got back on his bike, and stayed in the race, his back black with dirt and half-shredded. He regained the peloton, and finished 34 seconds behind the leaders. Yes, falls happen all the time. I've seen men with shocking-red rivulets of blood flowing from gashed knees and elbows, yet still they keep going. It's not just the spectators out on the road, waving their regional or national or-- as in today-- Piratical flags and screaming their guts out. All these people are crazy. They are certifiably, undoubtedly, gloriously insane. How can you not love that?
Today was expected to be a crazy day, as a matter of fact. Two huge climbs usually mean plenty of drama. But what we actually got was almost sedate: too many teams are playing too cautious a game, not willing to take too much of a risk this early.
This morning saw the a big breakaway push off almost from the very start. And this time, once more, it was surprisingly successful. Early breakaways generally never last to the end of the stage. But sometimes, just sometimes, they do. It's very exciting, and inspiring, especially this time, when we hit not one, but two huge mountain passes: the Col d'Aspin, and then the legendary Col du Tourmalet. Most of the breakaway's riders-- most, but not all-- stayed a way a while, but eventually, inevitably, they fell back, where they were ridden down by a peloton led by AG2R and Astana. Armstrong showed not just his climbing skills, but some pretty fierce descending expertise, as well. (Descending may sound kind of simple-- stay upright and don't go off at the curves-- but it's not. There's an art to it I'll never understand. And honestly? Considering my distaste for heights? I'm fine with that.) Why was Astana working so hard with AG2R, team of race leader Rinaldo Nocentini? It may sound somewhat counterintuitive, but what Armstrong and Astana were doing was essentially defending the jersey for Nocentini. Astana knows his team, AG2R, is good, but not THAT good, and that it's much easier to take the Maillot Jaune from them than it would be from, say, Garmin or Columbia. So soon enough, the break was down to just two: Liquigas rider Franco Pellizotti and BBox man Pierrick Fedrigo. Jens Voight fought a long time to stay with them, and then to bridge back up to them, but he was eventually forced to fall back, eaten up by the peloton.
But Liquigas rider Franco Pellizotti and BBox man Pierrick Fedrigo are still away. The last two remainders of the breakaway, they have dropped everyone else, and as we pass into the lovely little town of Tarbes, they are also dropping their miles-long working relationship. Now, they're testing each other, trying to fake each other out, waiting for the other to make a move, not giving an inch. They have no teammates, no support-- it's just the two of them, whipping through the streets, slashing through the sharp curves. First it's Pellizotti, and it looks like he's timed it right, taking the inside line off the last sweeping turn to the finishing straight, but no! Fedrigo's judgment-- perhaps his luck-- was just that one hairsbreadth better, and given France its third stage victory this year!
So surprisingly, Nocentini, who everyone thought would lose the Maillot Jaune after one day, has now kept it three. And as tomorrow is a rest day, he'll have it at least until Tuesday. He stated he's thrilled about this, as his wife is coming to meet him at Limoges, and he'll be able to greet her in the winner's colours. After that, we have several flat stages to the Alps. And while no big shake-ups are expected on the flats, the mantra remains, as ever, "Anything can happen."