![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelleThe one thing you have to remember about the Tour route planners is that they're sadists. Consummate, professional sadists. And they always have been, as I'll let Octave Lapize explain:
He is noted for looking at some Tour officials on the climb of the Col du Tourmalet in the 1910 Tour de France and yelling, "Vous êtes des assassins! Oui, des assassins!' (French for 'You are murderers! Yes, murderers!')"[2] The stage in question was 326 kilometers in length, featured 7 brutal climbs, and was raced on unsealed roads with single-gear bicycles. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Octave_Lapize)
This year's second stage would be, I'd imagine, analogous to being pecked to death by ducks: narrow roads, cobblestones, and not one, not three, not six, but NINE categorised climbs. That's...that's just not funny. But Tour de France riders by definition have to keep their wits about them, so I imagine they set off rather determined to see the humour in the situation. An early breakaway of seven-- Armindo Fonseca (Bretagne-Seche Environnement); Biel Kadri (AG2R La Mondiale); Matthew Busche (Trek Factory Racing); Bart De Clercq (Lotto-Belisol); Perrig Quemeneur (Europcar); Cyril Lemoine (Cofidis); and David De La Cruz Melgarejo (Netapp-Endura).
(http://velonews.competitor.com/2014/07/news/vincenzo-nibali-wins-stage-2-takes-lead-2014-tour-de-france_334630#f7eLxFXGdHXaIkYK.99) stayed away for much of the day, but stages with lots of climbs tend to break the peloton into chunks, rather than leave breakaways unmolested. Sure enough, how we started was not how we meant to go on, and the race divided into groups soon enough.
So up, down, up, down, up, down we go, through roads getting ridiculously narrow, made yet worse by...I want to say crowds, but saying the course was crowded is a bit like saying fresh-out-of-the-oven pizza is hot, while your mouth melts off your face. Seriously, I've LIVED in England, an I didn't know there were this many people there. I have walked down Oxford Street at Christmastime in London when it was so packed we all had to walk in step like that creepy Star Trek episode, and the crowds lining the roads here make that city day look like an evening in Montana. Maybe Idaho. Possibly even Alaska. Yesterday, in Yorkshire, everyone was saying the problem was the traditional low stacked-stone walls that bordered the lanes, giving the spectators nowhere to go. No, I'm pretty sure it's because they've been importing humans from, like, Tokyo. And New York. And everywhere else on the planet.
(There are flags here literally from every country and region you can imagine. I saw a Jamaican flag in there somewhere, and there are no Jamaican riders. We have our first Chinese rider, though, so that's cool.)
We pass through the gorgeous countryside, waving at multitudes of ruined castles and abbeys, and getting a quick tourist stop into the former home of the Brontës-- everyone wave! And then, here we are in Sheffield all of a sudden. Industrial buildings and greyness, and oh, did we mention? It's five km to the end of the stage, yeah, but how about a final climb at a 30% grade? Assassins!
(Just a moment to say: you may be assassins, but I LOVE how you cheekily rename Sheffield's Jenkins Road as "Col du Jenkins." That's just adorable.)
There's a battle shaping up for the line, but it's down to the elite men now: Chris Froome is in there, and Peter Sagan, and Alberto Contador, and others. There are chunks of peloton scattered down the course, but this small lead group is going to have the winner. And sure enough, as they pass under the flammé rouge, the marker for the last kilometer, Vincenzo Nibali takes off like he just got there, and BOOM, no one can catch him. Just before the line-- after carefully checking to make absolutely sure no one was going to catch him-- he sits up and points to the champion's flag on his chest. He's riding for the national team of Kazakhstan in the Tour de France in England, but he wants to make sure you remember he's an Italian-- the Italian road racing champion, no less.
It's twenty minutes before the yellow jersey, on the back of Marcel Kittel, arrives in town, and by that time, it's already on Nibali, and the latter is giving his interviews. He's very gracious, and very pleased, but he does make a point to mention the mixed blessing of the crowds. Apparently, the big thing this year is selfies, because sure, turning your back on the peloton and standing in the road for a photo is a SMASHING idea. So to speak. Niki Terpstra, at one point earlier in the day, reaches up as the peloton thunders along and literally has to smack a telephoto out of his face. Another rider-- possibly on FdJ-- whacks at phones shoved into his face as he races: whack, whack, whack! And at least one of them goes flying. And one poor schlub is just way over the line and gets a rider's shoulder to the gut at full speed. Domino effect takes down several spectators there. Really, people: everyone appreciates your enthusiasm, but know where to draw the line: it's painted on the side of the road.
Next, we're off to the storied halls of Cambridge, where we'll aim ourselves at Buckingham Palace. The game is on!
He is noted for looking at some Tour officials on the climb of the Col du Tourmalet in the 1910 Tour de France and yelling, "Vous êtes des assassins! Oui, des assassins!' (French for 'You are murderers! Yes, murderers!')"[2] The stage in question was 326 kilometers in length, featured 7 brutal climbs, and was raced on unsealed roads with single-gear bicycles. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Octave_Lapize)
This year's second stage would be, I'd imagine, analogous to being pecked to death by ducks: narrow roads, cobblestones, and not one, not three, not six, but NINE categorised climbs. That's...that's just not funny. But Tour de France riders by definition have to keep their wits about them, so I imagine they set off rather determined to see the humour in the situation. An early breakaway of seven-- Armindo Fonseca (Bretagne-Seche Environnement); Biel Kadri (AG2R La Mondiale); Matthew Busche (Trek Factory Racing); Bart De Clercq (Lotto-Belisol); Perrig Quemeneur (Europcar); Cyril Lemoine (Cofidis); and David De La Cruz Melgarejo (Netapp-Endura).
(http://velonews.competitor.com/2014/07/news/vincenzo-nibali-wins-stage-2-takes-lead-2014-tour-de-france_334630#f7eLxFXGdHXaIkYK.99) stayed away for much of the day, but stages with lots of climbs tend to break the peloton into chunks, rather than leave breakaways unmolested. Sure enough, how we started was not how we meant to go on, and the race divided into groups soon enough.
So up, down, up, down, up, down we go, through roads getting ridiculously narrow, made yet worse by...I want to say crowds, but saying the course was crowded is a bit like saying fresh-out-of-the-oven pizza is hot, while your mouth melts off your face. Seriously, I've LIVED in England, an I didn't know there were this many people there. I have walked down Oxford Street at Christmastime in London when it was so packed we all had to walk in step like that creepy Star Trek episode, and the crowds lining the roads here make that city day look like an evening in Montana. Maybe Idaho. Possibly even Alaska. Yesterday, in Yorkshire, everyone was saying the problem was the traditional low stacked-stone walls that bordered the lanes, giving the spectators nowhere to go. No, I'm pretty sure it's because they've been importing humans from, like, Tokyo. And New York. And everywhere else on the planet.
(There are flags here literally from every country and region you can imagine. I saw a Jamaican flag in there somewhere, and there are no Jamaican riders. We have our first Chinese rider, though, so that's cool.)
We pass through the gorgeous countryside, waving at multitudes of ruined castles and abbeys, and getting a quick tourist stop into the former home of the Brontës-- everyone wave! And then, here we are in Sheffield all of a sudden. Industrial buildings and greyness, and oh, did we mention? It's five km to the end of the stage, yeah, but how about a final climb at a 30% grade? Assassins!
(Just a moment to say: you may be assassins, but I LOVE how you cheekily rename Sheffield's Jenkins Road as "Col du Jenkins." That's just adorable.)
There's a battle shaping up for the line, but it's down to the elite men now: Chris Froome is in there, and Peter Sagan, and Alberto Contador, and others. There are chunks of peloton scattered down the course, but this small lead group is going to have the winner. And sure enough, as they pass under the flammé rouge, the marker for the last kilometer, Vincenzo Nibali takes off like he just got there, and BOOM, no one can catch him. Just before the line-- after carefully checking to make absolutely sure no one was going to catch him-- he sits up and points to the champion's flag on his chest. He's riding for the national team of Kazakhstan in the Tour de France in England, but he wants to make sure you remember he's an Italian-- the Italian road racing champion, no less.
It's twenty minutes before the yellow jersey, on the back of Marcel Kittel, arrives in town, and by that time, it's already on Nibali, and the latter is giving his interviews. He's very gracious, and very pleased, but he does make a point to mention the mixed blessing of the crowds. Apparently, the big thing this year is selfies, because sure, turning your back on the peloton and standing in the road for a photo is a SMASHING idea. So to speak. Niki Terpstra, at one point earlier in the day, reaches up as the peloton thunders along and literally has to smack a telephoto out of his face. Another rider-- possibly on FdJ-- whacks at phones shoved into his face as he races: whack, whack, whack! And at least one of them goes flying. And one poor schlub is just way over the line and gets a rider's shoulder to the gut at full speed. Domino effect takes down several spectators there. Really, people: everyone appreciates your enthusiasm, but know where to draw the line: it's painted on the side of the road.
Next, we're off to the storied halls of Cambridge, where we'll aim ourselves at Buckingham Palace. The game is on!