Yellow jersey held on 4 day stage

Rounding the final turn on the Col de Galibier, the passing Italian motorcyclists noticed not the touring cyclist sprinting out of his saddle to the summit and finish of the epic stage 18 (at just above walking pace as he hauled his panniers). The assembled masses at the finish line, similarly, and incomprehensibly, did not rouse from their self obsessed narcisistic picture taking, to acknowledge a new record being set right in front of their noses. Never before in the 100+ years of TdF history had it taken 4 days to complete one stage. But this is what the grinning, pannier clad Englishman was achieving. The moment was marked by a German cyclist engaging the hero in small talk about the technical details of the record setting bike, a picture captured by the aforementioned German, and an entry on this almost unread blog. Ca ne fait rien, I will remember it to my premature senility.

So after the shocking weather of day 2 on Col d'Angello, day 3 was a relative ride in the park up and over Col d'Izoard. I rode the Col with the Kiwi couple I mentioned previously. Well I say rode with them, the truth is that Karl turned out to be even better than the French guy Marc I had met previously. In all the days touring I have done over the last few years I have met very few serious race cyclists on a touring trip, not so with Marc and Karl. Anyway, as he powered up the 10% gradient I made myself feel better by counting the number of panniers on Karl's bike, 2, then recounting mine, 4.

Anyway, Izoard was a lovely climb and afterwards, Karl and I took a seat overlooking the final turn to encourage all the cyclists to the summit, and to bloody witness another accident! 2 cars rounding the corner simply collided into one another. My first thought was for the safety of the cyclists as I jumped up to clear the broken glass from the headlamp. No, seriously, I checked for the health and welfare... of my sandwich first, I didn't want it rolling down the hill, or ants getting at it. It was such a slow crash luckily, it was almost unbelievable it happened.

Anyway, the descent was great, as they always are, and given the time, I decided to utilise another day of my ever diminishing lead to find a campsite and watch my rivals tackle the Pyrennees on TV. As I made plainly obvious to the assembled campers in the lounge, I was ecstatic to see Geraint Thomas - who I have taught so much, and who thankfully, this year at least, is no challenge to my yellow jersey - in a breakaway up the Col du Tormalet. He's good, but put 4 panniers on him and he'd be great

Day 4 was a late start, this cyclist has to plan and book his own accommodation. And as the main peleton get closer, so do the hordes of Dutch camper vans and English lycra clad MAMILS (middle aged men in lycra) - oh, like me but within panniers - crowding the mountains and campsites.

Once underway, I felt strong and went on a solo breakaway from Karl, who was now 'sans' panniers, on the climb to the Col de Lauteret, the approach to the final climb of the day, the highest ever finish on the TdF, the Col de Galibier. Karl eventually caught up, and with Jez Loftus' coaching ringing in my ears, I realised I had gone too early as Karl powered past.

The headwind to the Lauteret turned a gentle climb into a testing one and at the summit I was glad of the opportunity to eat my sports dietician prescribed Camembert sandwiches, washed down with Haribo and espresso, as Karl and I waited for his girlfriend Lena. As it turns out she had carried on up to Galibier unseen by us, so as Karl returned to Briancon 700m short of Galibier, she was finishing the Galibier in fine form for an Alpine novice. Chapeau.

The Galibier is a spectacular climb, as my pictures will show in due course. My climb time was good, even despite the photography, and slightly repeating lunch. The pro team Skil Shimano descended passed me as I climbed, and despite my best efforts, did not respond even with eye contact to my inane banter as they sped past. Perhaps they didn't see me 80 kph!

Anyway, as I said too many redundant words ago at the start of this blog, stage 18 is now done. In all seriousness, it's a killer - the Queen stage of this year's tour and one not to miss folks. In recognition of my feet, my podiatrist, sorry, I meant my feat, my Directeur Sportif even allowed me to swap my regulation 3 beers for a small allowance (75cl) of red wine, and 3 chocolate mousses. Tomorrow, after all, is only stage 19, a mere 3 HC climbs starting with the Telegraphe, Galibier again but from the north, and then Alpe d'Huez.

I wonder if my now 5 day lead can survive? I wonder if my now 27 day old legs can continue? I wonder if my earplugs will manage to block the noise of barking dogs and car alarms  in this campsite? After all, good food (tick, if good is lots) and good sleep wins the TdF - Eddy Merckx. And he ate other human beings (le Cannibale), so he should not be argued with!