After 4 weeks of cycling and relocating my home every day, I've found somewhere to settle for a week or so. To some extent my bicycle tour is over. And I've become a Tour de France spectator.
On completing stage 17 of the Tour in yellow by 5 days or more, I promptly disqualified myself from the race. No I've not taken to doping - though the other days' espresso intake may have contravened the UCI guidelines. The truth is that without the scrutiny of the world's media I cut short stage 18. Instead of cycling to Modane to the start of the stage, I simply went to the bottom of the first climb. I felt it was in the spirit of the early TdF pioneers who occasionally took trains between towns to tame the monstrously long stages on which they they were competing.
In my own Tour de France de Panniers, I also committed a second offence. I completed the first climb of the stage with only 1 pannier! Having camped in Valloire between 2 of the climbs on stage 18 I decided I could complete the first climb, the Telegraphe, before checking out time, then load up, and go onto tackle the Galibier.
Without panniers my bike came alive on that climb. That might sound good, but not when it was so wild that I could barely control it. With massive weight on my bike, inputs into steering and balance have to be strong and purposeful. With that weight removed those same movements made me ride like Bamby taking her first steps.
Brain re-programmed, I tackled the Telegraphe climb with the shadow of 4 cyclists in team formation about 20 yards behind me. Round every hairpin bend I saw them in the corner of my eye. What I had promised myself to be an enjoyable gentle morning climb had become a race! 52 minutes later the summit (12k and 700m climbing) saw one of the closest finishes in Tour history as 5 grown men sprinted to the finish, with the English guy with 1 pannier edging it. After recovering my breath I turned to my pursuers and discovered they were 4 Swiss friends on a long weekend trip, were equally knackered, and equally cross with themselves for racing up the first climb with a much bigger one ahead.
The second assent of the Galibier, this time from the north, was, I regret to say, equally competitive. I found myself overtaken early on (now fully laden) by the quicker riders of 'Team Bergamo'. One of them kindly shouted 'strong man' pointing at my panniers as he came past. Obviously, not wanting to disappoint him, I proceeded to race his slower team mates up the 20k, 1300m climb. 1 hour and 55 mins later I crossed the summit, just ahead if the largest, eldest, and last member of their team, to a wripple of applause from my earlier encourager, Mr Enthusiastic.
I dropped down into La Grave, found a campsite and here I have been for a few days. After a day of hibernating in the tent, away from the incessant rain, I managed to finish stage 18 on the 3rd day. The infamous Alpe d'Huez climb was manageable with my newfound light load, and I achieved a time almost double that of the world record holder and notorious doper, Marco Pantani. More noteworthy was the 6 year old I saw riding up, having to wait for his father at each of the 21 hairpin bends.
The Tour de France proper is only a few days behind now. The campsite is full of nerdy spectators, all of whom are visiting the local mountaineering shop to buy extra warm clothing. Dr James arrives in an hour or so. The solo touring draws to a close for a while and a new chapter begins.
Zut alors, James
