For two weeks it’s been all about Le Tour, but today was dedicated to looking at La Tour.
Tristan Bernard
The quote at the bottom says “Rely only on yourself and even so, not very much.”
He turns out to have been quite a guy…
Popular
Eurosport, which is the network you watch cycling on over here, has improved ratings with the addition of journalist Laura Meseguer to their interview lineup.
Riders and team staff seem quite willing to talk to her.
Bedfellows
My American stuff and my bunkmate Vlad’s Russian stuff… how much “new and improved” do I really need in a toothbrush? Perhaps our consumer culture has gone a little too far.
TdF Thursday July 21
Our final “real” ride of the trip today, bittersweet. After our exertions yesterday Phil made an executive decision to shorten the planned route by 10 super steep km, and that was certainly the right decision, although part of me wanted one more Category 1 notch on my handlebars.
We still climbed a bit and then descended into Chamonix, the halfway point of the ride and a good place for a coffee. Perhaps I’m not telling you anything surprising, but it’s really pretty there.
Mt. Blanc looms more impressively over Chamonix than any mountain over any town I’ve ever been to.
Here’s a shot reflecting an increase in my on-bike photography confidence without any corresponding gain in competence.
We finished the ride in the company of a couple of genial Italian guys, and indeed we were part of a huge stream of cyclists making our way to the day’s start in the village of Sallanche. We didn’t have VIP access today, but that was probably perfect. It was a time trial stage, meaning that the departure lasted pretty much all day.
The village turned it into a huge party, and we had a fun time walking around looking at stuff.
I ate a massive portion of tartiflette (potatoes au gratin with ham), washed down with a glass of beer or three and followed by ice cream. Remind me why I can’t climb hills like I used to???
I was really glad to get a picture with the Devil, a Tour fixture for as long as I can remember.
We got back to the hotel in time to see Chris Froome’s increasing and imperturbable dominance, relaxed for a while on the patio and had our final Swiss dinner before turning in at a shockingly early 11 PM.
Lost in Gstaad
I have the sort of unassuming face that people often ask for directions. Even when I am just a tourist myself, I am frequently asked to help navigate. Sometimes I give good advice,
sometimes, who knows?
Yesterday, as we were riding through Gstaad, I wished I had had the chance to give directions to somebody. Yes, it’s that little road on the right… Just past the Bentley dealership. If you get to the polo grounds, you’ve gone too far.
TdF Wednesday July 20
Today was all about the journey.
I got up earlier than I wanted to and took a nice morning constitutional around Villars and Aveyres. I can’t speak to other Swiss Alpine ski villages, but these two are beautiful.
A fox halfheartedly stalking crows.
Getting the pony loaded up for a trip.
I followed the sound of cowbells, quite common in this part of the world.
Walking back home, the cowbells were replaced by a sort of throbbing buzz. It was the Canadian junior team out warming up for the day.
Our plan was to ride our bikes over a couple of hard climbs: the Col de la Croix, and the Col du Pillon, before descending into our viewing spot for the day. The ride was tough but fun, under 30 miles but with lots of climbing. Cruising through the ski areas was pretty great.
An overzealous Swiss Army trooper (so it’s not just a brand!) turned us away from our objective a couple miles early, however. So, we had a lovely picnic in Saanen before striking out on foot, a couple miles uphill, to try and catch the race as they crested the climb at Schönried before dropping to the point we parked at.
It got hot, over 90, and there wasn’t much shade. But we met this guy…
After walking an hour toward the approaching riders, we still hadn’t made it to the top of the hill, so we got a glimpse of them in descent mode… whoosh goes the breakaway, pause, whoosh goes the peloton, fini. Hardly a bad day, but not what we were planning on.
On the way down, we discovered a network of Wanderweg, trails that criss-cross the whole area. It was a lovely walk in meadows and forests, and marginally shorter.
And then decision time… To ride home or take the van. Testosterone poisoning got the better of me and so I got suited back up, the only guest so ambitious/foolhardy. With my guides solid Phil and greyhound Gene (both far stronger cyclists than me) we set out.
We bagged this awesome souvenir, which helped make the rest worth it.
Our first objective was the Category 3 Cote de Mosses. By the end of that “little climb” we all knew I didn’t have much left in the tank. However, having few real choices, we persevered. I recovered somewhat on the descent, and it appeared that all was well. And then, Mr. Garmin gave us some sketchy directions. What had been billed as a 15 mile ride with an optional climb at the end turned into almost 40, including climbing back up the Col de la Croix on a road that was a little more than a cowpath, and in fact turned to gravel for a few miles.
Actually, it was that gravel road that gave me the inspiration to continue. Before moving to Brattleboro, I would have been horrified at the thought of trying to ride over gravel, however, now I do it all the time, and it made me confident that I was in my own element and would make it home, however slowly.
Dinner was a big dose of naproxen, and a lovely pot of moules marinieres. I didn’t contribute much to the conversation…
TdF Monday July 18
Day 8. In the first week I rode well over 250 miles, 6 of 7 days, with daily distance ranging from 25 to almost 90. More or less as much as I’ve ever ridden in a week (which of course is the point so all good). Some of the aches and pains I can describe in reasonably polite company, others not so much.
Today was a transfer day from Lyon to Villars-sur-Ollon, Switzerland. After a 3+ hour drive, we got the bikes out and had a quiet ride to our second and final Relais Etape luncheon. I’m not really familiar with that many individual Swiss , but my stereotype of the country was not disturbed when we rode through the town of Concise.
I again tried the trainer simulation and came in second this time. However, I got a prize anyway, because all of the top three that day beat the best times that had been posted so far, so that was cool.
We enjoyed drinks, collected more swag from the caravan, and watched the race blur by.
Then, up a vertiginous drive to our hotel in Villars. I was again glad to be driven.
This is my first time in Switzerland, my first time to see the Alps. Wow. Take the green lushness of New England and sprinkle it on mountains as dramatic as the Rockies, and put the whole thing at a civilized altitude. Then set the Swiss to the task of making it even prettier for a few hundred years.
Dinner at the charming little chalet style hotel was maybe the best meal we’ve had on the whole trip, and while still slow, faster than many. Our waitress had a certain je ne sais quoi that made the wait more pleasant.
All aflutter in Avignon
In Avignon last week, the whole city was in festival mode: theatre, music, lots of stuff. Since everything is made of stone, it’s hard to hang posters, so they tie up these great long strings and fix the flyers to those. They flap in the wind like crows and make a haunting rattle everywhere you go.
Bike porn
Here’s what a hundred grand looks like at wholesale …
It was a Bianchi, in this same Celeste color, that first got my race bike juices flowing like 35 years ago, a bike so impossibly expensive that I thought I’d never get one. Many years later, Lee bought me one with tip money saved up from Court Street Coffee… thank you my love!
The Manx Missile’s launcher
It’s all so high tech, so carefully orchestrated, with radios and support vehicles and all of it. But at the end of the day, it’s a guy riding a bike and trying not to get lost. 
This is a student project that got featured the other day. Of course Vlad grabbed it and had a seat. 
How things have changed… in the 70s they had 10 impossibly hard gears, toe clips, and (gasp) steel frames. 
Pas de Migrants
The French have had a nativist party with an appreciable base of support far longer than we’ve had to put up with Little Donny Trump. Their social network and economy are fractured along different lines than ours, but it’s more similar than different.
Brattleboro Adventure – the Auckland Edition 