The Traveling Ridleys: Sunday Journal

It’s been a while since I’ve paid any attention to the Tour de France. At one time, I was pretty into it and watched summer coverage of it around Wimbledon, the British Open and the Boston Red Sox (of course). But those were in the Lance Armstrong days and, well, we know how that ended.

I’ll be honest, I’m often more annoyed by bikers as I’m trying to drive down narrow and windy European roads than enamored with them. Mostly because it seems that they like to take up more than their fair share of the lane, somehow. I once was pretty in to biking first on the roads, then in the woods, but like many things of my 20s it turned out to be kind of a passing phase.

But when we were going to be in France in July, I looked up when they might be near us and it turned out that on our last day in Provence they would be within an hour’s drive on Stage 16 between Montpelier and the summit of Mont Ventoux. So we made plans to try to find a way to watch. I downloaded the Tour de France app and debated between small village, roadside or larger town and landed on a larger town: that of Chateauneuf du Pape.

We arrived and parking was already scarce, in the lots anyway. We debated this pull off or that. Landed on one at the edge of a field. Decided to move closer to where others were parked and wedged in between two cars perpendicular to the road with plenty of room for all to leave, hoping it would not be a problem.

We struck out for town, hoping to find a baguette and found the cafes, bistrots and restaurants packed and the boulangerie sold out and closed, glad we’d opted for a little bit of extra breakfast. We settled, in the shade, on a wall bordering a dog park (or so it would seem, based on the copious evidence left behind) with about 75 new friends (some of whom either less observant or less concerned about the dog leavings, setting up shop right on the grass and all that came with it).

Not long after, the caravan began. For Tour novices (as we were) these are cars and trucks from local businesses, initially, cruising through the towns, blasting music, dancing, tossing giveaways to kids (or adults, but mostly they aim for the kids) and pumping up the crowd. Then the team vehicles cruise by honking horns to waves and cheers. That may sound kind of hokey, but it’s not. At all. It was super fun to be a part of.

Then there’s a wait. I tracked the riders on the app. Our neighbor heard they were about 7k out. I moved into the sun across the street with a better angle for photos. Flags from around the world line the roadside: Denmark, Norway, Wales, England, USA, Canada and France, of course. The police appear, first cars, then motorcycles and then, in a flash, the leaders. They whir by in seconds. “Allez, allez, allez!” Then the wait begins anew. Then more vehicles and more bikes whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, allez allez allez and then they’re gone, this group, larger, a little more slowly.

You wait hours for mere seconds, and it was totally worth it. And this year, I’ll look forward to watching that final cruise down the Champs-Élysées towards the Arc de Triomphe.