Driving at the Tour de France course as a member of the media provides a moveable movie — shot from behind the windshield. The "film" is an ideal documentary of what the Tour is really all about.

The last two days, my colleague and friend Bruce Aldrich and I have driven the entire direct mountain course routes. It was four hours to L'Alpe d'Huez on Tuesday and then another three hours today to the stage finish at the small, unheralded ski resort.

Tour organizers provide three types of driving stickers, green, blue and orange. The green sticker allows media representatives the most access, the blue the next-best access and the orange sticker the poorest access.

We have a blue sticker, which allows us to drive on the course. But we're not allowed to pass the caravan publicity. It's the long parade of sponsor vehicles that distributes trinkets to spectators, and it negotiates each day's route 90 minutes before the riders.

More than a half-century later after his heyday, Louison Bobet remains a hero here in his birthplace city of 4,000 in northwestern France. Bobet won the Tour de France three times consecutively, the last in 1955. He died in 1983.

But anticipating the start of the eighth stage of the Tour de France, the city put on a grand show. A huge vertical banner bearing Bobet's image was draped from the city's administrative building. Business storefront windows featured old newspaper clips and various photographs of Bobet as a boy as well as during and after his career.

The city had a fireworks display at midnight last night and broadcast a Tour de France highlights montage on a bigscreen television in the middle of the square. Restaurants and bars stayed open late, and it seemed as if everyone in the city wore a yellow T-shirt. In black cursive letters, the back of the shirts were inscribed "Merci, Louison. Merci, Le Tour."

We're in the thick of the 2006 Tour de France now and I've got track cycling on my mind.

While the cyclists are approaching Dax, it's a good time reflect on the Bordeuax Stadium. It's where the press room was located yesterday during the race's first rest day. It's the same location used in past years when the Tour has visited Bordeaux — one of the Tour's seven original cities.

The track, located near a lake in an industrial area on the outskirts of Bordeaux, was the site of the track cycling World Championships last April. It's also the site where unique cycling records like the one-hour mark have been set through the years.

After 10 years of attending the Tour de France, I still know little about French ways. I speak perhaps 100 words of the language, But I have spent enough time here, including two non-Tour trips, and I've driven more 25,000 miles throughout the country.

I've gotten lost, stayed in chateaus I didn't want to leave and spent nights in hotels where I thought I might catch a disease. I've gotten sick in Pyrenees. And I've met some incredibly skilled journalists, generous innkeepers and people I consider friends and would invite into my home.

All of this said, and after having been on the open road  by myself and with plenty of time to think about, I come up with three quick French customs worthy of serious consideration for import to the United States.

For the past few years, there were two reporters in Tour de France press rooms who still wrote their articles on portable typewriters. They either faxed their copy to editors or dictated it.

Both of those journalists are gone this year, but there's still plenty of reporters around who've been covering the event for more than 30 years.

I'm not quite in that category, but I realized yesterday I've been around the sport for a while when George Hincapie was speaking at the Tour de France press conference. He looked so poised and gave articulate answers. I suddenly remembered he's 32 now. He and his former podium girl wife have a young daughter.

But I can remember first covering Hincapie when he was an amateur. He was still a teenager. He was prone to giving one-word answers and he often cried at races.

Each year during the Tour de France, I can't wait to get to Lourdes. A lot folks who go to the Tour despise the small city in the country's southwest corner, and there are plenty of reasons.

It's a place where visitors worldwide flock in an endless convoy of tourist buses. They hope for divine intervention. It's where the vision of Bernadette is located and it's where retail shops sell cheap trinkets depicting holy symbols. It's a place of desperation. Lourdes is a little like Atlantic City without gambling.






Popular Authors

No popular authors found.
No popular articles found.