I left my bike on the front porch of my rented apartment outside of Lourdes and drove into Pau for the start of today's stage. Admittedly, after learning of Rasmussen's ejection late last night, I lacked my usual enthusiasm for immersing myself in the Tour. But, I needed a day to rest my legs and buy some souvenirs, and I was a bit curious to see how the ASO would deal with the latest scandal.
I arrived in Pau behind the train station, an area that is usually the underbelly of a city. Today, however, it was open industrial space had been transformed into the staging area for the Tour's caravan. The brightly colored floats and vans were helter-skelter, their drivers smoking and chatting, waiting for their call to action.
A few hundred meters away, the official start village was operating in prime time, with no apparent worry of drug tests or scandals. Behind its 8-foot chain-link fence, the VIPs-of-the-day were nibbling on snacks, collecting sponsor freebies and enjoying the stares of those not so lucky to have a yellow credential hanging around their necks.
About an hour before the stage start, the space-age team buses lumbered in, followed closely by their garishly branded station wagons bristling with bikes and wheels. As the managers unloaded gear, athletes lazily stepped from the buses and waved to the crowd. Some posed for pictures or granted interviews, as others rode in groups of twos and threes to sign-in for today's stage.
The appearance of the cyclists was a great equalizer, as VIPs and general public alike pushed and shoved and craned their necks to get a glimpse of the stars. Wow, do we cycling fans have short memories...
There was some speculation that the entire Team Rabobank had withdrawn in shame, as Team Cofidis had done the day before, but their orange-and-blue-clad cyclists were seen rolling in. My heart skipped a beat when I thought that Team Discovery was absent--what controversy could have rocked them?--but it turned out that they had merely parked their bus in a different area.
I've been to many start villages, but this one seemed flat. Everything looked normal but that bit of zing. With the Alps and Pyrenees behind them, the athletes had to be tired, and all that remained was a time trial to finalize the GC. But I wonder if they were also angry and depressed about their sport being, once again, undermined by scandal.
But this was the Tour de France, an event much greater than its athletes or teams. Locals call it a "French thing," but I think cycling fans worldwide understand the sentiment. So, before returning to my flat for a suddenly inspired afternoon ride, I patiently waited in line for overpriced souvenirs that I'll wear proudly back home.
Do you have a Team Astana jersey in size large?
Rob
Rob Klingensmith is an avid recreational cyclist and an executive at Active.com. Rob will provide a unique perspective on what it's like to be inside some of the most decisive stages of the Tour.
Tour de France
5 Posts tagged with the rob_klingensmith tag
I just read the news of Vino’s positive test and the resulting death sentence for Team Astana in the Tour de France. Strangely, I don’t really care that much.
Why?
Well, partly because I just completed one of the best cycling days of my life. We covered 140 kilometers over some of the most historic cols of the Pyrenees: the Peyresourde, the Col de l’Aspin and the Col du Tourmalet. We suffered, but overcame the climbs; then practically flew down the narrow roads to immediately do it all again on the next one.
I logged more than 10,000 feet of climbing. It was a beautiful day. I’m in France.
I just don’t feel any connection to the dopers in the pro peloton. Is it only a few or is every pro using illicit means to improve his performance? Because I’ll never know the answer, I don’t let it concern me all that much. I’m convinced that whatever they’re doing in cycling, you’ll find the same misdeeds in virtually any other professional sport if one digs deeply enough.
So, while the officials sort through who is cheating and who isn’t, I’m planning another epic ride up the 30 kilometers of the Col de l’Aubisque tomorrow to watch the pros contest their final mountaintop finish in this year’s Tour.
I’ll try to focus on the amazing performances of the athletes, the craziness of the crowds and the spectacle--still far bigger than any busted cheater--that’s called the Tour de France.
Rob
Rob Klingensmith is an avid recreational cyclist and an executive at Active.com. Rob will provide a unique perspective on what it's like to be inside some of the most decisive stages of the Tour.
I'm sitting on a grassy slope, just below the 2km-to-go banner on the hors categorie climb of Plateau Beille. I'm filing today's blog directly from the race course, thanks to a slick 1-pound computer I carried in my backpack called a FlipStart . It's the "mini me" of full-featured laptops, at a fraction of their size and weight.
Today's race is the first of three consecutive Pyrenean stages that, together, will probably determine the outcome of this year's Tour de France. Now is the time for those cyclists who consider themselves climbers to go toe-to-toe with yellow jersey-holder Michael Rasmussen.
I left my bed-and-breakfast this morning and joined an American group from Ride Strong Bike Tours for the 40-kilometer ride from Foix to the base of the climb in La Cabannes. The town was jammed with cone-licking Tour fans and media trucks, so I grabbed a quick sandwich and pointed my Cervélo towards the mountain.
The serpentine road up Plateau Beille is 16 kilometers long, with plenty of sections that exceed 10 percent gradient. It's a very difficult climb and a perfect end to today's challenging stage.
Today, virtually every inch of road is occupied by fans who claimed the best vantage points up to three days ago. Thanks to their boistrous cheering and encouragement, the steep climb wasn't too bad.
Thousands of other cyclists were on the road, and the common strategy was to weave your way to the summit finish line, then descend to a choice location on the upper elevations to view the race.
Before any pro cyclists can be seen, however, the daily parade of Tour sponsor floats and vehicles roll by, throwing candy and useless schwag to the crowd. This whips everyone up into more of a frenzy, if the all-day, beer-steeped tailgaiting parties weren't enough.
By now, you'll know the outcome of today's race, and will probably watch it on TV tonight. But nothing beats the experience of joining an international crowd of cycling fanatics on the slopes of a mountain stage, for a glimpse of the athletes and hours of cultural immersion in the Tour de France.
Rob
Rob Klingensmith is an avid recreational cyclist and an executive at Active.com. Rob will provide a unique perspective on what it's like to be inside some of the most decisive stages of the Tour.
After summiting the fourth major climb of the day--the hors catégorie Port de Balès--I turned my attention to the gripping 15-mile descent. At 5,800 feet, the air was quite cool, and I shivered from equal parts chill and fear as I pointed my bike downhill, trying to stay clear of the kamikaze cyclists whistling by me at 50 mph. The newly paved switchbacks were just one-and-a-half lanes wide, but the lack of guardrails convinced me not to get too close to the asphalt’s edge; the drop was significant and I wanted to avoid riding home in an ambulance after making it this far.
I was participating in my first Etape du Tour, one of Europe’s top amateur sport rides that follows the exact route of one stage of the Tour de France. This year, we rode Stage 15 from Foix to Loudenvielle. The event’s length--122 miles--combined with over 14,000 feet of climbing, made it the most difficult in the history of the Etape, and certainly the single most challenging day of cycling that I’d ever experienced.
The day began with 8,500 nervous cyclists cramming into numerous starting pens in the village of Foix. Despite a 7 a.m. gun, it took 20 minutes to cross the starting line. Once moving, in just six short miles we reached our first climb, the second catégorie Col de Port. Coming so early in the event, the field had no chance to spread out, so the ascent was clogged with riders. This forced most to start conservatively, but also caused many to release their frustrations by launching into their first descent far too quickly.
The consequences of this strategy were realized only five kilometers down the mountain, with a major traffic jam of police and EMTs who were attending to a horribly injured cyclist lying in the middle of the road. The inert rider, blood on the pavement and smashed bike were not-so-subtle reminders that today’s descents were every bit as serious as the climbs.
Thirty miles of pace lines sped us to the second climb and descent of the infamous Col de Portet d’Aspet, site of Olympic gold medalist Fabio Casartelli’s fatal accident in 1995. Its 17 percent corkscrew gradients and blind hairpins were truly frightening, and I felt as if I’d dodged a bullet getting beyond it in one piece.
Up until that point we’d been fortunate to have some cloud cover that kept the temperature down. But at the start of the steep five-mile climb of the Col de Menté, the sun came out and riders began to suffer. On this third slope I maintained a slightly more ambitious pace and powered over the col for yet another very fast descent. My confidence was building, and it felt as if my Cervélo SLC-SL was on rails. Maybe I was figuring out this descending technique...
As good as I was feeling, the first 87 miles of the event were simply a warm-up for the remaining 35. Our next obstacle was the imposing Port de Balès. Its 12 miles of climbing including some of the steepest sections that we’d encountered all day, plus melted pavement that convinced me that the air had leaked out of my tires. What began as an exhilarating day of international cycling was quickly turning into an old-fashioned sufferfest.
Halfway up the climb at least a third of the participants were off their bikes walking, stretching or even lying in the stream to cool off. This was beginning to look like a death march. My speed was slowing to the point of defying gravity (how was I keeping my bike upright, going so slowly?), but I kept grinding through the kilometers. With two kilometers to go I popped through the treeline, got blasted by a cold headwind and could finally see the summit moonscape up ahead.
Having finally crested the highpoint of the Etape, all that remained was the nerve-wracking descent of the Port de Balès, the final five-mile climb up the famous Col de Peyresourde and a blistering descent into Loudenvielle.
Of the 8,500 who had entered, about 75 percent finished this year’s Etape du Tour. As a recreational cyclist, riding just one of the 20 stages of the Tour de France puts into perspective the unbelievable talent of the pros. Most of us in the Etape were riding to simply complete the course; the pros will race the same route at almost twice my average speed.
In subsequent entries I’ll tell you more about my equipment, nutrition and what I would have done differently, now that I have the benefit of hindsight. For now--if you’re a cyclist who lives for challenges, loves the sport’s culture and heritage, and are looking for your next big event--I encourage you to consider the Etape du Tour. It belongs on any rider’s life list.
Rob
Rob Klingensmith is an avid recreational cyclist and an executive at Active.com. Rob will provide a unique perspective on what it's like to be inside some of the most decisive stages of the Tour.
What’s it really like to ride a stage of the Tour de France? On Monday morning, I’ll be learning the answer to that question first-hand.
Each year, the organizers of the Tour de France offer a citizen’s ride called "l’Etape du Tour"--the stage of the Tour--over the exact route of an actual stage of the race. And just to remind us amateurs that le Tour is serious business, they have a habit of choosing the most difficult stage for the event.
This year “the Etape” will be contested on Monday, July 16 (the Tour de France’s first rest day), over the route of Stage 15 from Foix to Loudenvielle. These 196 kilometers (122 miles) feature no less than 14,000 feet of climbing up five major mountain passes of the Pyrenees, including the 20-kilometer hors catégorie Port de Balès.
The Etape is limited to 8,500 riders, 5,000 of whom are French. The remaining slots are filled primarily by Europeans. Entries into the Etape are as difficult to obtain as those to the NYC Marathon or Ironman Triathlon, so those who have a confirmed start have prepared quite seriously and now are anxiously awaiting Monday morning’s starting gun.
I’ll be riding with a group of Americans and Canadians organized by the Iowa-based tour company Velo Echappé. Included in our group is my Active.com blogging colleague Marty Dugard and Sports Illustrated writer Austin Murphy. I don’t want to say that we’re racing each other, but I suspect that future bar bills and bragging rights are at stake.
After arriving in Toulouse on Friday, I’ve spent the last couple of days getting organized and spinning the jet lag out of my legs on my new Cervélo SLC-SL. This is a bit embarrassing. Of course I’m thrilled to be riding what many consider to be the best bike in the peloton, but therein lies the problem: I feel a bit of pressure to live up to the bike. After all, this is the same rig that Frank Schleck rode to victory on Alpe d’Huez last year, and Fabian Cancellara rode to his second stage win in this year’s Tour.
It’s Sunday night in France, so I’d better attempt to grab a few hours of sleep before our 4 a.m. wake-up call. Check back to learn how we fared, and if we’ve been able to complete just one mountain stage of the Tour de France.
Rob Klingensmith is an avid recreational cyclist and an executive at Active.com. Rob will provide a unique perspective on what it's like to be inside some of the most decisive stages of the Tour.
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