My tour of France
Commitment: the decision to ride in the Tour de France. Try to find another team sport that requires better than three weeks and two thousand miles of hilly highway to reach a climax. As seen from the air, the participants are dressed in jerseys that look like a collision between a rainbow and a NASCAR hood. From the ground, think of the fastest you’ve ever gone on your bicycle and accept that “those guys” would probably be faster going uphill. Not for the rest of us, the chaos of the crashing peloton.
Today (two weeks into the action), someone seeded the roadway with tiny tacks. I think. The rider with three flat tires (yes, on his bicycle) obviously came across something unnatural. Here’s the catch for the armchair athlete: we depend on the “color commentary” provided by NBC, and the tiny detail that “the chatter on the radios is all in French” belied the real problem. Did someone forget to tell the head office guys that in France (as in Tour de France), the lingua franca might not be American English? Not reassuring…
But I’m hooked. The action is better than hockey, with no pesky puck to chase, and there is actually a code of ethics among the riders. No cheap headshots, no body checks… When something breaks for the other guy (think bike) the others actually slow the pace to allow catching up.
Now if I can figure out the various coloured jerseys, and the point system, and the fact that the winner is not the winner, before the end of the final stage, I’ll be a better informed spectator. And the action won’t have gone by at 50 kph+ after my waiting by the side of the road all morning.
