A Blog-u-mentary
about one family's experience moving from a
tropical Caribbean paradise
to another type of paradise in the
heart of Provence.

Friday, March 11, 2011

A day at the races

PURYICARD -- The European cycling season opened this week, and the kick-off event is the Paris-Nice race, "The Race to the Sun." Cycling is pretty much the national sport here in France (especially with the demise of the national soccer team), and even with the recent doping issues it faces, it's hugely popular. Even more so now that we've gotten rid of that pesky American guy Armstrong who kept making off with our yellow jerseys.

A rare display of fatigue
It's a cool sport because the races come through dozens of small French towns throughout the summer - with the Tour de France being the granddaddy of them all every July - and you get to see the athletes up close and personal. Little villages transform into the center of the sports universe for a few hours, either as the starting point or finish line for a daily stage. It's quite an honor for a town to host a stage of a race, and fortunately nearby Puryicard is the critical 5th stage in Paris-Nice this year.

It's an extra bonus because today's stage is a 'sprint' or time trial, which means the riders race individually instead of in the huge pack normally seen in these races. In a time trial, each rider starts by himself and they are staged in 30-second intervals from the starting point. They then race against the clock to the finish line, which on this day was a 27-kilometer ride through the vineyards just north of where we live (27 kilometers is a long sprint by my definition). In this format, the finish line is a busy place for about 3 hours as riders cross one at time vs. the massive rush to the tape of a typical stage. Apparently, the time trial stage is the most important stage in a short event like this one (7 days) and the winner of today's stage will likely win the overall race.

I was expecting a larger winner's stand
I arrive early and find a spot about 50 meters from the finish line. The first of about 160 riders has just left the tiny village of of Rognes, 27 kilometers away, and will arrive here in about 36 minutes. While the race has clearly taken over the town center with barricades and police everywhere, I expected a bit more fanfare at the finish. There is a smaller-than-expected winner's stand, a few VIP boxes and an announcer rattling off the standing and information on the riders. A sound system booms American pop rock between each rider's introductions, and a large screen broadcasts the TV feed of the race so you can see the start and the finish at the same time. A parking lot full of the team cars and vans provides some colorful distractions and a chance to see the equipment they use up close.

I had a ring-side seat at the finish
The big screen makes it easy to see the entire race
One by one the riders whizz past my vantage point at a surprising speed. The faster ones have caught the rider who started ahead of them, but almost none of them look like the past half hour has been an extraordinary exertion of any kind. I suppose compared to the other stages, which are often much hillier and quite a bit longer, this must be welcome respite from the grind. Still, after riding balls-out for the past 30-odd minutes, you'd expect to see a little more sweat and panting.

About halfway through the day, a German rider named Tony Martin sails past me and lowers the day's best time by quite a bit. His time stands as best for the rest of the day. This will vault him to the leader in the overall standings, earning him the coveted yellow jersey for the next day. And he is in prime position now to win the whole shooting match on Sunday.

Let the roadies take the stage
The crowd gets bigger as the afternoon progresses, helped in part by the early dismissal of schools kids from the town. They line the final stretch and bang on the metal sideboards each time a rider approaches. I wander around a bit through the area where the riders finish, take their obligatory piss test for drugs, and then mount their bikes on the team cars for transport to the next stage. Even with this short stage taking just a few hours (compared to an all day ordeal of a full stage), I see that this is a grind of a sport: get up early, carbo-load, race, load the bike and equipment, get to the next town, carbo load, sleep and do it all over again.

An American sponsored team; Radio Shack and Trek
Not your father's Schwinn: Tony Martin's fast wheels

I leave with a new found appreciation for the guys who do this sport. They are clearly are some of the best conditioned athletes of any kind, almost mechanical in their ability (and why cycling would be ripe for performance enhancing drugs). It's an endurance sport for sure, but these guy are fast, too, as my ring side seat showed me. I tried to take pictures of each rider who passed by me (less than a few feet away) and probably only captured 20% of the ones I attempted with any kind of decent image.


Off into Friday afternoon traffic just like me

It's a fascinating, colorful sport and I can kinda see why the French are fanatical about it, the same way I can kinda see why they like to drink Pastis. I know I will never fully comprehend or appreciate it, but I don't mind going along for the ride.

As I drive home in Friday afternoon traffic, I see many of the team cars heading south toward the start of tomorrow's stage. The one thing I have to wonder about is the daily monotony of it. But I am sure the French say the same about baseball.

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