The big annual bike ride, otherwise known as the Tour de France, continues merrily on it’s way up hill and down dale through the countryside of Gaul.
Some cycling acquaintances of mine once told me that every year they follow the tour from start to finish, then ride it straight afterwards – apparently in the company of thousands of other cycling enthusiasts. This sounds like the sort of fun I can only dream of, and on the very infrequent occasions that I seek their company, they relate each stage in some detail.
Watching the tour on TV, I imagine it appeals to the same sort of mentality that devotes itself to Grand Prix following. It is the commentators I feel sorry for, yet in a strange way admire too. Their ability to interject anecdote and comment in to a script that would otherwise read “and the wheels on the bike go round and round” is nothing short of heroic.
Occasionally, an incident occurs which livens things up, and this year we have had several of note, the death of a spectator, the shooting with an air rifle of several cyclists, and of course the return of Lance “Undrugged” Armstrong.
What we have not had yet, and it is the moment that every casual Tour watcher lives for, is Le Grand Pile-up! One little lapse of concentration, one wobbly wheel, and hundreds of lycra clad muscles untie in a collision of force which brings carnage to the race. It is even better when this happens on a bridge!
We have also not yet experienced the moment in which the Tour leader is denounced as a drug cheat,. The cycling authorities have worked hard to clean up their sport, much to the detriment of the schaudenfraudisitic public. We want Jean Van Tandem to build up an insurmountable lead then be disqualified because his B sample shows traces of Lucozade.
So 2009 is so far not a memorable year. No drugs, no smash, and no yellow jersey for Lance, not yet anyway. It really has just become another big bike ride.
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