Tour de France 2004

Michelle arrived in Paris from Florida a day ahead of me, so she already had her new bike put together in our tiny room at the Hotel Ibis.	After a night of jetlag recovery, we ate a big breakfast and then met up with our group in the hotel's garage, where Willy the driver loaded our bikes into the special trailer behind the bus. We drove the rest of the day to Mount Dore, a resort town in the Massif Central region.	Our hotel was tucked into the mountainside above the cute little town.	Michelle and I roomed together again, benefiting from spacious quarters for our gear explosion. It brought back fond memories of "Motel Nights" on our cross-country trip!
Here's a view of our bus showing the bike trailer. There were loads of trailer-pulling buses out for the Tour.	The ski mountain across from our hotel.	The next day it was time to ride! Here's Romy in our first taste of the French countryside.	After a leisurely ride through tiny little villages, we ended up where everyone else was, in this small town that the Tour was passing through. Everything was closed up this time of day, but fortunately nourishment arrived from above, or rather from the publicity caravan, which included this official car. (More on this later.)
This Texas family waiting across the street for us was trying to out-Lance me.	But I was in the right spot when the peloton blew through. Here's Georgie hugging the inside turn. It's much easier to see him here than it was in person.	Roberta waves a Lance-customized Priority Mail envelope as the riders fly by.	After the few milliseconds that it took for the racers to pass, we followed in their wake to this bar, where we fought the crowds to watch the stage coverage on TV.
The next day was July 14, Bastille Day, meaning that even more people than usual would be lining the roads to watch the Tour--and rooting for a Frenchman to win. As I rode to the viewpoint where I'd watch the day's stage, the French were readying their campers for a day of serious picnicking.	The first mountain stage of the Tour had a few rated climbs, and it was a real thrill to ride over the points line at the top.	After my triumphant climb, I backtracked a bit to meet up with some people in our group on the way up the mountain.	We stashed our bikes by the side of the road and did some serious picnicking ourselves. That's Carlos, our awesome guide, in the front left.
Using chalk I'd brought from the U.S., we prepared the road for Lance's arrival.	Our picnic spot came with an open-air commode. (Hi Bret!)	Lance, here I am!	But before Lance would arrive, we were treated to our second installment of the publicity caravan. First, the bread.
Sponsors go to great lengths to have unusual-looking cars and meaningful giveaways.	But no matter what is being thrown out to the crowd, it's imperative that you get some, even if it means jumping in front of a small child to catch it.	The cheese car (after the bread, naturally).	Sausages for Trudy.
Gifi handed out cute little bags, one of which I now use to carry my bike tools.	And then the anticipation builds, as helicopters fly above and everyone looks down the mountain waiting for the riders.	At last, they arrive, and it just happens to be a Frenchman in front. He wasn't a threat to Lance, so it was OK to root for Virenque.	Axel Merckx, son of Eddy the great.
The peloton. Note the encouragement for Virenque painted onto the road.	And of course, the support vehicles, including these lucky folks who got to drive for USPS.	Back at the bus, Trudy shows some dance moves with a parking lot troubador.	At night, we went into town to enjoy a Bastille Day carnival with bumper cars, my favorite ride. Fireworks too. All in all, a ridiculously fun day.
We left the hotel the next morning, driving to the host of the day's stage start, Saint-Flour, a walled town on a steep hill.	We walked up the steep roads, admiring the old streets and pretty views.	Different teams of riders were out and about in town.	At the top of the hill, the center of town served as the staging area for the Tour. A giant temporary village was set up, complete with the team buses, media quarters, souvenirs, and lots more. Here's the Tour poster proudly displayed by the host town.
At an open-air expo, we came across this enthusiastic bike artist.	I really liked this painting, but it was too big and expensive, so I bought a smaller water color that now hangs in my living room. It was the only non-publicity-caravan souvenir that I came home with.	Lance at the ceremonial sign-in for the stage. This was quite a scene, complete with Shamu the UPPS fan whale.	There's his butt! He's clearly looking for me in the crowd.
I don't understand exactly what was going on, but I think the winner of the previous day's stage was given a cow. (Really.)	At the start line, we got an up-close look at all those cute bike racers, all of whom are smaller than I. The bright kits make for a very colorful array.	To give you a flavor for the degree of excitement about the Tour, here are some random shots of bike-themed decorations. The legendary El Diablo traveled with this outfit.	Towns and villages along the route created all sorts of bike installations.
Look closely over the middle of the street. There are hanging bikes!	Friday, July 16, the Tour headed into Basque country with a mountaintop finish at La Mongie, on the legendary Tourmalet. Bikes were out in droves on the way to this spot.	Little Saint-Marie, at the base of the climb, was completely overrun with cyclists.	Signs let you know how far you had to go, and how steep the road was. Because I was wearing a yellow jersey, people cheered for me all the way up the mountain, even as I crawled at just a few mph.
The finish area was a mob scene, with another temporary village set up. Those are press viewing areas on the left.	I somehow found people from our group on a steep overlook from which we could watch the stage unfolding on the Jumbotron. The Basque, in orange, were out in force, as we were just over the border from Spain.	Carlos predicted a brief rain storm, and as with everything he was right. We crowded under the awning of a hot dog stand to keep dry while watching TV.	Other members of our group bought ponchos and waited out the storm on the hill.
The rain had passed by the time the riders were approaching. Neck-and-neck, Lance and Ivan Basso raced toward the finish, with Basso passing Lance with a few yards to go. Did Lance let him have the stage? Hard to know, but in my view this was the most exciting moment of the whole Tour, as it didn't appear that Lance would be a shoe-in. (Lance took the yellow jersey soon after we left France and went on to win by a very comfortable margin.)	Riders trickled across the finish line for quite some time, with Robbie McEwen even doing a wheelie. After it was all over, I climbed the final 4 km up the Tourmalet and enjoyed a rainbow.	A monument to cycling sits atop this famous mountain.	I love the look of agony on the statue's face.
For a wimpy descender such as myself, the way down the mountain was harder than the ride up. Look how steep and winding! Making matters worse were all the cars streaming down along with me.	Here's the motel for the Pyrenees portion of the trip, in Agos Vidalos. Kerith and I roomed together along with a shrine to Lance.	The view from our window about the time the village roosters started crowing.	Kerith on the road.
For the last day of Tour-watching, the five of us New Yorkers ended up together on a lesser mountain. We chalked up the road again.	Me, Michelle, Roberta, Trudy, and Kerith sporting some of our publicity caravan loot.	One last view of the Blue Train.	I'm not sure when this was taken, but here's the guy who was in the Maillot Jaune for much of our trip, Voelkler, a hard-working, enthusiastic (but tired) Frenchman.
Loading up the bikes one last time.	We ended up back in Paris at the Ibis, where we packed our bikes for the flight home.

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