Whilst I am traveling around England and France chasing the Tour de France, I am part of a unique tribe. We are not just cycling fans, we are keen enough to spend our vacation time and our savings to traipse around the countryside, stand in the freezing rain for the privilege of seeing the peloton go by in about 30 seconds.
You can usually recognize the tribe by their clothes. Many are wearing bicycle kits with team jerseys or Tour de France leader jerseys– telltale signs on trains and on sidewalks that these people are following the Tour.
A tribal subgroup is the English speaking fans who do not speak much French. Today I met Greg and Lorrie from Cincinatti, Ohio in my hotel breakfast area. They stood out in the freezing rain on the sixth section of cobbles yesterday. (Hopefully Lorrie will guest blog and share her photos). “Our clothes may never dry, “ they said like happy fans able to partake in the suffering on Stage 5.
At the start of Stage 6 in Arras, I found myself standing next to Mark and Jessica from the Lake District in England (see photo). They were going to just follow the Tour in Yorkshire and then they went to London, and then they found themselves driving their car onto a ferry to Lille and now Arras. We traded information like news starved sports fans that we are. They got soaked on the first set of cobbles and spent the day waiting and wondering what happened to their favorite rider Chris Froome.
Thank goodness for Twitter and Facebook, Bicycling and Velo blog sites, and other English speaking fans. Together we piece together how the race is going. Everything in France is in French only, of course.
When I got on the train to Paris, I noticed a young man who was also following the tour. As we disembarked he caught my eye and gave me a knowing look that said, “The Tour, right?” We had a brief conversation. He is from Australia and is wrapping up his Tour today, spending a few days in Paris before heading home.
I did not make it to Reims in time to see Andre Greipel win his first stage of this Tour de France. Although crosswinds split the peloton, all the leader jerseys remain the same. At dinner a friendly couple from Boston just happened to be from in the area and decided to watch the finish. They loved the experience catching swag off the caravan and then seeing the front group race for the finish.
Communication challenges abound. Most people have been super gracious about my lack of French vocabulary. I stopped at the Cafe de la Prefecture and tried to order a jambon sandwich off the board. The waiter said something to the effect of “no, no you want this” and he pointed to a special that I thought was erased. Sure, why not. It was a delicious sausage with a warm mustard sauce, fries and a salad. Other situations have been more stressful. Like taking the train to Reims through Paris and discovering with just 28 minutes until departure that I am in Paris Nord station and need to be in Paris Est station “five minutes away”. Everything is 5 minutes away, except when it is 10 or 15!
Other times no communication is attempted at all. I was shifted to another hotel without any email or attempt to communicate. Fortunately both hotels were fairly close to the train station in Reims. I have to credit Eurostar, for all the delays related to the recent repairs, they have done A+ work on communicating with customers.
This is why travel is fun. It is not always easy and it stretches us. Even simple things like stepping into the pharmacy to get contact solution and throat lozenges. It took quite a while to communicate that I wanted Bonbons au Miel. Meanwhile I discovered that in France you can get flea medicine for your dog or cat at the pharmacy.
On the train from Lille to Arras I met up with a mother and daughter from Norway who are following the Tour de France from Leeds to the first rest day. Ashild is a huge Peter Sagan fan. She has been able to meet him and she shared her photos. She must be thrilled as he had a very good day today in spite of the cobbles and muck.
My hotel, Chambres d’ hotes La Cour des Grands in St Nicolas-Arras, is lovely; however, I missed the small print that says check in from 5-7 p.m. I used the phone I got at Heathrow to call when I found the front door locked. The proprietor was gracious about coming over and letting me in, giving me a key, a map, the log in for wifi and the code for the front door. This is the first time I’ve stayed in a hotel that does not maintain staff at reception. Once I was in it was fine. I used my French phrase book to ask the maid where I might find a laundromat. She gave me excellent directions by pointing and waving her arms.
The plan was to do a load of laundry and then continue on with clean clothes in my pack and watch the Tour in an Irish pub in English. This worked well last year in Bergen and Lyon. Alas, the French manager at Dan Foyle’s Irish Pub in Arras is more interested in heavy metal music than sport. He turned the television to the Tour and then proceeded to block the view, even making out with his girlfriend. And to add insult to injury, the pub was out of Guinness. Revoke the Irish in the pub sign!
I hiked in the rain and muck to my hotel and tucked myself in bed to watch the last 78 km. What a day. I was cold and miserable walking around town. I cannot imagine how wretched the race course must have been. I watched rider after rider go down. I got teary watching Chris Froome abandon the race at about 66 km. Then I rooted for Fabian Cancellara to bridge to the yellow jersey trio and go for a win. It was not to be as Lars Boom was on fire. Tour GC leader Vincenzo Nibali earned more respect today by controlling the front all day.
It has been go, go, go or allez, allez, allez since July 1 and I was ready to mentally take my foot off the gas pedal. There were challenges with getting across to France on the Chunnel, so I did not arrive until 2 p.m. and I was worn out. I checked into the Best Western Art Deco Euralille and immediately checked the race on the telly. The riders had 135 km still to go and it was lightly raining. I did a few chores and then headed into central Lille to find a place to eat and watch the race.
The rain was getting harder so I ducked into Printemps department store to buy an umbrella. I love travel. Even a simple purchase can delight whether it is trying to communicate with the sales staff in French or watching a little girl run up the down elevator. I continued on towards Boulevard de la Liberte and found the La Table d’Eduard. They had 4 outside tables under an awning right on the street where the race would whiz past.
Ordered what I thought was a ham and cheese sandwich with ice cream for dessert. What I got was spectacularly better. It is such a simple looking place and the food was simply delicious. The “ice cream” was strawberry sorbet with real strawberries and whipped cream in a sundae glass. I enjoyed it immensely, and a delightful little boy near me enjoyed his even more. If this is the low bar in France, it is going to be awesome. I loved how entrepreneurial the proprietors were: by the time the race was ready to go by they had moved all their tables outside and were serving drinks and food for Le Tour fans.
First, though, the caravan comes through as a kind of parade of sponsors. They toss a mountain of hats, product samples and candy at the crowd. A group of younger business men were my favorite group to watch. They were so competitive about catching the swag. They all had King of the Mountain caps by the time the caravan was through.
I introduced myself to the family from London with the Jens, Shut Up Legs signs they had made themselves. Then three blokes from England and Japan who sat next to me needed someone to take their photo with their flags and this led to a delightful conversation about cycling.
The peloton flew by in less than 10 seconds, so it is not about seeing the race as much as it is about participating in an event. As soon as the riders had passed I paid my bill and went a few doors down to a bar where they were watching it on someone’s MacAir. About 10 people huddled around it and watched as Marcel Kittel won his third stage this year (7th overall). He appears unbeatable at the moment when it is a sprint finish. UK favorite General Classification contender Chris Froome crashed earlier in the day. He was safe for time and will need a new pair of bike shorts for tomorrow!
I walked leisurely to my hotel and took a hot bath. I have been enjoying a relaxing evening catching up with my children and friends and writing this blog. Stage 5 I will intentionally watch on television because the weather is supposed to be ugly and it is a challenging course to reach without a car. Plus I need to do a few more chores.
It was great to participate in the Trek Tour and it is just as sweet to travel alone and to chill a little. I made a new list of goals: 1) get the playlist for the music played by the various caravan sponsors (the music at le Tour is terrific) 2) interview the sponsor liaisons (the women who pass out the bouquet and kiss the winner on both cheeks); 3) Sleep through the night.
The 101st edition of the Tour de France is passing through many of the towns that I know better as battlefields from World War I. This is the 100th anniversary of the beginning of the War to End All Wars. (If only.) As I will be following the Tour de France from Leeds to Paris, I am taking this opportunity to learn more about my great Uncle Frank Estel Denham.
My uncle Frank Denham of Santa Rosa, California
In the last few months I have learned a great deal about him.
Frank was being groomed for working the family farm alongside his dad. Been reading about Germany’s machinations to distract the US from joining the Allies by ginning up conflicts with Mexico and Japan or both together in Barbara Tuchman’s The Zimmerman Telegram (non-fiction that reads like a great spy novel). This explains why after Uncle Frank was drafted he was first sent to Mexico and then to Britain and ultimately to the front in France.
Private Frank Denham sent this photo postcards to his family from England.
I learned from staff at the Oddfellows/Santa Rosa Cemetery that Frank was not buried until July 1921, a full three years after his death in France. They surmise that he was buried in a temporary mass grave until they could eventually ship him home. He was the first of the fallen sons of Santa Rosa to be returned. The article in the Press Democrat mentioned city flags would fly at half-mast, businesses would close and full military honors would be presented at his funeral. I hope it brought some comfort to my great grandparents and sisters at the time.
We determined that he was in England on July 12, 1918 and died July 29, 1918 somewhere in France. His gravestone reads “Co K 109, Inf. A.E.F.” From reading various texts it is most likely that he was part of the Second Battle of the Marne and may have fallen near Chateau-Thierry.
If possible, I will go and pay my respects when I am on my way to Reims. If that proves too difficult, I will light a candle at the Cathedral in Reims.
You can read more about Frank E. Denham and what his loss meant to my family at http://redesigning49.com.
Needing to learn some basics about photography I called my friend Bill Reid to give me some pointers. He invited me to the Yolo County Art and Ag Project. We left Davis early on Saturday morning and made our way to Chowdown Farm near Esparto.
Bill Reid taking a photo of the classic barn at Chowdown Farm.
After the frustration of watching the video tutorial for the Canon Rebel T5i (narration so quick it may as well as been in Spanish), getting a private coaching session with Bill empowered me to take lots of photos and try different camera settings.
The farm had handsome Dorper sheep, a hardy breed from South Africa, interesting trees and outbuildings including a classic barn.
It was very kind of the farmer Brian to open up the property to painters and photographers through the Art and Ag Project.
Two artists painting at Chowdown Farm
My camera is sufficient quality to challenge me for a very long time. Fortunately it also has an automatic setting that takes super pictures without any effort.
When we returned to Davis I downloaded my photos and I was very satisfied. We also watched a video from YouTube (YEAH for YouTube videos!).
I bought this camera to be able to supply better pictures for this blog. Hopefully with the “burst” feature (taking several photos a second) and the lenses I will be able to bring you the color of le Tour de France.
I rode out towards Winters about 8 a.m. The sun was shining and the farmers were already plowing and planting transplants. A welcome site in this drought. A red wing blackbird perched on the fence sang in full song as I whizzed by on my new bike, yes NEW road bike. I quietly passed wild turkeys grazing along the side of the trail as the spring sunshine caught the beautiful colors on their feathers. My new Trek Lexa is super fun to ride.
Trek Lexa S in Platinum
I bought the bike from Joe at the Freewheeler Bicycle shop in Davis. He did a superb job fitting the bike to me and his colleague helped me learn to use the clipless pedals on the trainer when I picked up the bike. They adjusted the pedals so they are easy to clip in and out. I am still nervous about all of my bike handling skills and gaining confidence with every kilometer.
I am 10 weeks away from my departure for Le Tour de France. I am using Bicycling magazine’s Simple Plan to get in shape. The Simple Plan is a six week training plan by Selene Yeager and Leslie Bonci. It is living up to its name and it pushes me on my gear shifting skills.
In March I set a goal of riding every day for 30 minutes. It was an achievable goal and it motivated me to take Black Beauty to Seattle so I could keep riding. At the end of the 30 days I felt much stronger and comfortable on my bike. I made the pledge to ride everyday in April with the 30DaysofBiking. So 3 days a week I do an interval training ride and the other days I ride to commute or to relax.
Davis Adult School offered a bike repair class and conversational French class–both on Tuesday evenings. I decided that knowing how to repair my bike would be a useful skill for the long haul and not just this summer. We work on our bikes at the workshop at Martin Luther King Continuation High School. I had to laugh though, when I told one of the women who is an accomplished bike mechanic why I wanted to take the class she laughed and said, “You don’t need to know how to change a tire. The ratio of men to women in cycling is so great that all you have to do is wait by the side of the road and someone will fix it for you.” Hmmm. Not my style. Then I met a woman from Montreal who speaks fluent French and she said, “Well you can’t really learn much French in 10 weeks.” All I can say is Theo, our instuctor is a great teacher and I am enjoying the class.
People in my class are fascinated by my Brompton foldable bike. As soon as I am done overhauling Gidget (my beach cruiser) I will watch some more videos on the Brompton website and take it in and practice changing tires and other repairs. I found a great bike shop in San Francisco, Huckleberry Bicycles, that carries Brompton Bikes and parts.
When I share that I intend to follow the Tour de France 2014 from start to finish, some people look at me like “why?” No one in the US questions if you are an avid baseball or football fan, or rugby in New Zealand; but especially since the Lance Armstrong scandal blew up, people just do not get why I am still enthusiastic about bike racing. So imagine how thrilled I was to find a passage in A Moveable Feast on the allure of bike racing by none other than Ernest Hemingway.
(In a conversation with his friend Mike about the difficulty of giving up betting on horses)
“What do you see that’s better?”
“Bicycle racing.”
“Really?”
“You don’t have to bet on it. You’ll see.”
Belgian cyclist called “the Sioux”
(A little further down)
I have started many stories about bicycle racing but have never written one that is as good as the races are both on the indoor and outdoor tracks and on the roads. But I will get the Velodrome d’Hiver with the smoky light of the afternoon and the high-banked wooden track and the whirring noise the tires made on the wood as the riders passed, the effort and the tactics as the riders climbed and plunged, each one a part of his machine; I will get the magic of the demi-fond, the noise of the motors with the rollers set out behind them that the entraineurs rode, wearing their heavy crash helmets and leaning backward in their ponderous heavy leather suits, to shelter the riders that followed them from the air resistance, the riders in their lighter helmets bent low over their handlebars their legs turning the huge gear sprockets and the small front wheels touching the roller behind the machine that gave them shelter to ride in, and the duels that were more exciting than anything, the put-putting of the motorcycles, and the riders elbow to elbow and wheel to wheel up and down and around at deadly speed until one man could not hold the pace and broke away and the solid wall of air he had been sheltered against hit him.
There were so many kinds of racing. The straight sprints raced in heats or in match races where the two riders would balance for long seconds on their machines for the advantage of making the other rider take the lead and then the slow circling and the final plunge into the driving purity of speed. There were the programs of the team races of two hours, with a series of pure sprints in their heats to fill the afternoon, the lonely absolute speed events of one man racing an hour against the clock, the terribly dangerous and beautiful races of one hundred kilometers on the big-banked wooden five-hundred-meter bowl of the Stade Buffalo, the outdoor stadium at Montrouge where they raced behind big motorcycles, Linart, the great Belgian champion that they called “the Sioux” for his profile, dropping his head to suck up cherry brandy from a rubber tube that connected with a hot water bottle under his racing shirt when he needed it toward the end as he increased his savage speed, and the championships of France behind big motors of the six-hundred-and-sixty-meter cement track of the Parc du Prince near Auteuil, the wickedest track of all where we saw that great rider Ganay fall and heard his skull crumple under the crash helmet as you crack a hard-boiled egg against a stone to peel it on a picnic. I must write the strange world of the six-day races and the marvels of road-racing in the mountains. French is the only language it has been written in properly and the terms are all French which makes it hard to write. Mike was right about it, there was no need to bet…
July 14 is Bastille Day and I am in Lyon looking for signs of the holiday: flags, bunting, fireworks for sale. It is also Sunday and most shops are closed and celebrations appear to be confined to a community fireworks show after dark. Fortunately the trains are running on time and I was able to get up early and catch the 7:30 a.m. train to Givors to watch the start of Stage 15.
This is going to be a brutal day of cycling. At 7:30 I did not need any kind of jacket and it is likely to be 39 degrees (C) in 242.5 kilometers on the top of Mont Vonteux. When my blistered feet bark at me I tell them they could be pedalling up Mont Vonteux and they are silenced.
Too bad I don’t read French!
I arrived at Givors Ville (zhee-vor vee) at 8:00 a.m. and went straight into the heart of the village for a chocolate croissant and coffee. I appreciated that every shop specializes and that they prize quality over convenience as I buy the croissant at the La Patisserie and then schlep across to the coffee bar. At 8:20 I felt braced for the long wait to 10:45 start. I scouted possible viewing sites and the crowd was still light but the railings were already full.
I climbed a low wall and decided my view was just right. The parade started and I did not want to miss any of the fun while looking for a better spot. Everyone around me spoke very little (no) English and my 3 French vocabulary words may have doubled in the last 24 hours but could not support conversation.
The sponsors entertain the waiting spectators with floats and decorated cars and by throwing free hats, energy bars, water, and other sponsor stuff at the crowd. Everyone was enjoying the morning. Thankfully the spot I choose stayed in the shade most of the morning. Personal space means something different in France and my first squeeze in was a from an older man with a cane who sat on the wall (and on my foot). He was so cheerfully trying to talk to me in French even after I said, with a very bad accent “No parlez vous France.” He said “No parlez vous Englais” and happily continued to speak to me in French. The young woman on the other side of me did her best to translate but her English was very limited. No matter. Trying to catch prizes and hooting and hollering for favorite cycling stars is a universal language.
Stage 15 starting line in Givors on Bastille Day.
There were several French “artistes” that my next French interloper, who leaped on the wall where I swore there was no space, cheerfully pointed out to me (easy since he was right next to my right ear). I was thrilled to see the great Eddy Merckx, 5 time winner of the TdeF and holder of record for most stage wins. Also saw Bernard Hinault up close. You may have seen him on television. As the director of external affairs he is always managing the podium awards ceremony at the end of every stage. His nickname is “The Badger” and he is the author of our word of the trip: poleaxe. My son Tevis and I watched the Tour in Norway and we saw a brief bio of Bernard Hinault. He is one tough cookie: he rode through a line of striking miners who attempted to block the Tour and leapt off his bike and started swinging. Then a few years ago some protestor thought he would make a statement by interrupting the presentation of the yellow jersey. Hinault did not hesitate and “poleaxed” the protestor (knocked him right off the stage). Tevis liked the word so much that he has managed to use the word everyday so far.
At about 10:10 the bicyclists began lining up and signing in. Then they moved to the starting line. Earlier than expected, at our 10:30 the red light started flashing on the Program Director’s car and whoof! They began the controlled start and were away. Just like that the air was out of the balloon and everyone started packing up, including the pros who are in charge of all of the logistics for this mega event.
With a glow of satisfaction I headed to the train station. When I got there I noticed a group of 3 Canadians looking at signatures on a Canadian flag. Hoping they spoke English I went over and introduced myself and asked them how they got the signatures. One of the them, the young woman in the group, was following the tour for several weeks. She had the most success getting signatures by standing by the area where the riders sign in (and it helps to be a woman as there are few female fans). The guys where were from Manitoba and Ottawa said they had to wear team jerseys and hats to get riders attention. Today they got Dan Martin’s signature, the Irish rider who won an earlier stage. They were so enthusiastic and were having such a good time without paying a bunch of money for special credentials. Made me start thinking about future years…
Back in Lyon I wanted to find a place to watch the rest of the Tour with English commentary. So I asked the desk clerk if she could recommend an Irish Pub. She wanted to argue and say they would not be showing the Tour in English. I just asked her to mark the map and I would take my chances. Here I am at Johnny’s Kitchen (Irish pub restaurant) watching the Tour on BBC EuroSport sans air conditioning.
It is hot here so I cannot imagine what it is like on Mont Vonteux that looks like a moonscape and is known for its wind. Add a million CRAZY fans and Bastille Day. I pity the riders. The nasty part of the climb is the last 20 kilometers and the BBC announcers expect Chris Froome (UK, Team Sky) to kick butt. I hope he does. I like his quiet modesty. There are not as many American fans here and fewer American riders. The drug scandal that rocked Lance Armstrong’s world took out most of the experienced American riders as well. They are out for the season or retired.
In preparation for the trip I started reading Tyler Hamilton’s autobiography. It is a demoralizing read and scary to see what people will do to their bodies (or ask their athletes to do) in pursuit of competitive victory and cash. Mt Ventoux has been mixed up with drugs historically. A Frenchman, Jean Mallejac, collapsed and later recovered in 1955 due to amphetamines. And this is the mountain where Tom Simpson died due to drug use in 1967; the determined cause amphetamines and alcohol. In 2000, Lance Armstrong and Marco Pantani raced to the top fueled by doped blood.
I suspect that this haunted finish did not dampen my enthusiasm because even with drugs this race is a brutal test of human endurance. For example, today’s climb is 1512 meters over about 20 km. At 20 km marker, Sylvain Chavanel is the first of the breakaway to cross. No one expects him to beat Froome, Quintana, Contador and Valverde. The gap is already closing.
Oh my gosh, Chris Froome has thrown down the gauntlet at 7 km and pedaled away like he was on the flat. He is superhuman. Only Quintana is with him at 3 km. Contador has battled back to just 30 seconds behind but the rest of the GC rider are more than a minute back. The BBC announcers are over the moon. They say the toughest part is yet to come. What? Stairs?
Contador has fallen back to 51″ at 1.6 km. Who will win the stage? Will Quintana and Froome battle for the finish? No gifts today, Froome just took off at 1.3 km. Froome did it! He beat Quintara by 31″ and Contador by 1’40”. It will take a lot longer for everyone to finish. EPIC day.
Post Script: The next day was a rest day and Chris Froome was buffeted by questions at the morning press conference about possible drug use. It seems a bit unfair to be accused without any evidence, such is the legacy of the cheaters.
I began taking an interest in the Tour de France when Greg LeMond won his first of three Tour de France races in 1986. He was from the Sacramento area and the Sacramento Bee dedicated lots of column inches to his racing. After a few years I began watching it from morning till night–each stage several times–on Versus cable channel. In the fall of 2012, the 100th Tour de France route was announced and I realized that I had the means to see it in person. I called a friend who knows France and determined to focus on a City that offered a finish and a start and settled on Lyon. And that is how I found myself in Lyon France on July 13 to witness the finish of Stage 14.
It was thrilling! We walked a couple of kilometers towards the finish line near the Stade de Gerland (soccer stadium). We were only 1.5 hours before the expected arrival of cyclists. We spent the morning seeing historic Lyon and watched the middle of the race on television. The race route in Lyon was a challenge with one section that looked like Lombard Street in San Francisco, and several hard turns into the last kilometer. When we left the television we knew there was a breakaway (a group of riders that rides away from the Peleton or the main group of riders), but we did not know if they would be caught. In anticipation of a possible sprint, we picked a spot at the 1 kilometer marker where sprints often get serious and began our vigil.
I learned later from some seasoned Tour followers from Canada, to see the finish near the finish you need to camp out at about 8 a.m. and wait. We missed a lot of the parade (goes by about 2 hours before the finish). The announcers spoke in French, of course. Our neighbor at the barrier spoke a little English and translated. Then we learned he was from Bulgaria and spoke only a little French as well. Still better than our limited vocabulary.
Our Bulgarian friend said that the announcer was mainly telling us to keep our arms and bags behind the barrier and other safety warnings. Gradually the announcer became more excited and began shouting his announcements with the name “Julien Simon” repeated frequently. The official cars stopped roaring by and we began to only see gendarmes, then photographers, then we could hear the crowd roar let us know that they were seconds away.
The breakaway was still away! The first couple of riders came on our side of the street and periously close to us. Then there were a few stragglers (still going VERY fast) including American Teejay Van Garderen of BMC. Several minutes passed and then the crowd roar sounded again and we say the police motor bikes and suddenly, boom: the peleton led by Team Sky and the yellow jersey on Chris Froome. Wow.
I did not learn the actual winner until we got back to the hotel. Matteo Trentin of Omega Pharma-Quickstep (Mark Cavendish’s team) won the stage. Julien Simon was close and said in an interview that if there had been a few more turns in the course it might have been a different result. Meanwhile all of the other standings remained the same.
If you are not familiar with the classifications: Overall leader of the Tour with the lowest time wears the Yellow jersey and is currently Chris Froome with a 2’35” lead; the sprinters compete for the green jersey and because there are points along the route and not just for top finishing, Peter Sagan is in green; the King of the Mountains wears red polkadots on a white jersey and Pierre Rolland is KofM; the best young rider, Michal Kwiatkowski of Omega Pharma-Quickstep, must be under 23 and wears white.
After the excitement of the peleton, we walked to the actual finish line to see the set up. I bought souvenirs. My son Tevis had work to do so he peeled back to the hotel. I walked back along the course and stopped for a cold Diet Coke. I relaxed at an outside table and enjoyed a interesting conversation with a couple from Britain who earn a living transporting bicycles for tour groups and follow le Tour on their motorbikes.
I was hooked and wanted more Tour, so when I got back to the hotel I figured out the options for taking the train to Givors in the morning to view the start of Stage 15.
Post Script: Velo reported in the September issue: “It was Trentin’s first win of the Tour –the fourth for OPQS, following Cav’s pair of sprint wins and Martin’s TT victory– and his first win, period, since 2008. Trentin was considering going back to university, but instead opted to race for another year; it turns out he secured a different education, this one at the Tour.’
“When you work alongside a rider like Cavendish, you learn a thing or two,” Trentin said, “I just waited patiently and unleashed my sprint with 100 (meters) to go.”
I have been learning French phrases using the Memrise application on my tablet. One of the phrases that does not make sense to me, “je pourrais etre americain” is translated as “I think I am an American.” When would I not be sure?
My Friend Maigret
I was laughing about it with a friend and he remarked that it makes sense if you speak French. And at some intuitive level I know what he means.
I just finished a mystery by Georges Simenon, My Friend Maigret, written in French in 1949. It is unusual in that Chief Inspector Maigret is called into solve a case but instead of approaching the case in the tradition of other English-style mysteries by examining the body and the scene of the crime, and so forth. Instead he meanders around the island casually observing people and consuming copious amount of alcohol. Amazingly he manages to figure out who committed the crime relying on his sense of things, without evidence. It was not a very long book so I read it in a day and it gave me a hint of how different the experience will be from other places I been.
It is hard to describe that sensibility that is so French. It is passion, nuance, and sensuous pleasure. Frenchness is a feeling not a thought. This is what makes the Tour de France the premier bike race in the world–the verve, vineyards, sunflowers, and the special pain.
americanjulie.com 