Skip to main content

2015 Le Tour de France

Team BMC 2015
Team BMC wins the team time trial by one second in stage nine!

Ah, Summer! Bicycling magic is renewed for millions when the voices of Phil Liggett, Paul Sherwen, and Bob Roll, grace the television airwaves broadcasting Le Tour de France (Le Tour). When you dare to believe you’re an accomplished bicyclist, just tune into the NBCSN Sports broadcast of Le Tour in July (July 4 - July 26, 2015). Very quickly humility sets in. To date, the riders in that race have ridden nine grueling stages, with an average distance of 186 kilometers, that’s 115 miles per day. This year is the 102nd Anniversary - 21 stages, a total distance of 3,360 kilometers, and only two, yes two, rest days - of this classic race that tours the French countryside with the finale in Paris on the Champs-Elysées.

Dare I say it – Le Tour can inspire even casual riders, take your bicycles from the back shed, dust them off, inflate their tires, and hit the streets. It’s amusing to see people pretend, they are in Le Tour, competing for the coveted yellow jersey. It’s summer in southern California, and yes, when you ride you will encounter bicyclists of all types, size, and experience levels. Why, just yesterday, after watching the exciting conclusion of Le Tour’s stage eight - 181.5 kilometers - we were inspired to hit the roads early and log a few kilometers, a mere 57.9 (36 miles). What a perfect blend of man and machine. Feel the wind lightly brush your face, the rhythm of your pumping legs, the thrill of seemingly effortless speed, the fluidity of the road as it rolls beneath you and passes in a grey blur. You approach an ominous hill, instinctively you downshift to maintain your momentum and smooth cadence, a slight grip on the handlebars, push with the right leg - pull with the left. Biomechanics at it’s best. Suddenly - a jolt, a pebble is launched from your tire and the rhythm of your cadence is temporarily altered. Ah, the thrill and freedom of the bicycle.

Indeed, during your moment of bliss you will encounter the following; the wanna-be-racers, enthusiasts who belong to a local cycle club and pretend they are the Peloton, (the throng of riders). They whiz past you in single file at breakneck speeds. In complete contrast, don't forget the families; children and adults floundering along, they generally travel in packs and obstruct the entire bike path. Finally, you have the beach cruisers that squeak by, (a little chain lube will take care of that) out for a casual morning ride. It’s a challenge.

Bicycling magazine lists a few fun facts about Le Tour; racers will consume 160,000 calories during the three-week tour. 200 bottles of water or drink mix (depends on the temperature) per race. Alpe D‘ Huez (one of Le Tours most famous mountain stages, 13.2 km climb - this year stage 20) has 42 switchbacks. Most teams bring five bikes per rider, three for road stages and two for time trials. Sprinter Mark Cavendish has won 26 stage races in his professional career. Two more will tie him with Bernard Hinault for second place. Eddy Merckx holds the record with 34. Did I mention this is physical torture!


LeMond & Fignon
My own brush with Le Tour came in 1983 when we visited France just after Laurent Patrick Fignon (two-time winner of Le Tour) crossed the finish line, in Paris, with a total time of 105 hr. 7 min. 52 seconds. All of France savored the victory of their fellow countryman. That summer, racing was my passion, a Frenchman, my namesake, had won Le Tour.  I logged 200 miles per week training for a local bike race to be held in Macomb, Ill. Representing the local Raleigh bicycle shop as sales manager, and repairman, let’s just say, I sported zero body fat, a rather large lung capacity, strong, clean-shaven climbing legs, and the optimism of youth. My boss gave me the month of August for vacation to visit my family in France.

We arrived (Mom, my sister, and me) in La Rochelle, just one-week after Le Tour ended. Stage Eight, had begun in La Rochelle. My uncle, Jean Paul, caught a discarded water bottle from one of the riders. Later he would present it as a treasured birthday gift to me; it remains my Le Tour memento. Even though I spoke little French, the five-hour drive from Paris to La Rochelle, we talked bicycle racing. My suitcase contained my cycling shorts and shoes but no jersey. I dreamed of that coveted yellow jersey, while visiting I would buy a replica yellow jersey. To my dismay I soon discovered the yellow jersey is earned, (it cannot be purchased) only with a stage win.


Lagord - Patrick 1983
Jean Paul insisted I ride his Motobecane bicycle during my stay to train. And train I did, every morning it was out the door before breakfast. Riding the French countryside, I averaged between 20-25 kilometers. The locals were very friendly and always waived as I passed, the roads were narrow, some cobblestone, there were fields and fields of golden sunflowers blowing in the warm breeze. All my uncles’ friends and neighbors’ bragged on me, and with a wink, they would say, (en français bien sûr) “No doubt, next year, your nephew will be riding Le Tour de France.” Hardly, I quipped, but the excitement of the recent Le Tour, and the thrill of riding in France for that month of August fueled my patriotism, and enthusiasm for the sport of cycling.


So, every year, in July, while Le Tour de France runs, riding my LeMond bicycle, we pretend, that we’ve just crested the summit of Alpe D‘ Huez on the final leg of our ride home. Yes, I know it’s but a fantasy, pardon me for a moment, for sentimental reasons, I’m headed to the garage to dig out that water bottle my uncle gave me 30 years ago and pay tribute to Laurent Fignon.

Oh, by the way, that Macomb race – with my pearlescent white, Raleigh Competition, I took first place that fall. There was no yellow jersey, no big jackpot, no podium with two lovely young french girls to present a trophy, or a new car. First prize was a ribbon, and the pride of representing our Raleigh bike shop.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

The Compass of Cuba: Mom

🎄  Preview of this week's  On the Fly  blog: A Holiday Tribute to Mom. As the holidays hustle with pixels and beeps, the world scrolls along in a smartphone-y sleep. I log off for a moment—just one little minute— To breathe in the past and to sit myself in it. My mind doesn’t wander to faraway places, Or trips full of tickets and new airport faces. Instead, it drifts backward, as memories do, to Cuba, Illinois, where the best moments grew. To a home full of warmth, in the wintry Midwest, Where my mother—dear “Marcie”—put love to the test. With a smile that could melt the most frigid of dawns, and hugs that hung on you like shivering fawns. She came from La Rochelle in France, brave and bright, Across oceans and war shadows, into new light. A town full of strangers soon felt like her own, And her courage built up the foundation of home. “Oh yes, we know Marcie!” the locals would say— “It's Doc Ball’s French lady! She brightens the day!” She cleaned, and she cooked, and sh...

Feeling Human Again

In this episode, The Unexpected Thankfulness of Feeling Human Again I’ll be honest with you: My triumphant return from France was not the glamorous homecoming I had imagined. No graceful glide back into routine. No cinematic jet-setter moment where I lift my suitcase off the carousel and wink at life like we’re old pals. Instead? I came home and immediately launched into a two-week performance piece titled The Great American Couch Collapse. My days blurred together in a haze of soup, hot tea, tissues, and desperate negotiations with the universe for just one nostril—one!—to function properly. The living room sofa became my emotional support furniture. And any creative idea that dared tiptoe into my congested brain was gently shown the exit with a firm but courteous, “Not today, friend. Try again later.” When life hits the pause button like that—when you’re exhausted, sick, and mentally unplugged—how do you find your spark again? Somehow, today, I felt it. A tiny shift. A clearing of th...

Believing Is Seeing

🎄 In this episode, Believing Is Seeing . . . It's December, we bustle, we wrap, and we dash. We sort life into boxes— myths  here,  to-dos  in a stash. We whisper of Santa (adult code: “Not Real”), but hold on one minute—let’s rethink this whole deal. For the stories we cherish, the movies we stream, hold more truth in their sparkle than we grown-ups may deem. So hop in this sleigh and hold on real tight— We’re chasing down Santa by the glow of his light! Scott Calvin once landed in the North Pole’s cold air, with elves, cocoa, and snow everywhere. He squinted and frowned—“This just  cannot  be so!” (Like thinking tangled lights will detangle if we  blow .) Then Judy the Elf gave a cocoa so steaming,  and said something simple . . . yet surprisingly gleaming: Seeing’s not believing—no, that’s not the key. "Believing is seeing!"   Just trust, and  you’ll  see!” Kids don’t need a map or a satellite screen to know Santa’s workshop is her...

Stamps and Snow

In this episode, Stamps and Snow . . .   You don’t usually walk into the local Post Office expecting a time warp . . . but here we are. All we wanted were stamps for this year's Christmas cards— yes, the old-fashioned paper ones that require licking, sticking, and hoping the Postal Service is feeling ambitious this week. But holiday errands have a talent for slowing you down, almost like the universe whispering, “Relax. You’re not getting out of this line any faster anyway.” So we waited. And while we waited, we talked (Are you surprised?). Because the Post Office is one of the few places where people still look up from their phones long enough to talk . . . Maybe it's because they're holding packages. It’s the modern town square: part civic duty, part free entertainment, part sociology experiment. The discussion began with holiday specials streaming on Netflix, Paramount+, and other services during this time of year. One gentleman who has lived in Vista since 1958 told us,...