American In Paris... Again

The guys from Velo Echappé really finished strong, providing our tour group with a luxury suite in the Hotel Meurice overlooking the final stage of the Tour de France. Three stories above the Rue de Rivoli, we were exactly 1 km from the finish line and had an unobstructed view of about a half mile of the course. It was better than you could have imagined.

The riders almost flew up the street and around the bend during their final eight circuits through Paris. Each lap seemed faster until finally, at the end, George Hincapie jumped and led a small pack of cyclists on a final burst to the finish.

By now you know that Thor Hushovd won the stage and that Floyd Landis won the overall Tour. After seeing firsthand how accomplished all of the riders were, it’s remarkable that two American cyclists have captured the past eight Tour victories.

The French are taking it all quite well. They seem to welcome Landis’ self-effacing and humble attitude after 7 years of the US Postal-Discovery juggernaut. His collapse in stage 16 exhibited his fallibility, making his Phoenix-like performance the next day even more extraordinary. The French seem to appreciate a champion who has been forced to suffer before the victory, and that Landis did in spades.

After the race ended we made our way down to street level to watch the teams take their meandering victory laps along the Champs-Élysées. Oppressively hot and humid, we shoved our way through a log-jam of spectators to get a much grittier taste of the final day.

I was ready to throw in the towel when one of our guides, Bruce Hildenbrand, told me that he got us invitations to a party. “What party?” I asked. “The Phonak victory party,” he smirked. I looked at him dumfounded.

Yeessss! We’d scored! Well, at least Bruce scored and I was going to tag along.

We arrived too early at the nightclub near the Arc d’Triomphe but strode inside like we owned the place. Trying our best to look like we belonged, we sipped champagne and stayed out of the way. Finally more guests began to arrive, more drinks and hors d' oeuvres were served and things began to get fun.

I spoke with Floyd’s agent and coach, both of whom were understandably elated but acknowledged that they had a tiger by the tail. Already their self-imposed pressure was calling for a repeat in 2007 while capitalizing on the current title.

Floyd took a typically lighter approach, saying that although he recognized that this was an exciting Tour to watch, he preferred something a bit less dramatic and so next year would be downright boring if he has his way.

One final story: apparently Floyd knew exactly where he would attack in that key stage 17, on the very first climb. Riding beside T-Mobile’s Andreas Kloden -- the eventual third place finisher overall -- Floyd said that if he wanted to win the Tour, then Kloden ought to drink his Coke and get ready to attack with him now. “It’s too early, it’s too early!” Kloden complained.

Landis just smiled, and moments later rode away from Kloden and everyone else enroute to the stage and overall victories. Just like when he announced the severe problem with his hip, Landis wasn’t hiding anything. He was simply so good that he called his shots and challenged everyone else to stop him.

No one could.

Landis Delivers

Saturday afternoon in Paris. Our riding is over, our bikes are packed. Having just arrived on the TGV from Annecy, our group settled into its 4-star hotel to watch the time trial and see if Floyd can deliver the final blow that, once and for all, will put this race to rest.

Landis eventually posted the third best time of the day but, more importantly, finished 1:29 minutes ahead of Oscar Pereiro to snatch the yellow jersey.

So, on the eve of the final stage in Paris, Pereiro will pass the Maillot Jeune back to his friend and former teammate Floyd Landis, who will post the 11th victory by an American in the past 21 years.

What a difference a few days make. On Thursday morning in the Start Village in Saint-Jean-de-Maurienne – less than 24 hours after Floyd utterly disintegrated on the finishing climb to La Toussuire – a friend and I were the only two people standing outside the Phonak team bus when Landis exited to check-in for the stage. He was friendly, relaxed and seemed a bit surprised that anyone still wanted to cheer him on. A Norwegian film crew approached and asked how he felt after the previous day’s disaster, and he only laughed.

Of course, that afternoon he stunned everyone by attacking on the first climb and storming to what many are calling the best individual performance in Tour de France history.

This has been an amazing Tour, much more ragged and dramatic than the impressive but predictable past 7 years. All the while – thanks to the amazing access granted us by Velo Echappé – it’s felt as if we’ve been part of the action.

The grand finale of our trip is meant to be a champagne brunch on the terrace of the Hotel Meurice, overlooking Sunday’s race procession. That sounds pretty swanky, but I’m busy trying to hustle an invitation to the Phonak party, which has suddenly become the hottest ticket in Paris.

Pilgrimage to Alpe d'Huez

Golfers have St. Andrews; runners the Boston Marathon… those places where you don’t just participate in your sport, but you become part of its history.

For cyclists, that venue is Alpe d’Huez, an almost mythical Tour de France climb to which cyclists from around the world make their pilgrimage. This is not only where the pros have fought some of their most epic battles, but it’s also the stadium rock concert of amateur cycling where amateurs test themselves against the mountain. Riders of every shape and size tackle the Alpe on the day of the race, and an entire culture of fans has evolved to cheer them along the way.

Our group of 17 Velo Echappé riders arrived at the base of Alpe d’Huez after completing about 55 miles of Tuesday’s stage. Our first major obstacle of the day (besides the 4:00AM wake-up call) was the Col du Lautaret. Rising out of Briançon, the col (or mountain pass) isn’t especially long (29 km) or steep (3 – 6%), but its almost constant headwinds can make it deceptively difficult.

The visual impact of the Lautaret is intimidating, the surrounding glaciated peaks of the Ecrin massif are imposing. Being the first significant climb of the trip, I couldn’t help but wonder if all of my training had been enough.

Fortunately there was no wind and the weather was crystal clear. Riding in small groups we steadily spun towards the top. Lining the route were hundreds of campers and caravans, draped in national flags and their favorite team colors, staking their locations to watch the pros later that day. Already tailgating at 8:00 in the morning, they reminded me of a French version of NASCAR fans.

As we rode the final sweeping turn above the treeline to the top of the Col du Lautaret, joined by hundreds of other cyclists, I thought that this was already the perfect day of cycling. But there was much more to come.

We could have lingered at the summit, but everyone was anxious to continue so we began our 40 km descent to Bourg d'Oisans. The winding, fast and somewhat treacherous road dropped us into a beautiful river valley and through numerous rough-hewn tunnels. Nearing the town, the gendarmes had already begun shutting down the streets to cars, so we made excellent time.

Suddenly, up to our right, was the cleft in the mountainside that pointed to the road to Alpe d’Huez.

Our guides were waiting in their support vans at the last intersection, where they refilled our bottles and made sure that we ate. Most of our group rushed to begin their ascent, but I lingered near the start, trying to soak up the experience.

Nothing less than a small fair was taking place at the base of the climb. Vendors were selling grilled bratwurst and vintage cycling jerseys; tour groups were trying to organize their clients and impart final instructions. Tourists wandered into the street with cameras, oblivious to the nervous riders trying to navigate around them.

Making my way through the pandemonium, I made a left hand turn and was faced with the quarter-mile ramp that tilted up to the first hairpin. I down-shifted, stood on the pedals and began my climb.

My initial impression was that, despite the miles already covered today, this first pitch was steep but wasn’t too bad. Weaving around walkers and slower riders I swept through the first two turns, noticing that each switchback was numbered beginning with 21 and counting down to the summit.

The grade of over 10% continued, and by the third turn began to feel quite steep. I shifted into my easiest gear and tried to spin at a high cadence. I fell into a rhythm, standing through the steep hairpins and sitting on the straights.

At switchback 16, we climbed into the hamlet of La Garde, where the hill finally eased up a bit.

The turns continued, and I lost track of where I was. Hundreds of thousands of spectators lined every inch of the course cheering, partying, offering sponges and drinks, taking pictures, blaring music, dancing and doing their best to stay out of the riders’ way. Even the fans painting graffiti on the road somehow managed to do so without creating a pileup.

The famous “Dutch corner” – about halfway up – was the scene of real craziness. Here throngs dressed in orange had created a Mardi Gras on both sides of the road, complete with tents, floats, a disco sound system and, of course, plenty of beer. They cheered as if I was winning the race. I pedaled on.

Sensory overload. I was distracted from my increasing stress by the sights and sounds. A guy was towing his female companion up the hill on a short rope. Six riders from a British cycling club veered around a shirtless wobbling Italian in flip-flops, everyone pushing for their personal bests. Former 7-Eleven pro rider Dag Otto Lauritzen was doing live roadside commentary for Norwegian radio. University of Colorado alumni had a camp established somewhere near turn 11, soon followed by an elaborate makeshift memorial to Alpe d'Huez record setter Marco Pantani.

It’s very hot.

Between hairpins 3 and 4, the grade increased again to 12%... a nasty surprise. Passing under the 5km banner – over 3 miles to go -- I began to wonder if the kilometer signs had been mismarked.

At this point, I was feeling the effects of accumulated fatigue, the heat and the relentless grade. A sign welcomed me to Alpe d’Huez, but there was still over 2km to the finish line and I wasn’t smiling. Finally the grade began to flatten. Passing through a short tunnel the 1 kilometer arch – the flame rouge – was suddenly dead ahead.

The mass of riders who had just completed the climb was forced to stop 500m from the top. But -- thanks to the credentials provided by Velo Echappé -- we were ushered past the barricades and pointed towards the actual finish line. We rode in as a group, all of us smiling and waving to a startled but cheering crowd. At the completion of our ride we were treated to individual photos atop the official winner’s podium, a unique and surreal experience.

Later that afternoon our group sipped drinks from the VIP seats, rubbing shoulders with a Who's Who of professional cycling. We didn't feel out of place, though... we'd all just climbed Alpe d'Huez.

Heart of French Wine & Cycling

Avignon, the capital of Christianity during the middle ages, was inhabited by nine successive popes and was considered the “Alternate Rome”. The Palace of the Popes is the largest remaining Gothic castle in the world and this morning, accompanied by two other guests on the Velo Echappé tour, I cycled through Sunday’s empty streets past its imposing fortress walls on our first warm-up ride. It felt great to back on the bike!

We headed north, following the banks of the Rhone River, into the Provence countryside. Vineyards soon dominated the landscape, reminding us that we were in the Côtes du Rhône, one of France’s most important wine regions. Every quarter mile was a sign that invited us to visit a “Domaine”, attend a tasting or buy the local vintage.

Turning a corner, we got our first glimpse of Châteauneuf du Pape, the village and namesake of the area’s famous red wine. The ruins of the “House of Nine Popes” sat on top of a prominent knoll, and its medieval buildings surrounded it on the hillside below.

The roads turned to lanes as we corkscrewed up through the quiet town. Emerging on the summit we were treated to a 360° view of vineyards that were hundreds of years old. To the southwest was sun drenched Avignon and the Rhone River, but to the northeast loomed the dark silhouette of Mont Ventoux, close enough to see its summit tower.

Gazing up at Ventoux I immediately thought of its many epic Tour stages, and realized that we were riding not only in the heart of French wine country, but also in the heart of French cycling. Gap, the finish town of today’s race – for the 19th time in Tour history -- and the start of Tuesday’s decisive alpine stage, is only a few miles up the road.

The people in this area are fans of cycling and are quite proud of their national event. It’s not uncommon for them to skip a half day of work, hurry to a roadside vantage point, and watch in person as the peloton rushes by. The local television station not only broadcasts live each daily 5-hour stage, but also delivers exhaustive pre- and post-race commentary.

To be cycling in this environment – for just one day – is something special. After just one 40-mile tempo ride on a sunny morning in Provence, I can unequivocally say that – if you’re a cycling enthusiast – you must do it someday, too.

Finally Underway

Today, while the Tour contested its longest stage of 230 km, I was on a marathon of my own traveling to Europe. After 24 hours of planes and trains I’ve arrived in Avignon where this Monday I’ll connect with the Velo Echappé group and we’ll begin our program. Until then I’ll stay busy building my bike, getting adjusted to the 9-hour time change and recalibrating myself to the French language, food and attitudes.

As each hour of travel passed, my pre-departure tension melted away and I began to contemplate what will certainly be the trip of a lifetime. Arriving in Zurich early this morning, my mind was racing with excitement, and I was motivated ride. But that brief bout of ambition soon evaporated after I boarded the train and the TGV swayed and whispered across the Swiss countryside. I fell into a half-sleep stupor, head lolling in the too warm compartment, trying hard not to doze slackjaw or to drool on myself. Nice… the absolute picture of fitness.

It’s surprisingly hot and humid here; even wrestling my overstuffed bike case 800m to the hotel was a real chore. I can only imagine how it’ll affect the riding. When I pay attention to the conditions – like weather, the grade of a climb, the length of a stage – I’m constantly amazed at just how gifted the pro cyclists are compared to sport riders like us.

Sure, everyone rides a bike, and many do it quite well. But there are very, very few who can ride so consistently fast that they earn a slot on a Tour de France team. And that includes the domestiques who shuttle bottles from the team cars to the leaders. I’m sure that I’ll be revisiting that theme throughout the next 10 days, as I suffer over some of the most famous mountain passes in Tour history.

The pros race into Gap tomorrow, and it should be explosive and unpredictable because on Monday the Tour serves up its last rest day. Then -- finally! -- the peloton will turn its attention towards the Alps and likely determine who will stand atop the podium in Paris in just one more week.

Landis Hip Surgery

Wow! After reading the New York Times article about Floyd Landis and his scheduled hip surgery shortly following the end of the Tour -- yes, this Tour -- I can only shake my head in awe.

Some of you might recall that Landis broke his hip in a January 2003 training accident, then impressively recovered to earn a spot on that year's US Postal Tour de France team. But by November 2004 the bone deterioration and chronic pain had driven Landis back to the doctor.

Ever since he's been sorting through treatment options while keeping all of this a secret because he didn't want to lose his job!

In 2002 I had the misfortune of fracturing my pelvis in a cycling accident (entirely operator error). It was one of the most unpleasant and painful experiences of my life. Oddly enough however, long before I could walk without crutches or even think about running, I could hobble to a biweekly Spinning class for an hour of intense exercise.

Whatever unfathomable physiology allowed me to pedal when I could otherwise barely walk, might explain Floyd's ability to continue to compete at the pinnacle of the sport.

Here's an excerpt from the New York Times article, written by cycling insider Daniel Coyle, author of Lance Armstrong's War. Read it, and you'll have even more respect for the guy from Farmersville, PA who -- bum hip and all -- finds himself as the #1 American contender in the Tour de France.

Landis’s right hip... is afflicted with osteonecrosis, or bone death, a degenerative condition caused by lack of blood supply. (The condition, which forced Bo Jackson, the star football and baseball player, to get a hip replacement in 1992, is also called avascular necrosis.) Essentially, the ball of Landis’s hip has withered and collapsed, resulting in bone that his doctors liken to a chunk of rotten wood, a sunbaked desert and a half-melted scoop of ice cream.

Check out the complete article here: www.nytimes.com/2006/07/09/sports/othersports/09landis-magazine.html?pagewanted=print

Managing Expectations

Watching today’s time trial unfold on OLN, one thing became painfully obvious: we Americans have been spoiled for the past seven years. Despite the wishful thinking of cycling fans and the misinformed smugness of media dilettantes, the success of US riders is anything but assured.

Thanks to Lemond and Armstrong, Americans have worn more than their fair share of yellow jerseys over the past 20 years, winning literally half of the Tours de France since 1986. Maybe this has conditioned the US public to consider anything less than victory a disappointment. But the truth is that professional cycling remains mainly a European sport that our riders are still trying to crack. Just look at today’s results: cyclists from Europe occupied 8 of the top 10 places.

I offer this perspective because I don’t want unrealistic expectations to sour our enthusiasm for this year’s Tour. Victories by individual riders are usually few and far between; that’s why the dominance of athletes like Merckx, Hinault, Indurain and Armstrong was so celebrated. As we transition from the Lance Era, educated fans are more likely to stick with the sport if they can better appreciate the successes of US riders, when they occur.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing that I’d like more than to see Floyd wearing yellow in Paris or another US rider on the podium. But the cyclists of the Tour de France are all remarkably close in talent, and today’s mixed bag of American results is probably a representative glimpse of the tough competition that lies ahead.