If you already know your domestiques from your domestos, your lead out man from your lederhosen, your bidons from your Benday dots, or your climbers from your Brynn Edelsteins – no need to read further.
For this is the tour coverage for those who need know naught about the tour; the blond leading the blond, the story behind the story for those behind the story. For I am on holidays and I am covering the Tour. Why the hell not?
I believe that this is possible to do even though I cannot remember all the rider’s names and I cannot stay awake long enough to see who wins each stage. Optimism will triumph over ignorance every time. With great assistance from people who actually watch all the stages and actually know something about cycling, I will select random, incoherent and interesting only to me elements of the great Tour and share them with you.
The only special talent that I bring to the table is that I actually speak French and will be able to decipher what Gabrielle Gate is saying in the food sections before the stages. I will also be providing special profiles on an area that no one else is really covering – the lids. Many people believe that lids are not a performance item and are largely disinterested in them. This is a great sadness for me, and somewhat of an irony. Because people also love the crashes, and I can tell you right now, minus the helmets we’d have all been looking a lot less chipper when Cavendish and Haussler touched wheels in the Tour de Suisse recently. And no body, but no body, is going to think it cool if someone pops off the edge coming down the backside of the Tourmalet at 90 km/h and they don’t have a helmet on. Stick on the edges of your seats for the helmet coverage, folks. Twenty-two teams in three weeks and only three or four major helmet manufacturers. So much fun I won’t even know what’s hit me.
First things first: to start your Tour preparations off right, make sure you have had plenty of sleep in the preceding weeks. If you have been up watching the World Cup or silly old Wimbledon, then you have done yourself a disservice. Not only are soccer and tennis not cycling, but you are going to be tired, and six or so weeks of zombie like behaviour is hard to write off. I suggest telling your workmates that you have had a baby recently. Most people will not question this, just bring in a few photos of some random baby off the internet and adorn your desk with them. If you are a woman and you think that the absence of pregnancy might give the game away, I suggest you tell people you adopted. Jolie style. Most people are too polite to question this. Use this to your advantage.
Now pick a team, pick a rider, and commit. The Tour is like the Melbourne Cup. It’s a long race with plenty of contenders, having someone particular to support will make things less boring during the middle week. In fact, given this year’s stage 3 – the pave gauntlet – pick two. That way, when your rider is nursing a broken collarbone you’ll still have someone to get excited for.
Like the Cup, you can select on the form going into the race – Contador or maybe Basso; you can back a long time winner each way and figure you’ll come in with a respectable finish at the very least – Armstrong; you can get parochial and territorial – Cadel Evans or more interestingly, Mick Rogers; or you can support with your heart and put your money on Schelck. Or you can go completely arbitrary and just select someone whose team colours you like. The whole point of the Tour was to sell you things in the first place, so don’t feel disloyal if you’re swayed by the sleek matching of Sky and turned off by the icky naming of Team Liquigas-Doimo.
For me, the choice is simple; I’ve been overwhelmed by choice. And so I’m putting my money (that’s the next packet of Tim Tams on the household shopping wager system – Sports Bet, that’s an idea just waiting for you) on Andy Schleck and Saxo Bank (because I’m not afraid of winning) and Garmin Transitions, because I like David Millar. Millar – to me, seems refreshingly honest and earnest about the whole endeavour. I like my cyclists to say when they’re on drugs.
Top marks to Cancellara for taking out the Prologue Time Trial. Why there’s a race before the race that goes for three weeks is beyond me, but that’s the way they roll in this mad mad world. In honour of your win for this inexplicable section of the race, I recognise your sponsor: Bell. The helmet company I have previously had questions about. Obviously, it’s just me, because they don’t stop you from riding a bloody good time trial. Blah colours, and not so exciting design, but whatever. Considering that time trial helmets have no vents and are basically a giant blank canvass, it seems a great pity to go with just two solid colours. Like a having a Sandman when you’re used to a Kingswood and not getting the airbrushes out.
(Time trial helmet to watch: Astana. Tell you what, Tron has come early.)
eleanor j jackson 