Le Tour

The announcement that the route for the 2012 Tour de France would include a stage through the Nord-Pas-de-Calais, finishing in Boulogne-sur-Mer, provided the cyclists of south-east England with a glaring opportunity for a day trip to the world’s greatest sporting spectacle.

And so it was that early on the morning of Tuesday 3 July, 13 Velo riders piled out of four vehicles next to a public superloo at Blériot-Plage, assembled bikes, pulled on lycra and conducted a hasty discussion about the route. We decided against driving part of the way to our chosen vantage point at Samer – although some of us were questioning that within 10 minutes as the rain started pelting down, just as we approached the long climb out of Sangatte. Fortunately that heavy shower was the worst weather we saw all day and we were soon out on smooth, empty, rolling roads. According to my Garmin we climbed 4,500 feet during the course of the day without ever going more than 460ft above sea level; an indication that there was hardly any flat road at all. The next major climb was up to the transmitter above Fiennes, where the group split for the first time, and that was to become a feature of the day. Something like two hours into the ride we passed through Hardinghen, which was one of the potential parking places previously discussed – cue sighs. After a section on a flattish road busy with lorries, a sharp climb into Alincthun was rewarded with a view of a pretty churchyard and then it was a fast run through the dense Forêt Domaniale de Desvres and down into the town of the same name. Here, for the only time all day, we took a wrong turn and I also lost my bearings, being shouted at by the others for riding on the left. A few minutes later we squeezed through between the bales on a tight bend and onto the Tour route, heading towards Samer. Although it was to be more than an hour till the caravan went through, crowds were already gathering at the roadside, with flags, chairs and campervans, and cheered us on. With most of us wearing club kit and hurtling along at more than 15mph, we must have been an impressive sight.

Samer turned out to have a limited selection of lunch options – basically it was the patisserie or nothing. On the other hand everything, including coffees, seemed to be about €1 and excellent. We retraced our steps to the foot of the fourth-category Côte d’Éperche, the pros’ first climb of the day, and prepared to be bombarded with tons of tat, frankly, by the enthusiastic young people shouting and waving in the caravan. There were dozens of elaborately-decorated vehicles, interspersed with random team cars, press, outriders and VIPs. Even those of us who saw the Tour in Rochester a few years ago were impressed at the size of the cavalcade, though not by the muzak blaring out. I was gutted not to snag a PMU sprint jersey, until I discovered it was just a lurid green nylon T-shirt. Eventually, in a blur despite the gradient, the five-man breakaway arrived. We just had time to pick out the jerseys – one apiece from Euskatel, AG2R, Europcar, Astana and the polka dots of Michael Morkov – and they were gone. The peloton came through about four minutes down, riding at a pace I could have matched for around 50 yards.

We hastily crammed the souvenirs into our pockets, backpacks and in my case down the front of my jersey – I thought a French-language newspaper might come in handy for a cold descent, and you can never have too many madelaines – and dashed back through the town to see the riders pass again on the return leg of an elongated triangle. The crowd was huge, noisy and, from the look of it, largely British. The break was still away but with a reduced gap and a few riders were now also off the back, including Brice Feillu who apparently was so ill that his team had put him in isolation and the highly-rated sprinter Marcel Kittel who was suffering “intestinal problems” – not a good day to be wearing white shorts. Worryingly the Sky team car was immediately in front of the broom wagon and it turned out this was for a good reason: Siutsou had broken his leg in a crash and retired from the Tour.

Although the race was behind schedule, we had plenty of time to get back to the cars and planned a leisurely ride home. Groups of riders were flying past, many of them from clubs in the London area. (Cervélo seems to be the steed of choice for Kingston Wheelers.) One guy broke a pedal on the first climb out of town; oops. Less than halfway back Reg had to pull over, his computer recording a heart rate of over 250bpm. We thought it might be faulty but he felt poorly enough to suggest it wasn’t. We couldn’t really afford for him to drop dead at the roadside – he was our chief navigator and also one of the drivers, after all – so we gave up on the idea of fitting in a café stop, eased right off, changed the route and a couple of people pushed him up the short, sharp climb from Fiennes. The sun was out for the last few fast miles along the coast through Sangatte to the cars, a lovely contrast to the weather at the start of the day.

Another quick change at the roadside, bikes loaded up, and we headed off home. There were some tired legs – most of us had been expecting 50-60 miles and we’d actually done 77 – but we’d seen at least 30 seconds of the Tour, we had more keyrings and inflatable mobile phone covers than we knew what to do with and three Velo jerseys were visible (very fleetingly) on TV. Chapeau.

Many thanks to Reg and Martin for the planning and navigation and to them, Chris R and John for driving.