07.13.09
Tour de France, the Rear View
Since I started riding a road bike a few years ago, I’ve been tuning in to the Tour de France. Right now I can tell you that Lance Armstrong is in third place, but not the color of his jersey, and that his teammate/rival Contador (I’m not even sure of that) is in second. Some other guy is wearing the Yellow Jersey.
What I’ve been watching for is things like cadences, the number of times they pedal per minute; what gear they’re riding in (They never give you a close-up of the rear wheel, though), where they place their hands (all over the handlebars to keep them from going numb) and the countryside they’re traveling through. Great travelogue without a lot of promotion disguised as narration. What I have to conclude, however, is that I wouldn’t ride in the Tour de France, even if I was young enough to train for it.
For one thing, it’s three weeks of grinding, exhausting labor for six to eight hours each day. For another, there are the crowds, which are not controlled well. Every time you see a crowd, you see some kid or crazed adult running in front of the riders and waving annoying things like banners in their faces.
The main reason I would not ride in the Tour de France, however, is the view, which is the same unless you’re in the Peleton or close by. While you ride through pine forests, beautifully manicured farmland and venerable, ancient cityscapes, you see two things, a butt and the rear wheel of the bicycle being propelled by it. You’re always watching that rear wheel, because you are usually “drafting” off the person ahead of you, who is sheltering you from ambient wind and the resistance that riding at 24 miles per hour creates. This allows you to save energy for time trials or a run for the finish, if you’re a “sprinter,” or to break away on a difficult ascent if you’re a “climber.”
I don’t think the glory of the race is worth the view for 90% of the riders, 90% of the time. Your world for the better part of three grueling weeks is two neon-coated buttocks and a little strip of inflated rubber, while nature, history and scenery pass by in a blur. I’d rather watch, thank you.
