July 25, 2003. a final check
Greetings all
Arrived in Bordeaux this morning, on track to catch the start pending not getting lost and no major road construction of a massive new tram network. So having succumbed to both, I unfortunately missed out on a final cheer alongside a crowd clapping politely and waving PMU green hands you might have seen on TV occasionally.
This is my last riding leg. Tomorrow morning I catch a train to Paris where I hope to watch Ullrich ride like a maniac in the afternoon, before getting the bike out again for the Sunday morning centenaire ride, which I'll be riding along the Champs Elysses with 10,000 others before the final stage which arrives Sunday arvo.
I have been meaning for some time to give an update on a few checklists for the trip, including health, general goals, and guys scored.. but given the somewhat mystifying increase in readership and my limited time, I just wanted to comment on a couple of things
Naturally, any trip like this included a few goals. The main ones, and their status are as follows:
Arrived in Bordeaux this morning, on track to catch the start pending not getting lost and no major road construction of a massive new tram network. So having succumbed to both, I unfortunately missed out on a final cheer alongside a crowd clapping politely and waving PMU green hands you might have seen on TV occasionally.
This is my last riding leg. Tomorrow morning I catch a train to Paris where I hope to watch Ullrich ride like a maniac in the afternoon, before getting the bike out again for the Sunday morning centenaire ride, which I'll be riding along the Champs Elysses with 10,000 others before the final stage which arrives Sunday arvo.
I have been meaning for some time to give an update on a few checklists for the trip, including health, general goals, and guys scored.. but given the somewhat mystifying increase in readership and my limited time, I just wanted to comment on a couple of things
Naturally, any trip like this included a few goals. The main ones, and their status are as follows:
- Ride as much of the Tour as possible (pretty much have ridden on (but not necessarily all) every stage except the prologue and the two individual time trials)
- Climb Alpe d'Huez (twice)
- Challenge Marc's Alpe d'Huez record (challenged, but failed)
- Get photo with the Devil (check)
- Get photo with Phil Leggett (check)
- Complete an outstanding goal from the Tour du Canada where in Quebec I heard a story about a Canadian in Australia who was abused by an Australian driver (but in a heavy Aussie accent, so nothing was understood), and then bitch-slapped for no apparant reason before the driver took off. While in Quebec I was hoping for something similar to occur to me but to no avail, and the thought did cross my mind when I arrived in France that I should have a similar goal here. (check)
I had just arrived in Dax, the start of Stage 17 Dax-Bordeaux leg (181km) after having ridden from Pau via the Tour finish in Bayonne. I had just clocked around 160km for the day and was now into the 'better bloody find somewhere to stay soon' mode which can last up to three hours. Dax is home to some pretty hot thermal waters, and at around 65oC I hear it cures most things. The roads however, do not reflect a town proud to have le Tour pass through - they are in terrible condition which is something I have found to be a bit unusual on route. Most places at least make an effort to iron out some terrible bumps and bits before their town is shown to the world.
My mobile suddenly rings, a very unusual and highly exciting event. Turns out to be cute yank, so I pull over and am into good chat when I hear a whole bunch of honking occuring behind me. I am still straddling the bike, but actually still on the road standing in a car park. All the shops around me are shut and there are plenty of parks around, this is no issue.
The car is honking at me! He drives past slowly as he abuses me and continues to honk. I continue to talk and give him the 'ce-katz-se- faye' (what the...?) Italian wave at him. As he passes, he sees my wave and stops the car. 'Oh shit, looks like I am about to get abused', I tell the cute yank on the phone. The driver is in a state of fury as he comes around from the drivers side in order for a better delivery of his abuse. I understand nothing, but at this stage I think this is a minor issue to the context of the situation. I say to him calmly, 'whats your problem?' and when he replies again with another torrent, I say to him in French that I don't understand. Thats enough for him to push him over the edge. He comes at me, no break from the abuse from his mouth and gives me a short, sharp and very hefty shove. Given the 160km pedalled today, my bike shoes that are now both without any grip on the heels and are unstable at the best of times, and the weight of a fully- loaded Harry, I go down heavily.
His wife has now opened up her car door and has joined in the husband with their abuse of me. At this stage all I can hear is the screams of a girl. I look up, and a girl around the same age as Erin (my 3 yr old niece) is sitting in the back seat with a look of upmost terror on her face and screaming her lungs out, staring straight at me. I hear ya, sister, I thought. I would be screaming like that too if I was stuck in a car with these freaks.
I stand up (Harry takes more effort to stand up so I leave him at my feet) and point at the girl, telling them they are freaks and to look at what they have done to this poor child. All I thought about was how could these people be such dickheads in front of such a small girl, probably their grandchild? What the hell did I do?
More yelling ensues, me in English and them in whatever the hell they speak. I can't keep up with their pace though. My brain doesn't work that fast in a heated situation, and I tend to repeat myself in case they might understand something. I keep saying, 'look what you've done to the girl!' The wit on my part was astounding.
The guy finally gets back into the car and they drive off. I am left to pick up Harry and somehow explain to the cute yank what just happened. A passer by asks, 'ca va?' and offers to get the Gendarmarie. He has witnessed the whole thing and is very concerned. I thank him, and then sit down in front of a closed shop to gather myself. Suddenly another car comes screaming up to me and this time, a passenger gets out of the car, a huge brute of a guy in a wifebeater (bonds singlet) and adidas pants. He is pointing at me and around the corner where the attackers fled. 'Bloody hell', I think, 'you can have a go at me if you want to, but someone should try to explain why the hell I deserve all this'. Luckily, his girlfriend speaks a bit of English, and both had witnessed the whole scene and were now wanting to know where the dickheads went. They drove off following the same direction.
My evening was then blessed with some of the most generous hospitality of the entire trip. I had a most excited Belge offer to drive me around searching for the rest of the Lotto team (I was wearing Robbie McEwan's Lotto shirt from 2002 with the Aussie champion colours on it), and then on arrival at camp I had a fantastic Kurdish Turkish family from Paris insist I have dinner with them and sit around enjoying Turkish tea, despite not many of them knowing English. They loaned me a towel and offered laundry detergent, and in the morning I couldn't leave until they had fed me. Such a contrast!
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Health report:
Obviously, the effects on the body were very similar to what experienced in the Canada trip, particularly in the first week where my insulin needs dropped dramatically. At least I had a fair idea of what to expect, and pretty much it ran true to form this time too.
On day four I only required 10units of Humalog for the entire day! This is from an average pre-France of around 36units of Humalog/day. My BSL tests for the day showed nothing above a 4, so maybe 10units was probably too much. Of course, just as you begin to think you have cured yourself of diabetes, the body readjusts and as always, stays one step ahead. On a long day I now have around 16-20units, and of course tomorrow when I plan to do no riding I will probably need around 25units. And this will increase on return to Australia. And my endo will ask why the hell don't I just decrease my insulin intake again, and we will continue on our circular path of insulin-dependency and my above-average intake.
I brought with me around 4 leppon-squeezies for emergency hypo use, which technically are a bit longer acting than what I would need in a hypo, but at least I am not tempted to eat them when bored. I used three on Telegraphe and Galibier, and the final one I used on the Alpe d'Huez assault. So the last two weeks I have had no 'specialty' hypo foods on me, other than what I buy for between towns. Sometimes this is nothing. One Australian rider said to me, 'so what happens when something goes wrong then? what can we give you?' I replied, 'things DON'T go wrong'. If I say it convincingly, I too can believe it.
But I know when I am low, when I haven't eaten enough, when its time to pull over. Some new signs on the trip include:
- confusing the albino cattle of central France with sheep
- thinking I have just arrived in the town of 'Rappel' which is actually the caution sign that sits on top of the reduced speed limit
- not being able to keep the bike on the road (that ones pretty obvious)
- singing the Furey Brother's song, 'Green Fields of France' when mid-way through 'I will survive' (if you can find the overlapping melody then I take it all back). Actually, the number of times that damn Furey's song has crept into ANY song I've had in my head is really quite disturbing. Especially when the song mentions the words 'green fields of france' once the entire mandolin ballad.
Other than that, I have had a bit of sunburn, only one little skin infection (by this stage in Canada I was off to the emergency ward in Thunder Bay) and thats about it!
Harry has been in great form. I made him suffer for the first week without a clean, and also climbed the Tourmalet and Aspin with a very dirty chain. He rocks. No flats at all! His back cones need tightening, and I don't think the front breaks would have lasted another mountain stage. I think he has enjoyed being back home in Europe.
And I will enjoy the next couple of days before returning home on Thursday (I think).
Thank you to everyone for all your fantastic messages, they have been awesome to read. You have no idea how they have motivated me (they, alongside the throw-some-lycra-on-and-call-yourself-a-cyclist- folk of Phil Anderson's and all the other tour groups, and all the regular riders of the tour such as the Belge, who is on his 30th tour. He first caught the tour when Mercyx first won. Other motivators include the fantastic folk like the Turkish who were so proud to help out someone riding the Tour route). It has been a one- hellava adventure.
cheers
Monique
PS - Squirta: you might need to tell me WHICH road you guys are camped on! A few roads lead to Bordeaux!!! The last 10days I have looked at every number plate of every red Renault that ever came my way. Maybe Paris?
Back to TdF 2003 page
Previous parts:
Part 1 - Arrive Francais
Part 2 - Epernay to St Dizier
Part 3 - Convoi Exceptionnel (Annecy)
Part 4 - Allez Allez Allez! Blistered Bits and Bike Bags
Part 5 - Sleeping with the Devil
