July 2007

DAY ONE
Fly from Berlin to Toulouse. Having spent an emotional week working on a documentary about the Holocaust and the atrocities of the Nazi regime, landing in France to follow a bike race is a huge jolt to my system. As I reacquaint myself with co-writer Graeme Fife after a 35 year lay-off and drive south towards the Pyrenees, I find myself in total culture shock.

Meanwhile somewhere to the East Michael Rasmussen is wearing yellow.

DAY TWO
The Ariege valley is soggy and damp. I build the Bike Friday (Foldy to his friends) and take an exploratory haul up the Col de Sarraille. After 4 flights across 2 continents in a small suitcase Foldy’s front derailleur isn’t working. I seek advice from every cyclist in the village and soon the gears are working again but it doesn’t sound pretty.

DAY THREE
An early start. We retrace our steps back past Toulouse and arrive in Albi in the pouring rain for Stage 13 – the first time trial. We park on the outskirts and find a place on the course about 400 yards from the start. It’s so wet I resort to using my fist-sized B camera to shoot David Millar and other down-the-GC riders as they set off. After an hour we’re soaked and it seems very unproductive watching the riders pass with their rear wheels roaring and a few desultory spectators shouting for them.

Mr. Fife waiting for David Millar in the rain.

Graeme and I retire to a café for lunch and hot coffee. Though I’ve traveled 6,000 miles to see the Tour I’m happy to watch the Time Trial play out in French on the TV screen over the bar.

Lunch-break / dry-out session over I wrap my big camera in a plastic bag and we venture towards the start. The bigger camera must be more impressive – the crowds by the railings politely part to allow me to get a close look at the race. The riders huddle under borrowed rain-capes in the start-house till the last possible moment before rolling down the ramp and then immediately out of view into a tunnel – it’s a peculiar set-up.

On our way back to the car we stumble across a Saunier Duval truck in a small backstreet and then espy the rear entrance to their hotel. Graeme tries to hook up with David Millar who he knows. No luck.

As the rain stops we drive into the country and chance upon a view of the course about 5 miles out of town. Grabbing the cameras Graeme and I run across a muddy field and park ourselves by the road in time to see the top ten riders flash past and Rasmussen seems noticeably slower than the rest. As we drive home and the sun emerges Vinokourov blasts the opposition and wins the stage.

Waiting for Vino with a small set of legs somewhere
outside Albi.

DAY FOUR
We drive East out of Massat, over the Col de Port and stop half-way down the other side. For the first time Foldy is loaded up with bike rack and 20 lbs of camera gear. All that extra weight and those tiny wheels make the descent of the Col a nervous experience. We’re soon in the valley and take the turn that will lead us to the Plateau de Beille.

Climbing up the hill it seems like Foldy’s sprouted wings and I have no trouble climbing this famous slope – it must be the adrenaline. A mile or two up we find a suitable switch-back and make camp. Over the next few hours if it moves I shoot it. Overnight I had a brainwave and today every available part of my cameras are plastered with rougefilm  stickers. I figure that everyone is watching the stupid bald guy in the red shirt with the camera and I might as well get some free publicity for the movie. The Tour caravan arrives and, no matter how hard I try to resist, every time they throw a freebie I turn into a rabid swag whore and start lunging for the prize instead of concentrating on the camera work.

Two Spaniards ride past yelling “Contador, Contador, Contador….” It’s a wonderful moment but, as I’m half-way through a ham sandwich, I don’t get it down on tape. Dang. Finally the Tour arrives. The riders seem to flash past and I have no idea what’s really happening. First a group of five, then a second group and another and another. David Millar seems to be pulling Vino up the hill – he doesn’t seem that far behind but he’ll lose 28 minutes today.

The grupetto appears. They seem quite happy and I hear casual chatter as they ride smoothly past. There’s a gap and the last rider appears – someone from FdJ – he’s working hard and the Broom Wagon’s right on his tail.

As we slide down the road I wish I’d put the handle-bar mount on the bike – riding through all these people would look great on tape. I make a note to get that shot another day.

As we drive over the Col and down towards dinner in Massat the views are all breath-taking in the early evening sun. I make a vow to climb the Col tomorrow and bring my camera with me.

DAY FIVE
The Tour is coming right past our hotel this morning. I shoot the village coming alive. The Tour caravan flashes past us throwing more freebies which bounce into the gutters full of running mountain water. You’d better be lively at the roadside or your swag will be swiftly delivered to another Tour viewer downstream.

The Tour riders, though they’re on the flat by the time they reach us, are moving at speed. I’m quite bewildered at how fast they appear to be going. My abiding image is of a rider clutching onto a red car as they hurtle by. My cameras are down low on the ground – perhaps 12 inches from the speeding bikes and I’m grateful I don’t become the cause of a tragic foot-note to the day’s racing.

After the Tour has passed the village, which just thirty minutes ago had the eyes of the world upon it, all is eerily quiet and empty, so quiet that I am able to hunch down in the middle of the street with my camera and shoot…well, nothing.

In the afternoon I take Foldy up the Col de Port to snag a picture of those wonderful views I saw last night. Alas it’s cold and miserable today and socked in and, at the top, the visibility is down to about 50 yards – there’s not a single shot worth taking. I’m so cold by the time I get back to the village that I go into the bar for a coffee to warm up. Vino has won the stage in the warm afternoon sun in Loudenville – the place where I first ever witnessed the Tour first-hand – and it seems like a whole planet away.

The damp & foggy top of the Col de Port just a few hours
after the Tour passed through

DAY SIX
We pack our bags and drive West as Graeme reads aloud an article that links Rasmussen to a box of suspicious fluids that were masquerading as a pair of old bike shoes. In Pau we search in vain for Messrs Liggett, Sherwen & Millar. Our only celeb sighting is Tom Boonen who Graeme sees arrive at his hotel. We try and crash the press room and Graeme finds us a way in through the back door. The buzz is that Rasmussen, who has just left the building, is denying anything to do with that box of old bike shoes and is avoiding embarrassing questions about his 4 missed dope tests.

Outside of town we arrive at a small hotel which is where we hope to meet Wim Vansevanant – our first Lanterne Rouge. The meeting has been arranged through Brendan Quirk at Competitive Cyclist and I’m shaking with fear for this will be the first time I have been ‘backstage’ at any kind of cycling event and Wim will be the first real rider I will ever have met.

First there’s a press conference with Predictor Lotto’s third-placed Cadel Evans. The room where it’s held is probably a place which has previously seen small wedding receptions and dinners for the local Farmer’s club and is quite unremarkable as is the small number of journalists who’ve shown up. I’m grateful to see that my camera compares favourably with other ‘journalists’ and it helps with my nerves. Cadel walks in with his Directeur Sportif who requests we don’t ask questions about Rasmussen and his drugs caper. It seems that Cadel is very tired and shrunken and somehow I have trouble believing he’ll still be in third place in Paris come Sunday.When the Aussie journalists have all run out of questions and it seems the conference is over I ask a question about the Lanterne Rouge but the DS shuts me down – such talk is off limits for the GC man.

I’m introduced to Wim as I overhear someone saying, “They’re making a movie about Wim. What about us?” Wim couldn’t be nicer and his English is excellent. We sit in the garden and talk. I’m hand-holding the camera (no space for a tripod on this trip), pulling focus, operating sound, and asking the questions. When I ask Wim if he’ll sign a release form he tells me he has no e-mail address.

Our first Lanterne Rouge – Wim Vansevanant in
the garden.

After the interview I’m full of joy – our first Lanterne Rouge. I see Chris Horner standing close by but I’m too shy to introduce myself. He looks relaxed and incredibly slim. As Graeme and I snag a free beverage and a canapé at the post press conference food-fest someone rushes in shouting something in Flemish. The only bit I can understand are the words VINO and POSITIVE. The remaining journos rush for their cell phones and lap-tops.

DAY SEVEN
It’s official – Vinokourov’s out of the Tour. We ride South from our hotel in Arudy – it’s a beautiful hot Pyrenean day and the skies are clear and blue. As we turn to our right and start climbing the Col de Marie Blanque all that adrenaline that got me half way up the Plateau de Beille is sadly lacking. Today that camera bag feels like 50 lbs not 20. All the other riders disappear quickly up the hill and I’m on my own until Billy appears and sticks with me as we climb higher and higher. The views are just spectacular.

Half-way up the Marie Blanque with 20lbs of gear

We reach the cow pasture and ride through a tunnel of white caravans and fans waiting for the Tour. I’ve got my home-built handle-bar camera mount on-board today and I’m shooting the ride up. The road disappears into the trees and eventually I make it to the top. For me this was a hard one, especially in the heat and with that camera bag. Graeme tells me we came up the easy side.

Graeme and I find a lazy corner where the descending riders will have to brake hard as they descend. He falls asleep in the sun on the curve and a stack of goodies piles up beside him as the caravan negotiates the sharp bend. I rehearse every angle the corner has to offer but when the riders finally appear I blow one of the really good shots and I’m cursing angrily. With the exception of Jens Voigt, who’s in no-man’s land between the leaders and the followers, I have no idea who’s riding past and I’m just trying to get shots – I don’t even get the shot of the Broom-wagon.

As we descend the hill I put my handle-bar mount to work as planned but today there are no crowds to wind through as there were when we came down from the Plateau de Baille and the road is so rough the picture breaks up. However the view across the valley to the Col d’Aubisque, the final climb of the day, is chocolate-box perfect. Somewhere on that far off mountain Rasmussen is extending his lead and holding out his hands like a grateful Christ as he crosses the line in first place.

DAY EIGHT
Rasmussen’s out of the Tour!

So, I was right about Cadel Evans – he wasn’t destined for third but second. Levi has been the stealth rider of the Tour and after yesterday’s ride has slipped quietly onto the podium. When I reach London 2 days later I watch the second Time Trial with my heart-a-pumping as it seems the three lead riders, Contador, Evans and Leipheimer, will all reach Paris with almost the same time. By the time I touch down in LA on Sunday afternoon the Tour has been won and the record books filled.

Most importantly our man Vansevanant has managed to do the double – he’s Lanterne Rouge for the second year running and we’ve got an interview with him in the can; at last our improbable little doco is truly under way.