Paris-Tours

If you know me well you know that I am a cycling fanatic. That, given the opportunity I would talk all day, everyday, about cycling. With that in mind I decided very early on that if I was going to be spending time in France, the hotbed of cycling, I would make sure I got to see at least one part of at least one race. Way back in the spring I checked race schedules, and marked my calender for Paris-Tours 2008, the last major French race of the season, and the only one easily accessible for me until next spring.

Upon arriving here in Paris I was determined that I would find a way to get to the start town of the race. It may be called "Paris-Tours" but it actually started in a small town about 30km outside of Paris, Saint-Arnoult-en-Yvelines. I spent a lot of time my first two weeks here in Paris, asking around and trying to find a way to get to Saint-Arnoult. Success. I managed to find a way that involved taking the RER B to Gare d'Orsay Ville, and then taking a SAVAC bus to Saint-Arnoult. I had to wake up early, and time my trip properly, but I managed to make it everywhere right on time. I was nervous that since it was a Sunday one of the legs of my journey would not be running.

Arriving in Saint-Arnoult I was immediately greeted by a sign pointing "Les Équipes" to the start area of the race. I followed the sign, and the small trickle of other people following it, to a small square in the center of town. Going to the start of a bike race is fun. I got to do it in Missouri last fall, so I knew at least slightly what to expect. All of the team buses pull into a designated car park, open up their doors, and the riders are let out into the hoards of people. There are no barriers between rider and fan, and you very rarely even see a bodyguard (only like Lance Armstrong has a bodyguard). The riders actually use their bikes to avoid the crush of people. If they want to go somewhere they will get on and try to ride through, often riding over people, and when a gap is made, they push off as fast as they can away from the crowd.

The first team to arrive at the start was Bouygues Telecom, a smallish French team from the Vendée region, which is near Saint-Arnoult. After they parked a huge number of people went after their bus. The team didn't exit though, so I hung back waiting. Other teams started to trickle in. Next was Liquigas, then Lampre with the new World Champion in the front seat, and then Milram. Team Milram was greeted with the greatest crush of all, as their star rider, Erik Zabel, was setting off to race his last professional race ever. Zabel had won the event Paris-Tours on three occassions and was favored to do it again.

As teams were arriving, the fans were waiting not so patiently for the first riders to appear from the buses. The first rider I spotted was Thomas Voeckler, who jumped out of the Bouygues Telecom bus, rode through the crowd impossibly fast, and then disappeared. A few minutes later he reappeared, and was mobbed. Not wanting to be a crazy fan I didn't go in and try to mob Voeckler. I hung back a bit, and waiting to see if he would stick around, or try to jet off. After it was clear that he was all to willing to sign autographs and take pictures, I nervously approached. This guy wore the yellow jersey in the Tour de France for ten days! I got him to sign my french notebook (I had stupidly forgotten to find something better to get signed), and thanked him and wished him luck (in french!).

More riders started appearing, and shortly after the appearance of Voeckler, the Bouygues Telecom team went to the announcer's stage to sign in and be presented. It is cycling tradition that before any race the riders must sign in. At most races they set up a big board with little numbered boxes on a stage. Riders come up and sign their name in the numbered box that corresponds to their race number. After they are presented to the crowd. The ASO, the organization that organized Paris-Tours and also does the Tour de France, has an announcer that is incredibly well known for his presentations. He can list off the palmarés (list of accomplishments) of every single rider, as he memorizes it all before the race. Each team goes up one by one on the stage, signs in, and then the announcer presents each rider and their biggest race victories. After this the teams descend the stage, and head back to their buses. To get their they have to go through a gate, and weave through the crowd. This gate is the best point to meet cyclists, I discovered. It had a narrow opening, and riders were required to go in and out of it to get to the stage.

The second team to be presented was Euskaltel-Euskadi, a Spanish team from the Basque region. I thought they were really fun. They were obviously enjoying themselves, laughing and joking the whole time. They were also the only team that left their bikes at the team bus, and walked through the crowd. The reigning Olympic Champion is on Euskaltel-Euskadi, Sammy Sanchez. I made a beeline for him as he was exiting the sign-in stage. His autograph might be worth something some day, and it was cool to see the Olympic Champion, adorned in gold, in person.

What followed was a mix of me watching the team presentations, me scouting for riders I wanted to meet, and me wandering around the parking lot in awe. At one point I saw two Garmin-Chipotle riders riding slowly ahead of me. One was wearing a number that ended in 1, which denotes team leader. I knew that had to be Tom Danielson, as I had read online that he was gunning for a breakaway in the race and would be leading the team. I literally chased after him. Tom was the one rider that I told myself ahead of time I wanted to hunt down. This was because I knew that I would be one of the only American's at the race, and that would probably give me an opportunity to really talk to Danielson. As I caught up to him I managed to ask him if he would mind taking a picture with me. Surprised he said sure, and one of his teammates snapped a really nice shot. He then asked me what I was doing at the race, and seemed interested in learning why an American was in Saint-Arnoult. We ended up chatting for a good five minutes, about how cool the European racing scene is, and how it doesn't really exist in the United States. It was sort of a relief to talk to an American, because I was in the middle of a small French town. I think Tom thought it was pretty cool to talk to an American too... or he was just really nice.

I tried the same tactic when I saw David Zabriskie ride past me. Zabriskie is well known for having won a stage in all three grand tours, and wearing the yellow jersey at the Tour de Frace after beating Lance Armstrong in a time trial. Zabriskie was weaving through the crowd ignoring everyone, but when he came past me I asked him in English if he would sign for me. Surprised he stopped and obliged. While signing he told me "you speak very good english," to which I replied "yeah, because I'm an American." He responded with a spacey, "yeah me too," and then rode off. Zabriskie is a bizarre individual, he gives strange media interviews, and meeting him in person just justified everything the media painted him to be, strange. I think he was being sarcastic when he said I speak good english, because I noticed that I was the only person he signed for.

About half an hour before the start the riders were all queueing up to be presented. All of the teams sort of arrived at the same time, so it got all backed up. Teams that had been presented were also making their way to the start line, which is within the barriers. I realized that this was probably my last chance to catch any riders for pictures, a chat, or an autograph. I scanned the presentation area to see what teams were missing, and noticed that Quickstep was not there. I beelined it to the Quickstep bus, knowing that the superstar Tom Boonen was racing, and that he would likely be on his way towards the sign-in. It was some sort of strange magic that lead me right to him. Tom Boonen is sort of known as the A-List Celebrity of cycling. He is like the Brad Pitt of Belgium. They love him, and he loves that everyone loves him. You could see this in how he made a point to sign for every single fan that was mobbing him. I managed to get my way to the front of the crush, and Tom took my pen and signed my notebook. In a daring and gutsy move I announced to him that we were going to take a picture, to which he replied "sounds good." I snapped a picture of myself and Tom, that isn't necessarily flattering, but that I love because I managed to get both of us in it, and we both were smiling (which was surprising, because I think Tom was signing autographs the whole time). I have a lot of pictures with me and cyclists, and they are all special in different ways. There is a story behind each one, of how I got to see that person, how I got the picture, what was going on at the time, etc... I think I'll always treasure this picture with me and Tom because it is my first picture with a major european cyclist that isn't American. That's not to say that its better than any other picture, just that I have found it easier to get in pictures with American cyclists (language barrier among other things). This picture is special also, because I think Boonen is the most well decorated cyclist I have ever had a photo with. And ok, it was the first time I was sort of creepy and stalkerish.

After the photo with Tom, I realized that the start of the race was fast approaching, and I made my way down to the startline to claim a good spot. There I managed to find a place almost right on the bars (there was only a small child in front of me), and I took in the sight. A see of jerseys in every color. Snipets of every European language imaginable. And ok, the most expensive cycling gear in the world. Like sick bikes. The riders that had already been presented were lining up, and chatting amongst themselves. Right on the other bar from myself was a Basque rider from Euskaltel-Euskadi. His teammates were a ways behind him in the line up, so he was trying to converse to the guy standing next to me. The guy next to me also had a kid in Caisse d'Epargne team gear, and the Euskaltel rider was trying to get a friend of his who was on Caisse d'Epargne to come over and meet the kid. It was funny to listen to the conversation. It was conducted in a strange mix of French, English, Spanish and what was probably Basque. The rider (I wished I'd figured out who he was, I think I caught a picture of his number, but on second thought, I don't think that was him) told the guy next to me that his team had no hope for a victory at this race, but that they were there on sponsors wishes. He said that he was trying to get in a good workout before the Giro di Lombardia next week, the last race of the season. He also declared that after Lombardia he was going to sleep on the beach for a week. The atmosphere of the peloton was generally very fun. There were lots of riders talking with guys from other teams, joking and having fun. Filippo Pozzato, a well known Italian rider from Liquigas, was literally shouting over everyones heads jokes to friends from other teams. At one point I think he may have called Tom Boonen fat. It was hard to tell with the language barrier and all.

The race went off quickly. The riders went under the banner, around a corner, and then they were gone, six hours on the bike ahead of them. Unfortunately since it was a Sunday Saint-Arnoult was pretty much shut down. Most of the fans left the start once the team buses were gone, probably to get in their cars and head to the finish in Tours. I, on the otherhand, started to look for a way home. I had two hours until the next bus to the RER train station, and I didn't really want to hang around in a shuttered city. I found the tourist office easily (France has excellent signage in rural areas) and went inside to ask if the woman working would call a cab for me. She was very nice, and did so. While waiting for the cab she was very excited to find out where I was from and what I was doing in Saint-Arnoult. She spoke good English, and we conversed for some time about how I was a die-hard cycling fan and I just had to see the race. She declared to me that she loved Lance Armstrong, and that her all-time favorite cyclist was George Hincapie, which I found strange because I thought most French people hate the American cyclists. She also gave me a folder full of all the press materials that the Paris-Tours people had given her, maps and guides of Saint-Arnoult, and a handful of postcards. The cab arrived, and drove me the short 8km through the Dourdan Forest to the RER C station in Dourdan (different from where I had come in to... I had researched different exit strategies, and this was by far the best). I took the train back to Paris, took a two and a half hour nap, and managed to flip open my laptop just in time to watch the last 15km of the race, and to see who won. Phillipe Gilbert. I think I touched him (not on purpose), but I didn't get his autograph. Oh well. There is always next time... (March maybe?!?)

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