The Tour de France is the most famous (and perhaps infamous) cycle race in the world. And these days you can watch superb as-it-happens television coverage all along the 3500km route. But to experience the true feel of the spectacle, and especially what it means to the French people, you really do have to take in at least a few stages in person.
Prepare yourself, though. Unless you happen to be high up on a mountain or standing next to a tight corner in a small village, the racers will pass literally in a whirling flash, since they average 40km an hour, and even on the flat will often hit speeds well in excess of that.
But that’s not really the point. The reason you go is for the atmosphere, the standing on the roadside for upwards of three hours watching the French enjoy themselves immensely just waiting for the big event. The race itself may shoot by in less than a minute, but for everyone who happens to live nearby, all the associated festivities make for a very full day out.
Part of that involves anticipation of something that comes at least an hour before the race proper, something I have never read about in any media commentary about the Tour. But you can be sure that every child, and more than a few adults, will be leaning out onto the road for all they’re worth when it happens. It’s Le Caravan, the procession often at quite high speed of the most amazing array of floats and decorations put on by the advertisers supporting the event.
In the 2017 running of the Tour de France, more than 170 vehicles took part, and amongst much else you could expect to see an enormous rider in a yellow jersey almost engulfing a car, a woman swinging on a trapeze (also suspended on top of a car), a giant drinks bottle that sprays water at the crowd, and the figure of a large rooster riding a bicycle (because of course Le Coq is France’s national sporting symbol).
They race by, a bit like a Santa parade on super fast-forward. However, what everyone is really concentrating on are the various helpers on board the vehicles who fling out an array of merchandise to the waiting throng. And clearly these assistants have been well trained, either to aim high above the crowd, or down on to the pavement, since at the pace the vehicles are travelling anything head-high could present a real danger to those standing along the road.
To give you an idea of what’s on offer, in the five or so minutes the Caravan took to go by I managed to collect a reusable shopping bag (very much the fashion in France, where plastic bags are frowned upon); a rubber wrist band for a favourite brand of baguette; a key ring for an international real estate firm; a blow-up pillow (with a coupon for a discount at a chain of hotels); a little bag containing three miniature sausages; and my favourite, a real French-style cycling hat (the ones with the tiny, turned-up brim) advertising the main sponsor, Skoda cars. I wasn’t particularly quick or skilful, though. A young boy next to me managed to completely fill one of those reusable bags with all his foraged loot.
I was also lucky enough to choose a great location to see the riders go past. I positioned myself opposite the turn off to Notre Dame des Cyclistes (Our Lady of the Cyclists). Just 200m or so down the lane stands the chapel, restored from the foundations of a 12th century Knights Templer fortress.
In 1958, the local priest had a bright idea for the church, which was perhaps a bit too distant from the small village of Labastide-d’Armagnac for more normal purposes. He and his cycling friends decided to dedicate it to France’s national sport. And the very next year he obtained support from what could only be described as the highest authority – Pope John XXIII agreed to make it the National Sanctuary of Cycling and Cyclists under the protection of the Virgin Mary.
I’ve been to many churches, both in Europe and elsewhere in the world, but I’ve never seen anything like this Notre Dame. The chapel is in many ways a museum, and its walls are hung with literally hundreds of cycling jerseys donated by famous Tour de France riders such as Eddy Merckx, Tom Simpson, Luis Ocana and Roger Lapebie.
There are also some amazing old bicycles, including one that competed in the very first race in 1903. And, yes, even the stained-glass windows feature cycle racing images, one of two cyclists sharing sustenance as they go down the road, and another of a priest passing water to a racer on his bike.
My location along the route also gave me a perfect view of the current vicar of Our Lady, Eric Lestage, who stood on a raised platform just under the large entry gate to the lane, which was decorated as you might expect with both a cross and several cycle wheels.
As the main body of the cyclists (le peleton) flashed past, Father Lestage blessed the entire entourage (including the TV helicopter hovering overhead), sprinkling all and sundry with holy water flung from the branch of leafy tree he had set aside for occasion.
In many ways his gentle, fun-loving nature fit perfectly with everything else that happened on the day.
The Tour de France doesn’t go by Notre Dame des Cyclistes every year. The race changes its route annually to make sure much of the country is included over time. But if you have an interest in cycling, either as sport or recreation, you can still visit the chapel when you’re in Gascony, a wonderful rural area bordering the Pyrenees that many tourists often miss.
The chapel is just off the voie verte (green way), a 38 km rail trail that runs from Villeneuve-de-Marsan to Gabarret. Unlike many voie vertes in France, however, this one doesn’t have a paved cycle path, so it’s better suited to mountain bikes.
If, on the other hand, you’re a serious road cyclist, just pop in to a local Tourist Information Centre and get a copy of their cycling guide. There are several local routes, all well sign-posted, that take you to the chapel on quiet, paved roads through the countryside. It’s a little-known mecca that should be on every serious cyclist’s bucket list.
~originally composed in July, 2017~