The Tour de France, Stage 13

There are some things you just have to do. If you  live in the south of France and the famous Tour is passing by, you have to go and sit under a plane tree and wait, wait, wait for men in spandex to whiz by at high speed on two wheels. You just have to. So we did.

{waiting. cue cicadas}

We took kids,chairs,water, nectarines and grapes and headed west of Montpellier where the tour was making its way through to the port town of Sête and the Mediterranean Sea for stage 13. We picked the town of Murviel-les-Montpellier as our watching spot and got there two hours before the estimated arrival time of 3:29.

{the direction they'll be coming from}

The crowd grew as the tour got closer and helicopters announced the circling of film crews. And then the tour sponsor trucks arrived. They came advertising their banks, insurance agencies, baguettes and hotel chains, decorated with over-sized cyclists and sky-high bread sticks poking out of gigantic bicycle baskets, music thumping, the people inside waving and throwing out goodies like blow-up pillows, pretend mobile phones, packets of pastry, keychains (ouch!) and Haribo candy.

{giant yellow jerseyed cyclist. he had a big, round backside}

They came by around an hour before the cyclists so we got all pumped up scrambling for the loot and then sat there, looking around at each other, keeping the Littlest from darting into the curve of the road and waiting.

{Haribo fuels cyclists}

Then the first cyclist surprised us, zipping by, way ahead of the others, flying around the bend at a nauseating speed and leaning into the curve on the thinnest bike wheels I've ever seen.

{in the lead}

We waited, one, two, maybe three minutes, and the group of them, the peloton, arrived.

{here they come}

Jammed in between each other, all leaning their weight into the curve, flying by us, bicycle wheels whirring above the constant scratch of cicada legs, the helicopters overhead, motorcycle policeman waving a yellow flag at the bend in the road. Exhilarating.

{so fast, i can't even tell you}

In an instant, they were gone.

{you can see Bradley Wiggins and his yellow jersey just there}

And we were left with the buzz of them lingering on the air as they headed down the road, legs pumping pedals, to the next town.

{there they go, around the bend}

We gathered our things, all the plastic loot thrown at us, empty water bottles and folded chairs, and went home.
P-Daddy recorded the stage so we could look for ourselves on television.

When we got home we watched what had preceded the blur of wheels speeding past us, through the towns to the north of where we were camped out, the dash through Montarnaud (they're getting closer now) when the leader took off from the group to surprise us by passing on his own, then to the coaches arguing from the sunroofs of their moving cars, beautiful aerial views so reminiscent of Texas hill country from the helicopter cameras, and then cutting back to where we were, all five of us, cheering and smiling and blown by the speed flying past us.

Just missing us! Just a couple of meters past where we were standing.
Not there at all.

'We were right there!!', we yelled at the recorded playback on the television screen.

We were right there.