Mountains, Sweat, and Bitter Tears - The Battle for the Jersey

Arriving at Tarbes, at the foot of the Pyrenees, we waste precious time at McDonald's, trying in vain to download an audiobook for the long day of touring, which fails due to the slow connection at the American fast food joint. Why waste?

Because of this useless attempt, we only arrive at the mountain around 3:00 pm, and of course, the best spots for tomorrow's first climb are already taken. The really crazy ones have probably been here for a few days already. And the cyclists still have to climb three more mountains.

During the Tour, almost anything is allowed that is otherwise completely forbidden. People set up in driveways, pitch their tents in meadows among cows or sheep, family celebrations are held on the slopes, drinks are found to cool off in the stream by the roadside, people ride their neighbor's donkey, overnight stays are by the roadside. Almost everything is tolerated, except for leaving trash, making fires, and parking in front of the road markings. That is highly regulated, as the Gendarmerie patrols the route again and again and ensures order.

About three kilometers before the summit, we find a spot for the Kangoo. The big car fits behind the important demarcation line, and we can set up the seating area with a sunroof, even though the folding chair is very tilted and I have to be careful not to tip over the edge with every movement. This is where we stay.

The stretch of road up to the summit is delightfully steep, and the riders can't zoom past us. We have a view of the next corner, and the view of the peaks is fantastic.

No, we're not going any further for the last few kilometers. More and more vehicles creep up the pass in search of a good spot. In the end, someone snatches the little spot away from us! An extremely narrow and additionally very tilted roadside reduces the number of options, especially if you want to stay overnight there.

So we settle in, prepare the catering area, make the lounge comfortable, and set up the sunshade. Now it's time to wait.

For the stars of the cycling world. For tomorrow.

Naturally, the thick clouds of the French Pyrenees gather again this evening and give us a proper downpour. Luckily, the rumbling thunderstorm with gusty winds and heavy rain showers just barely misses us.

Just like the Tour followers who pass by us, they have stolen the official yellow directional arrows and distributed them all over the motorhome. Flags in the windows, yellow caps, and big plush toys on the windshield, red-dotted t-shirts on their bodies. These fans will follow the Tour for up to three weeks, and you can't fool them anymore.

Clouds and fog cover the mountains in the morning. Unfortunately, no wonderful view today, as the peaks are shrouded in gray mist.

But this doesn't dampen the mood. We already have company on the narrow green strip before sunrise. Several vehicles squeeze as best they can to the side, breakfast is being eaten or a quick nap is taken. Flags, pennants, and flags are arranged, and it doesn't matter today that the hiking path is closed. Spanish fans drive up the mountain, honking and cheering, joined by Dutch, Belgians, French, Britons, Germans, oh well, half of Europe.

From 10:00 am, the road is closed to vehicles. Now people start walking, and we hear Eastern European sounds and a group of an Australian national team, whatever their qualification, sets off. Hobby cyclists pedal in masses towards the Col for the first mountain classification of the day.

Zappa starts his decorating work. In the absence of other fan items, he inflates the previously unused bright orange rubber boat. The whole traveling gang is placed in it with great effect. Straw hats and first giveaways are added and already being distributed. Bananas have already arrived, as have the famous red-dotted t-shirts and flags, most of which we distribute to passing mountain specialists.

The rest goes into the boat. And now the boat is the main attraction on the mountain!

All kinds of photos are taken, and cyclists interrupt their climb just for that. Speculations are made about whether we want to go down the mountain with it, and a passing loudspeaker car exclaims in surprise, 'Oh, a boat?!' It's truly amazing how much of a sensation an inflatable boat can be on a Pyrenees summit.

And then the famous and notorious advertising caravan comes rushing by. Imagine it like a carnival parade. Big, colorful floats with huge figures and loud music zoom past you at lightning speed and shower you with all sorts of things. More or less useful. The boat is bombarded from all sides, also catching everyone's eye here. Zappa's self-carved flagpole, which was still fixed this morning, takes a full broadside from Captain Jack Sparrow's beer cannon and breaks in the drumfire of cans.

The gang is almost knocked off their feet and proudly presents what could be hijacked: Haribos, green caps, blue hats, yellow beanies, Haribos, breakfast cereals, cheese crackers, Haribos, pencils, keychains, mini salamis, two colorful thirst quenchers, shopping bags, a dish towel, a pen, and Haribos.

We are busy collecting and giving away all kinds of things for some time. And with the port repair on the boat's port side. As a reward, we treat ourselves to the first truly cold drink in weeks and taste the contents of the destructive beer cans. Guaranteed zero percent alcohol, lemon and rasp-berry flavor! Indescribable, we can't find the words! Lemon tastes like lemon and remotely resembles non-alcoholic shandy with a hint of imagination. Raspberry, on the other hand... makes all taste buds in your mouth explode! The beer adulterators have done a thorough job and missed the mark so much that all facial features are distorted.

We thought of all kinds of things to pass the time until the arrival of the professional cyclists. But you never get to anything. There's always something going on.

And then the helicopters start circling in the sky, announcing the arrival of the cyclists. Motorcycles with camera crews and photographers approach, followed by the last support vehicles, racing past you and clearing the way for the star performers of the day.

Now is the moment we've been waiting for here for almost 24 hours. The tension is unbearable, the spectators stare at the track. There is an eerie silence for a moment.

Now I can see them! Two escapees approach, and not far behind them, their toughest pursuers!

Clapping, watching, taking photos?

Here comes the next group with the mountain jersey, which a German rider is wearing and is easily recognizable by his bushy beard. Now is definitely the time for a photo!

And there they are: the main group with the Maillot jaune and all the stars that I actually don't know. But it doesn't matter!

I shake our pot and already, one of the coveted water bottles flies around my legs! Cool, those are the hottest fan items! I keep shaking it, and boom, I have the second bottle. But one day it will have dissolved into thin air, it's compostable. Maybe I can turn it into money by then as a self-destructing bad example of capitalist consumer society?

And then, in a flash, the show is over.

The very last straggler is no longer noticed by the appreciative audience and is pushed up the mountain lonely by a last-minute travel sponsor's vehicle.

And then, just like that, the road is empty. All companions from the morning disappear in no time, picnic tables, flagpoles, camping chairs, and mountains of giveaways - everything simply gone within minutes.

We still have things to do, the gang needs to get to their traveling spot, as do the straw hats, the boat needs to be deflated, the catering area, the lounge, the sunroof, everything needs to go back to its place. Then we let the hobby cyclists rushing down the mountain pass, and now we can also go on our way.

Unfortunately, the pass to Spain is still closed until the evening. That's why Zappa jumpstarts the empty battery of a French couple's VW, we take a bath in the Neste, and find a cozy sleeping spot away from the hustle and bustle.

What an exciting day! Our tour continues tomorrow.