Tour de France 2009: 20 Years at the Tour

20 Years at the Tour

A volunteer traffic guard greeted me as I rolled over the rise toward Saclay. The hint of deja vu was not yet clear. But as I cruised down the gentle slope to the village, I spotted a peloton of cyclists in the distance, and then realized that I was in the midst of a Sunday afternoon amateur bike race. In town, the race announcer stood on the back of a flatbed truck. He spoke in an animated fashion to a small gathering of fans, most likely family and friends of the cyclists. He attempted to create a sense of suspense in the lull that followed the pack. Ten laps remained.

Twenty years ago I was one of these cyclists. Although I did not know it at the time, 20 years ago I would get my start as a Tour de France photographer and journalist. This year, I will become the second American journalist after my friend and long-time traveling companion Samuel Abt to receive the Tour's 20-year medal of honor.

In the first years I worked as a tour guide for VeloSport Vacations while stringing for regional publications like Spokes magazine. It was only when my wife Rebekah and I moved to France permanently in 1992 that I started working consistently for national publications like VeloNews, Bicycle Guide and finally, in the last 10 years, as the European Correspondent to Bicycling magazine.

I still remember how Press Chief Philippe Sudres greeted me when I showed up on the Alpe d'Huez in 1991 to fetch my press credentials. With the sweat drying from my own climb to the summit, Sudres remained professional, helping me with my unsophisticated stab at the French language. He certainly understood there would be little copy rendered for this credential, but he wasn't bothered. I don't think he expected to see me show up in the years that followed.

Today Sudres is still the head of media operations, and he is perhaps the last member of the Tour I first knew. In many ways, he remains the Tour's link to the more grassroots aspect of the sport, always willing to make room for one more writer or photographer with journalistic ambitions.

To say that the Tour de France continues to grow goes without saying. Each year the hype amplifies, the exploits multiply. Roadside barriers increase by the kilometer and access to the stage winners or the yellow jersey just gets harder. And like the Olympic Games, the Tour seems to thrive on the scandals that line its underbelly.

But after two decades on the road with the Tour it is not the "gigantisme" of the race that keeps me coming back. Quite the contrary, it's the little stories that I never tire of.

The Tour is France's "Road Movie." Like many European countries, France lacks the vast open spaces of America's heartland. But for three weeks every July the roads open up to us. The cast of characters changes regularly, but year in and year out, the country welcomes the Tour in a blur of pageantry.

When I first started covering the Tour, I dreaded the first week, known for its unrelenting flat stages. And I waited in anticipation for the spectacle to begin once the race hit the mountains.

Now I love the first week the most. The race takes a back seat to the pastoral postcard that awaits around each corner or at the end of each horizon. It is during this period I have the most time to stop and chat with local Tour fans or Americans making their way to the race. During this week that I can focus on colorful riders, regardless of their chances in the race. Then again, it seems like every rider has a chance at first.

Though it seems the Tour has grown since I started covering it, Tour director Christian Prudhomme sees it differently. "Ironically while the Tour continues to grow internationally, it struggles nationally," he told the French sports daily L'Equipe recently. The reasons it struggles in its own cradle are at least twofold. The French never seemed to mind losing the Tour to foreigners like Greg LeMond or Stephen Roche back in the 1980's. But that's when their own, riders like Bernard Hinault, Laurent Fignon or Charly Mottet had at least a fighting chance.

Today, the French like their homegrown riders just fine, but it is difficult for them to form enduring affections on a host of riders that make virtually no impact on the race itself. Take the 2008 race for example: Sandy Casar, the best-placed Frenchman in the race, finished in 13th place.

The other clear reason for their waning enthusiasm can be found quite simply and understandably in the onslaught of doping scandals that have rocked the Tour since the Festina Affair in 1998. To many, these scandals are nothing more and nothing less than a slap in the face to their national heritage. The Tour, after all, is recognized as a national landmark.

Yet despite such insult and despite the pathetic drought of French talent, I have witnessed no real lack of fanfare along the roadside of the Tour. French flags continue to wave in abundance with those from other countries. Still today, no one it seems, wants to pass up a chance to see the Tour, if for no other reason, than to be able to say one day, "Oh I remember when I saw the Tour de France."

Local fans may stumble over the pronunciation of the names of the champions of today, and they may look blankly at the stream of unexceptional French talent. The Tour de France, however, has always possessed a unique mix of sport and pleasure. And while the performances at time solicit skepticism, the event itself magnificently avoids cynicism.

After all, what better way spend a day than by watching the Tour de France?

And in my own particular case, what better way to spend a career?

Now where is my medal?

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