Tour of Britain: Stage 6, Wells

Yessss! Yay! Coug has finally been to a cycle race, in real life. And I didn't even need my passport.

Strictly speaking, reports of race attendance should be on Bananas About Bikes, but those reports always tell about meeting the riders, and this report is more about the mechanics of getting there... plus I don't have any good photos of "our" boys.

Right, here we go, My Tour Of Britain Stage 6, by Cougar Girl.

Stage 6 was from Taunton to Wells, and LLB and I decided to pick a position on the loop just outside the finish at Wells. This would give us two chances to see the race, and the option to move positions if we wanted to.

Days earlier, we checked the map of the route, and picked a sharp right-angled bend, on the grounds that they would be going more slowly on the bends.  (How wrong we were....!) It's obvious that the best place to observe riders is on a steep hill, but we're a bit lacking in them in the UK, and in this case the steep hill would be Cheddar Gorge, a very popular tourist attraction which is crowded and impossible to park in, at the best of times. So, we thought a good tight bend would be the second best place.

The one we picked had a pub on the corner, with a large car park. Cunning, huh? A good place to park.

Our second choice - in case the pub car park was full - was half a mile up the road: a quiet side-road with a good grass verge to park on, and at the top of a gentle rise which might possibly slow them down a bit, we thought.

The race manual gave the estimated times that they would pass our position, so we aimed to get there about half an hour early. For the Tour, we know that you'd need to get there a couple of hours early, but as the ToB is what Cav would call "a shitsmall race" we didn't think we'd need too much extra time.

I had contacted the local radio station to ask if they were covering the race live, and on what frequency, but they didn't even bother to respond, and it turned out that no, they weren't covering it. "They probably don't even know it's on!" said one bystander. Cycling is very much a minority sport in the UK.

So, mid-morning on Friday, nearly there, we approach along the side road that is our second choice of location, and to our surprise there are three people and a push-bike already there. "Wow!" we say "We are not going to be the only people here!" We decided to go on to our first choice, knowing that we could always come back if it was too crowded. Not that we seriously thought it would be, but you never know.

We drove on, and parked in the pub's car park: here's the pub, as it looked when we researched it on Google Maps. It was very much the same on the day, except that the sky was blue - yes, really, the sun was shining - and there were three or four people standing around at the road-side, along with a camper van parked up with a group of 5 or so people with folding chairs, cups of tea etc.

Aha! we thought, this must be the right place!  We were a good half an hour earlier than the earliest possible time for the race to arrive, and the traffic was whizzing past in both directions, so we reckoned that we'd timed it just right.

It was such a  nice day that we sat out in the car park, eating our packed lunch and trying to guess what would be the first sign of the race arriving.

Helicopters overhead? Police cars to hold up the traffic? The publicity caravan, handing out sweeties and those plastic flappy hands and tubular clappy things? After several minutes of happy speculation, we decided that whatever it was, it would probably be at least 10 minutes before the leaders arrived, so we'd have plenty of time.

And that's what happened. A few more people trickled into the car park, and a few more people appeared at the roadside,  and then we heard the first police sirens. So we put our chairs back in the car, shook off the crumbs, got out my Big Flag, and wandered up to the roadside.

First to appear were a small bunch of police motorbikes, all blue flashing lights and dramatic skidding to a halt at the bend. One of them stopped the oncoming traffic, and the others whizzed off up the route to stop it in the other direction.

We decided to stand right opposite the oncoming road, so that we would see them approaching.

Here's our chosen  position: the riders would approach from in front of us, and they would turn right, which is to our left.

More police bikes! I started counting them. They had a lovely co-ordinated pattern - one would whizz up the lane towards us, take over the position to block the traffic, and the one already there would move away. So they never had to overtake each other - they just bumper-car-ed each other along the route.

And they were really good-tempered as well - they were talking to the spectators, making their sirens go "Whoo-ooop!" to make the little kiddies jump, and waving goodbye as they drove off. None of them were in place for longer than about a minute, so we got quite good at waving to them.

There was a chap standing next to us wearing a Mercedes polo shirt: I felt a bit embarrassed about being so obviously a Team Leopard fan (what with having my Big Flag, and all) and didn't like to start a conversation with him in case he mentioned sponsorship and breaking contracts.... but on my other side was a nice chap in cycling gear, and we had a debate about who was going to be in the lead. He thought Rapha Condor Sharp. We thought Sky.

We had a bit of a discussion about accidents on corners, and he was highly amused to hear that LLB and I had already worked out at which point in a corner you were in danger of being hit by a sliding cyclist. Well, we thought it was only common sense: we've seen enough cornering accidents to know that they are always slightly round the apex of the corner, so if you are standing directly opposite the oncoming road, they are most unlikely to hit you.

More police bikes, I was now up to 18 and they still kept coming, tagging the previous one, taking up position, "Whoo-oop!" with the siren, look for the next one to arrive, drive off, waving to the kiddies.

For variety, some of the bikes were Medical Service. Several of them had bidons strapped to their light poles, which amused me - I even spotted one with a yellow Tour de France bidon. Let's hope that he'd washed it out thoroughly in the meantime.

Here's a very unexciting shot of the police bikes tag-team: one has just arrived, the one who was there is now zooming off to the left, and in the oncoming road you can see another police bike stopping a car who had somehow managed to get past the road-block further up the route (to the left) and was determined to drive up the lane, towards the oncoming cycle race.

"I'm sorry, sir, there's a cycle race approaching, you can't go up here."

"But we work up here - we have to get back to work"

"I'm sorry, sir, you can't go up here just yet, I'm going to have to ask you to turn around and clear the road."

"But, but, we work just up here, just five minutes up here on the left, we have to get back to work..."

"Turn the vehicle around, sir."

"But -"

*menacingly* "Turn. The. Vehicle. Around.  Sir."

They did as they were told.

More police bikes, now up to 25, possibly 28, I kept losing count. More medical bikes, and now -ooh! excitment! instead of the usual yellow high-vis bibs,we got a chap in an orange bib. A Marshall!! Yes, he parked his bike up on the verge and dug around in his panniers before producing the triangular yellow flag that we all know so well from watching "proper" races.

There was a definite feeling of "something is about to happen" and the crowd had grown to maybe 30 or so people, which is quite impressive for a small pub on a quiet road in the middle of nowhere.

Suddenly, a commotion behind us! Lots of shreiking and high-pitched squeeing. Oh, it's the primary school children from the nearest village, being brought out to wave. Little darlings. Each one wearing a small high-vis bib, and all in pairs, holding hands, and NOT running, but walking carefully. They'd been told that the race was nearly here, so they were all out of breath from running up the lane. However, nothing had happened yet, so they had time to be escorted a little way up the road to a big bank, where they all sat down in a great big, shrieking, giggling, yellow mass.

So, where's the caravan, then? Where are the sweeties?

Oh, what's this?

It's the Commentator Car! No-one said there would be a Commentator Car!

Yes, it stopped at the corner, and announced through the loudspeaker that there was a break of three riders, one of whom was Joost Posthuma, who had about 20 seconds on the second group, who in turn had 30 seconds on the main peloton.

Then it zoomed off, to a chorus of "Eeeeeeeeee!" from the kiddies (who were screaming with excitement by now) and just a minute or so later, more police bikes ("32," I mutter to myself)  and then  - could this be it? Cries of "They're coming!" from the assembled crowd.

Not strictly true - first was the red Commisaire's car, then the white Neutral Service car (why was he in front of the riders?) and then, at last - Cyclists!

Like everyone else there, I brought up my camera and tried to take photos, and there they were, gone.

Same thing happened with the second group, and my photo of the the main peloton was just a blur.

At this point I would say "and that was it, all over in about 2 seconds" but of course we had the cavalcade of vehicles, which went on - and on - and on.

Nearly had a heart attack when the Leopard car braked and pulled in just past me ("hello, you are the only person we have seen with a Leopard flag, would you like to ride in the car?" "Why, thank you, I'd love to - budge up Andy, make room for me in the back") but then it drove on, in fact it was just avoiding one of the other cars. Drat.

Eventually we got to the Ambulance, and the RAC van, and then it was over, and gradually the "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" from the kiddies faded away.

Everyone looked at each other with bemused "Phew!" expressions, and the crowd all wandered off.

We went back to my car, and sat in it, knowing that we had a goo half an hour before they'd be back for the final loop. We compared blurry photos, and decided it might be better to try videoing instead, so we sat in the car and worked out how to get our camera-phones to take video. I felt that I hadn't really seen the race, as I'd been looking at my camera all the time, so we practiced holding them without looking at them, if you see what I mean.

A little later, we decided it was about time, so we went out to the roadside again, and this time we stood a bit further past the corner - well past the potential cyclo-crash point - to get a different view.

I was making conversation with the other bystanders, as I do (poor LLB, I do embarass him in so many, many ways...) and discovered that one elderly couple weren't here to watch the race at all, they had been on their way out to the garden centre (by heck, some people know how to live) when they encountered the road block, so they really didn't know what was going on at all. But they were completely happy to stand there and wave! ("Well. it's free, isn't it?")

At this point, I made a friend - a girl with a flag came up to say hello! Well, we were the only people there with flags, I expect that she recognised a fellow loony, and felt it was safe to make conversation. Her flag was orange and said "Hup Holland!" so we are guessing that she's a Rabobank supporter. Hi, Derrie! Like us, she was gutted that HTC were folding for no good reason at all, and she made sympathetic noises about Leopard having to "merge" - ie be taken over by - Radioshack. I'm pretty sure she wasn't a Schlecklander, as she didn't do the dance, or sing the song, but I've made her an honorary Schlecklander for being mad enough to stand and wave a flag.

Ooh, ooh, sirens, here we go - and yes, the same performance. Police bikes, ("Eeeeeee!" from the kids), Commentator car ("the lead group of 8 riders have just 12 seconds on the chasing group" nearly swamped by "Eeeeeeeee!" from the kids),  red car, (flinch back at the speed they hurtle round the corner) neutral service car - why was he still in front of the riders? - Get ready to press "go" on the camera, check that it's pointing the right way, and then I could actually watch the race.

Well! Talk about take your breath away. When the first group came round the corner, I actually forgot to breathe, let alone to press "go" on the camera. My hair - which, as per the cartoon, is short and straight - flew up in the air from the speed at which they went past. I certainly forgot to shout!

12 seconds later, the chasing group appeared - this time, the camera worked, I managed to shout "Yay", and again, my hair was blown all up on end. The wind of their passing is astonishing!  And they come so close!

Even though in one sense they rush past in a blur, I was amazed that I could see faces, (and could recognise some of them, pleasingly!) and  my overwhelming impression was of strength:  not of skinny bodies, but of - oh dear, there's no way to say this without attracting the wrong sort of googlers - well, of, er  (for god's sake, Coug, just SAY IT!) ok, of bulging lycra. Arms, mostly, and shoulders, and legs - full of muscle, rather like when you watch a decent quality horse, the way you can see the muscles move under the skin, and the way the shine of the light changes as they move. Well, it was a bit like that. Honestly, ladies, I kid you not, shorts etc don't come into it, it's purely an admiration of the sheer strength and physicality of them, as they whizz past.

This time around, nearing the end of the stage, the faces were extremely grim, there were a lot of riders who were not having a good time, and instead of being in three compact bunches that passed in 0.00003 seconds, there were quite a few who were hanging off the back. This time there was a  lot of encouragement from our section of the road, helped by Derrie who was quite happy to yell like a mad thing with no embarrassment at all. So they all got cheered as they went past, especially the tail-end charlies. We even cheered the broom wagon.

And yes, it has a broom stuck upright on the back of it. It's surprisingly small - only the size of a normal Transit van - so presumably not many riders have to be swept up by it? Or they sit on each others' laps? Or they stack them sideways on bunks?

And then it was all over! "Are you going to London on Sunday?" I asked Derrie. "Probably, hopefully" she replied. "OK, see you there!" I laughed. Chances of meeting up in London: about 50,000:1, I would have thought.

Another spectator, an elderly gentleman, nodded towards my flag and asked what my team were going to be called next year. Good to know that it was clearly recognisable as a Leopard supporter's flag!

So, overall impressions? Yes, it's well worth going in person. True, you see it much better on the TV, and we had no idea of who won until we got home that evening, but all cycling fans should go to at least one race, to enjoy the atmosphere, the excitement, and the closeness of the riders.

But I would say, really, don't bother trying to take photos of the race - just watch it, and enjoy it.  Pictures of riders racing past are never going to be particularly good, unless you are a professional photographer and have all the kit. And in the short time that it takes to take one photo, they are past!

Well, that's my first ever Road Race stage, now we head for London and the ITT, followed by the loops of London. Which I guess would count as a Crit?

Oh, and I do have my wonderful (er-hem) videos, I just can't figure out yet how to upload them....