4500, Le Quatorze

 In France, this day isn’t called “Bastille Day.” Instead, it’s known as “Fête Nationale” or “Le Quatorze” (The 14th).

Bonne Fête Nationale! Joyeux Quatorze!

At least (from my point of view) the French can celebrate something that I hope we in America can later this year: They kept a far-right government from taking power in their country.

And what can I celebrate besides my Francophilia? Well, this is Post Number 4500 of Midlife Cycling.

From The Fourth to Le Quatorze

 Whenever I wasn't in the US for "The Fourth"--American Independence Day--I was in France, for "The Fourth" and "Le Quatorze":  the Fourteenth, a.k.a. Bastille Day.  

Today's the day in France, and for Francophiles all over the world.

I count myself as one. But even if you're not, try to remember that American independence is intertwined with the toppling of the ancien regime in France.  In both countries, revolutions were spawned by homegrown philosophers who questioned ideas of hereditary monarchy and nobility (even as, ahem, they owned slaves).

It's kind of ironic, really, that so many people in both countries celebrate their national holidays with picnics or barbecues in normally-tranquil parks and backyards--as fireworks explode, sometimes in the distance, sometimes not so far away.

And some of us, it's about the bike:

From Falling Off Bicycles

L'Alpe, Le Col—And A Secret

Today is Bastille Day.

So, why have I posted a photo of a tide rolling in?

No, I am not making a hackneyed metaphor for the mobs that stormed the prison that became a symbol of monarchial tyranny and class stratification.  Nor am I making an equally tired cliche about the cycles of history.

I took that photo on Bastille Day, almost.  Actually, it's from a couple of days after, just ahead of a Tour de France stage--in the French Alps.

That scene is of something to which I've alluded in other posts.  I took the photo as I pedaled above clouds. To this day, I can't say whether I felt more elation over rising above the clouds or reaching the top of the mountain, which I did a bit later.

Now I am going to reveal one of my dim, dark secrets:

Yes, that's what I looked like on 17 July 2001, a bit more than a year before I started my gender affirmation process. (I am squinting because, at high altitudes, the sun is more intense.) Not only was my world different; so was the world.  For one thing, I asked some random stranger to take that photo:  In the days before i-phones, it was more difficult to take "selfies" without special equipment.  Also, 2001 was the last year of the franc and lira:  On my next trip to France, three years later,  I'd be paying in euros.  And less than two months after I rode to the top of l'Alpe d'Huez, ahead of the Tour peloton, the terrible events of 11 September would change so much else.

A couple of days after that climb, I would ascend to another iconic Tour climb:  the col du Galibier.  I described that climb, and how it--or, more precisely, descending from it and crossing the valley--led me to, among other things, becoming the midlife cyclist who authors this blog. (See this and this.)

So, on this Bastille Day--as the Tour de France climbs and descends through its second day in the Alps--I am writing in part to celebrate the country which I feel almost as much kinship as my own and ascending some of its most difficult climbs.  But I now realize that I am paying homage to the person--known as Nicholas, Nick or Nicky-- who brought me to the part of the journey I've recounted in this blog.  I hope I am honoring him in the way he deserves.

Oh, and today is the anniversary of the day I gave up his name and assumed mine, two years after I ascended those mountains.  I remember feeling, on that day--Bastille Day--that I felt more free, that I had climbed another mountain.

Whether they finish first, last or somewhere in between, the riders in today's Tour stage will always have that.  Just ask Phillipa York, nee Robert Millar.

Note:  I apologize for the poor quality of the images.  I'm still learning how to use my iPhone to take pictures of old pictures!

  

Vive La Velo--And Cherries Clafoutis

Yesterday I celebrated Bastille Day in a pretty French way.

After attending to a couple of errands related to my recovery, I went for a ride.  It wasn't long or difficult, but these days simply getting on Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special (or any of my other bike) is reassuring.

People ride all over the world. But when I ride on la grande fete, I can't help but to think about Parisian streets or Pyreneean paths, where I have ridden on the 14th in years past.

After eating a healthy supper, I did something entirely French--and indulgent.  Over the last couple of days, I bought about three kilos of cherries.  When I see those ruby (or yellow) fruits, fresh, in a greenmarket or streetside stall, I simply can't resist!  I know that sometimes cherries from the Southern Hemisphere are available in the winter.  They're perfectly fine, but there's nothing like in-season local (or at least domestic) fruit.

So what did I do with my "harvest?"  I turned some into a dessert I've enjoyed in France but I almost never find here in the 'States: Clafoutis aux Cerises (Cherry Clafoutis). 

It's a vanilla custard, a bit denser than creme caramel or flan, with cherries.  (I added some chopped almonds.) Unlike so many French foods, it's not much to look at.  Someone once told me, only half-jokingly, that it's the reason why Americans like to coat it with confectioner's sugar.  I don't, partly because I'm generally not a fan of powdered sugar, but also because I don't want to mask this dessert's unique combination of flavors and textures.

Since I don't have a proper baking dish (I broke the one I had over the holidays), I made two smaller tarts.

Whether or not it's a jour de fete--or you're a Francophile--you should enjoy this treat at least once a year.  It's really not so difficult to make.  And, let's face it, after a good ride, you deserve it!

Storming And Social Distancing

How can you enjoy Bastille Day with "social distancing" in force?

There's always a way to celebrate a holiday.  (To me, cycling is a celebration!)  I have to wonder, though, whether there would be a Bastille Day had there been a social distancing regulation in 1789.

Then again, would people who storm a prison obey such a rule?

On Bastille Day, C'est Une Vie De Chien

I've cycled around la ronde of the Place de la Bastille more than a few times.  The first time, I did it because, well, it's the Place de la Bastille: As I circled around la Colonne de Juillet (July Column), several years before the Bastille Opera house was constructed, I tried to imagine a mob storming a prison and leveling it--and the Marquis de Sade escaping, even if that part of the story isn't true.

So it's not hard for me to associate bicycles with Bastille Day.  But a chihuahua?  

Hmm...Chihuahuas bark in Spanish, right?  So it couldn't be too hard to get this fellow to bark, "Joyeuse Bastille, mes amis!" 

Thank Billie Valentine for that adorable image.  Bikes and chihuahuas: at least they aren't tanks.

Why Their Mood Is Festive

Today is, of course, la fete nationale francaise:  Bastille Day.

Well, the French have two things to cheer on this day.


One is that one of their own, Warren Barguil, won today's stage of the Tour de France.  In addition, he now wears the polka-dot jersey, awarded to the leading climber in the race.

And what's the other?  Well, it depends on your point of view, but I'm sure most of Barguil's compatriots would agree:  Donald Trump has gone home.

These days, being shocked when The Orange One commits a faux pas is a bit like just having discovered the Rolling Stones.  So nobody was surprised at his awkward handshake with Brigitte Macron, the French President's wife.  But one can be forgiven for expressing consternation after he remarked on her "good physical shape," if only because he made the comment while standing next to his wife.

Well, maybe.  After all, we are talking about a man who said, "If Ivanka weren't my daughter, I'd be dating her."

Anyway, the French actually have some more reasons for optimism.  Another Gallic rider, Romain Bardet, won yesterday's stage and moved up to third place overall.  He finished second in last year's Tour, so hope--and expectations--for him are great.

Will the festive mood continue all the way to the race's end?  Who knows?  But, with Bardet's and Barguil's stage victories, and the guy with bigger eyebrows than hands gone from their country, life is pretty good in l'hexagone.

Farce And Tragedy On Bastille Day

Yesterday, I complained about the lack of drama in this year's Tour de France.

Well, I guess I should have known better than to write such a post on the day before Bastille Day.  It's the French national holiday and, let me tell you, it's not boring. At least, the Bastille Days I've spent in France weren't.

Today, though, provided the sort of drama that I think almost nobody wanted.  For one thing, defending TdF champion Chris Froome--along with Richie Porte and and Bauke Mollema--crashed into a motorbike on Mont Ventoux, just a kilometer from the Stage 12 finish.

Chris Froome runs up Mont Ventoux

His own bike was wrecked, and his team's support car was five minutes behind.  So he ran until he could grab a neutral service bike; about 200 meters later, he switched to a bike from the Team Sky car, on which he finished the stage.

I have great respect for Froome's determination and conditioning.  But let's just say that when he's riding, he's no Stephen Roche.  Few elite cyclists ever looked more fluid and graceful while pedaling than the Irishman who won the Tour, Giro d'Italia and World road championship in 1987.  On the other hand, Froome's limbs seem to move at every angle except the one in which he's pedaling.  While running, he looked even more ungainly, if that were possible.

But the crash and Froome's run seemed rational and orderly compared to some of the roadside spectators.  Now, I have to make a confession:  On Chamrousse in 2001, I leaned within a tire's breadth of Lance Armstrong to take a photo of him riding to victory in the time trial.  Still, I am going to chide all of those spectators who simply had to get their .15 seconds of fame; one or more of them may have caused that motorbike to lose control.

Now, I've been in France enough to know that French people like spectacle as much as anyone, and they are not averse  to farce.  But I suspect today's events at the Tour de France might have been a bit much even for them--especially since it's their national holiday and they were hoping for a victory from one of their countrymen on a stage that ended with one of the Tour's most iconic climbs.

Then again, the French I know have perspective. (Wars, occupations and such will give you that!)  Anything that happened, or could have happened on today's Tour stage pales in significance with the tragic event in Nice.  Whoever drove that truck into the crowd, and whatever his or her motives, it was an act of terror:  It seemed to come out of nowhere and struck a place and people who were celebrating a holiday in one of the loveliest seaside cities I've ever seen.

La Fete, Le Tour

Today is la Fete Nationale.

In France, there are lots of fetes.  But today is "La Fete".  Yes, La Fete.  In much the same way that people in other countries say "The Holidays" for the season of Christmas and New Year's Day, in France the holiday is today, Bastille Day.

Everything in the country is closed.  And, it seems, everyone watches the sporting event most associated with France:  Le Tour.

In much the same way that Bastille Day is La Fete, the Tour de France is Le Tour, or the race.





And, every year on this date, every French (and Francophile) fan hopes to see a Gallic cyclist win the day's stage. This has been especially true in recent years, as even stage victories have become less frequent for riders from the land of the Tricolore.

Helas, there would be no French victory today.  Chris Froome, favored to win the Tour, took Stage 10, the first in the mountains.  Froome certainly has the talent and skills to win; perhaps more important, he has teammates like Richie Porte.

And one of France's best hopes--Warren Barguil--crashed.

Alberto Contador and Vicenzo Nabali lost ground to Froome and Porte.  Still, their finishes were more than respectable, as the Pyrenees, while not as high as the Alps, include some very steep climbs. I know:  I've ridden there! I wouldn't mind being there again for La Fete.

 

Cycling Le Quatorze

Today is Bastille Day, the most quintessentially French holiday. 


When I first started to do long rides, I thought of cycling as the most quintessentially French activity--or, at least, of France as the quintessential cycling nation.


Even though no French rider has won le quatorze stage of the Tour de France--and a win for a team in tricolore seems unlikely this year--it's still hard not to think of cycling and, of course, the Tour itself, on this date.


I notice that a number of clubs and less-formal groups are holding rides today.  I wonder if any of them will storm a replica of the Bastille and free the Marquis de Sade.


Anyway, I'm wondering:  What is your idea of a Bastille Day ride?  Is it something like this?:










Or this?:








Or something else altogether?:

Climbing On Bastille Day

This photo comes from Cycling Art Blog, which I discovered when looking for news about the Tour de France.


As far as most French fans are concerned, the next-best thing to a Frenchman winning the Tour (which hasn't happened since Bernard Hinault took his fifth and final Tour victory in 1985) is a French rider winning on Bastille Day.

That didn't happen today.  Samuel Sanchez of Spain won this day's stage, which included a steep climb to the Luz-Ardiden ski station in the Pyrenees.  However, a French cyclist, Thomas Voeckler, kept the yellow jersey, which is worn by the race leader.  As he's not known as a climber, almost nobody expected him to do that.  Even he didn't even expect to finish the day in first place overall.


I didn't ride up Luz-Ardiden.  However, I did ride up Tourmalet and Aubisque, both of which have been part of the Tour's legend.  Having done those, among other Pyreneean climbs, as well as a number of Alpine climbs in France, Switzerland and Italy, I think each mountain range is difficult in its own way. 


The Alps are higher; I pedalled up several mountains that were over 2000 meters high.  The sheer lack of oxygen at the highest levels makes those climbs difficult even for well-conditioned cyclists; dehydration is also a hazard.

One can encounter those same conditions in the Pyrenees.  However, even though they aren't as high as the Alps, some of the climbs are every bit as challenging because, I think, they're even steeper than some of the Alpine climbs.  One reason for that is that the roads in the Alps are more modern:  Because the Alps are smack in the middle of Europe, they are more heavily traveled than the Pyrenees.  That is probably the reason why there, one finds more modern roads, which tend to have climbs that are more gradual and evenly graded, even if they longer, than the older roads of the Pyrenees.  


Some Tour riders concur with my observations.  See that:  The great minds think alike! ;-)  And we all love the grand tradition of a ride on Bastille Day.