Yep, this week t' Melodeon Master and I have packed up t' car and headed oop north to join in with t' excitement, hoopla and general celebration that is Le Tour De France. In Yorkshire. We have booked ourselves a 'glamping' package at t' Festival of Cycling at Harewood House - t' official (ceremonial) start of Le Tour in Yorkshire.
I'd love to say that t' drive up was a pleasure but as it took us nearly 8 hours, it took way longer than we thought, involved a lot more jelly babies than we thought, and resulted in us arriving a lot later than we thought. However, our tent was gorgeous!
And t' view out of t' opening was pretty fab too...
Don't be fooled by t' blue sky though - Saturday morning dawned WET. It absolutely poured in t' night, and by t' morning t' loos were blocked and t' showers weren't working - t' generator had packed up. We stayed dirty as we figured nobody would notice...
We were a fair distance from t' ceremonial start, on t' OTHER side of t' Big House...
... so we set off in good time and went for a look at t' front and t' posh seats.
Yes, that is a Henry Moore. 'Reclining Figure'. No, I don't get it either. We hung around a bit looking at t' posh seats (very nice, all set up for a big lunch, flowers on t' table and all that stuff) then we were shoo'd out of t' way by t' very friendly security guards who had been told by t' head security guard that t' punters needed to leave as t' area needed to be 'sterile'. Good luck with that one...
Other people had arrived even earlier than us and by t' time we reached the route, t' crowds were 5 deep at t' railings. We stood in line, like good Brits. The family we found ourselves near had left home at 5 in t' morning from just 5 miles away to get a good view of Le Tour.
We could still see t' ceremonial start line:
And soon t' caravan arrived - that's not a caravan as in 'four wheels, you can sleep inside, generally has a loo' but t' 'caravan' of Le Tour - all t' publicity vehicles, safety cars, outriders, publicity, police motorcycles high-fiving t' crowd, sponsors - and freebies were thrown. Not many hats and T shirts, but sweets, wrist bands, inflatable pillows (yep - by t' hotel sponsors) and a few spotty caps, one of which got stuck in t' tree, only to be rescued by an inventive chap with an umbrella...
We had a fleet of Range Rovers come past - we waved, we whooped, we cheered! No idea who was in them. And later - another fleet of Range Rovers - we waved, we whooped, we cheered! Wills and Kate and Harry, at speed, only vaguely seen...
The family who had got up at 5 were hugely excited - largely because t' dad kept yelling HERE THEY COME!! to whoops from t' adjoining crowd, only to admit he was trying to keep his smallest lad awake as he was in danger of nodding off 5 minutes before t' bicycles reached us.
Eventually his shout of HERE THEY COME!! was true and Le Tour arrived - I could see about 4 feet of tarmac, and t' Melodeon Master was having his head routinely whacked by a five year old with a plastic flag - and then they were gone.
We waved at t' departing backsides (who stopped just 200 yards away for t' ceremonial start) and moved back up t' field to watch the start on a giant screen. But not before t' Red Arrows had done a fly-past. Twice.
Awesome.
And then we sat. For t' whole glorious afternoon, glued to t' big screen watching t' brilliant crowds, t' incredible cyclists and t' excellent ITV4 coverage. Until Cav's crash - if t' day's fairytale had gone to plan Cav (Mark Cavendish aka t' Manx Missile) should have won t' stage in his mum's home town of Harrogate - when there was a collective gasp from t' crowd watching t' big screen. A collective gasp and collective sadness. Polite applause for Kittel, who won, but utter devastation that Cav was down - and probably out. Gutted. T' whole crowd. Gutted.
Fab weekend. Fab photos. You're right - no photos of t' cyclists.
They were going too damned fast.
No comments:
Post a Comment