Andy Shleck leading a small group to the top (pic: Chris Williams)

I thought I knew what to expect from going to watch a stage of the Tour de France. I sat on the Champs Élysées in 1999 to watch Armstrong claim his first crown, and at many times over the past 15 years I’ve parked my car in a ditch somewhere in rural France and settled down on the roadside for a few hours awaiting those 30 seconds of magic. So I considered myself a Tour watching veteran. How wrong I was; nothing could have prepared me for the three day mountainside carnival on the Ventoux this July!

My friend Matt and I thought that arriving a whole day before the peloton was due to arrive was more than enough to ensure a prime viewing spot; wrong again. The tree lined lower slopes were already a corridor of motor homes and flags. We decided to press on, squeezing past the almost continuous line of cyclists, hoping that we would be able to get past Chalet Reynard and onto the more open and barren upper slopes.

I’d heard that the Dutch are an enthusiastic bunch when it comes to cycling, but as we rounded the bend at 8k to the summit, we were greeted by a sea of orange, some pretty interesting Amstel fuelled dancing and a sound system that I’m sure could be heard from the summit. It was going to be quite a party that night.

We made it past Chalet Reynard and at about 6k to go, pulled onto as flat an area of rocks as we could find and set up camp. Two minutes later we were joined by more Dutch, with a generator, a fridge, and a slightly bigger sound system. These guys are the pro tour watchers. So as you can imagine, sleep was looking unlikely with our slightly excited neighbours and my tent pitched at about 45 degrees. But hey, it’s a mountain stage – that’s what it’s all about right?

Bradley Wiggins on the slopes of Ventoux (pic: Chris Williams)

The other thing it’s all about is the climb of course. Yes, we were there to watch, but we had to have another crack at riding Ventoux ourselves as well. We’d ridden it before back in 2007, in slightly quieter circumstances, so it’d be rude not to go for it again with the full tour atmosphere and support of 200,000 bystanders along the way. We flew down the mountain to Bedoin, dodging cars, campervans and fans busy redecorating the road surface, and then turned straight around to ride back up again.

The first half of the climb through the trees was every bit as hard as I remember, no matter how many people clap and cheer at you and how much water is squirted down your back, that road kicks and then kicks again. Despite the pain, just for one brilliant moment there, I had some idea of what it’s like going up that hill in the tour as a pro – shortly before a glance at my speedo brought me back down to earth.

After the long drive the night before and that ascent in the scorching heat, no amount of Dutch hospitality was going to keep me from my bed I’m afraid. A meal, a few beers and my rocky abode was calling.

Next morning as I awoke to the drone of the generator, the population of the mountainside seemed to have grown to roughly half a million and the road was a mass of walkers and cyclists snaking their way to the summit. Matt and I decided to join them and headed off up the final 6k on foot. You’d think that hiking that distance in 30 degree heat so early in the morning would be tough, but the atmosphere was electric, like being part of a massive carnival. We claimed our spot at about 2k to the summit, just where the barriers started. This soon became a little British enclave as three UK cyclists turned up with a massive Union Jack and ‘Go Wiggins’ was daubed all over the road. One hour to go – excitement reaching fever pitch!

Mark Cavendish trails up some time afterwards… (pic: Chris Williams)

When the big fluffy lion and the rest of the publicity caravan rolled through, throwing out the usual random junk, the crowd surged forward and it occurred to me that it doesn’t matter whether you get to a mountain stage 8 days early, or 8 minutes. If you want a good view, you’ve got to forget British politeness and go for it. Looking further up the climb, there didn’t seem to be many people against the barriers. Given that we weren’t going to join the mad masses running alongside the riders in fancy dress, we decided to walk up a bit further behind the barriers and found a spot completely on our own with a clear front row view of the final kilometre.

At first you spot the helicopter. Then a seemingly endless line of hospitality cars zoom by and finally the lead motorbikes. Le Tour est arrivée! At the point that they passed us, Tony Martin was still leading Juan Manuel Garate, with Pellizotti about a minute back. The moment I will never forget was when the yellow jersey group came past and pulled across the road to within inches of us – brothers Schleck on the front, followed by Contador and Armstrong, then amazingly, Wiggins just hanging in there five seconds or so back. The great thing about a mountain stage is that despite the ludicrous speed that the pros propel themselves up the climb, the peloton is so spread out that the riders are coming past for a good 40 minutes. By the time that Cav and the gruppetto rolled by, we had already heard the fanfare music of the podium presentation at the summit.

With the main event over and several thousand people walking down the mountain towards us, Matt and I, hungry for more, headed up to the top to sneak a look at the finish line and the team buses. The podium was in fact already half dismantled, so our attention was caught by a small crowd gathered by a non-descript modular building. Once we spotted the Saxobank livery Spesh leaned against the wall outside, it was clear that somebody important was inside. This was the dope test van and the name on the bike – Andy Schleck.

Andy Shleck gets interviewed at the summit (pic: Chris Williams)

Like the true (and slightly sad) groupies that we are, we hung around, cameras and big lenses ready, and RCUK jersey and pen in hand in anticipation of an autograph. We weren’t disappointed. When he stepped out of the van, a TV crew cornered Andy for a quick interview. As he got into his team car he obligingly signed my jersey and didn’t seem to mind my lens being thrust in his face!

“Are you disappointed not to win the stage today?” asked the interviewer. “I’m on the podium tomorrow between Contador and Armstrong – that seems a pretty good place to me.”

I have to agree with you Andy – a pretty good place indeed, as was our place on Mont Ventoux that day. One to tell the grandkids as they say. I was there, loving every second of it!

Chris Williams