I actually wore a green sweater; it cooled down. After securing our spots by the barricades near turn #2 (from the top), we made friends with our German, Dutch, and American neighbors, listened to the band play, until finally the sponsors’ motorcade arrived to wake us up after spending the afternoon in the sun by getting us excited about catching a free packet of gummy bicycles from a moving vehicle.

Meanwhile, we had no information about who was leading the stage as it reached the final climb. There was a long moment of silence as anticipation built around 4:30, and the helicopters moved closer, up the mountain. More strange silence from the crowd that had been noisy all day. Finally, way down the mountainside, we saw some slow movements with motorcycles going at about the pace of bicycles. We’d have to wait another few minutes for them to enter the series of switchbacks closer to us, and finally, in the mess of vehicles, two riders emerged. They seemed to be going at a good pace, and as they rounded the turns and neared us, I understood from other fans that it was Frank Schleck of CSC and Damiano Cunego from Lampre. And after a couple glimpses, riding right in front of us, they were gone.

Our position was on the inside of a slight curve which meant the riders passed so close to us we could touch them, and I had to put my arms down so I wouldn’t hit them.

Then came another group, and I yelled to Landis, and then Hincapie a bit later. I recognized other riders, and consulted my newspaper for the numbers of others.

Beyond the first few groups, the domestiques and sprinters looked like they dropped their game faces long ago, such as Robbie McEwan who was clearly struggling. Others seemed to be enjoying the crowds. Susana cheered for José Azevedo of Discovery, the only Portuguese rider in the Tour, and we later saw a plaque on one of the lower turns that the Sporting Club of Portugal had erected earlier in the day for Joaquim Agostinho, a Portuguese Tour rider of a previous generation.

You only see the riders for such a brief moment before they pass you by, that if you don’t recognize a rider immediately, they’ll pass by before you know who it was. This makes watching the actual race pretty sparse with so much build-up.

After the autobus made its way through, perhaps a half hour after the leaders, along with the team cars with a few abandoned and sleeping riders inside, the race was over.

We slowly made our way to the finish line through the crowds where the jersey ceremony was long over, but did see a few team trucks with their mechanics cleaning up bikes and a peek inside the trucks where dozens of nice bikes and hundreds of wheels, rows of cogsets and all kinds of tools were stored. The mechanics for Illes Baléars were changing the handlebar tape on several bikes which made me wonder if they get new tape every day or just on particularly sweaty days.

We still didn’t know who won the stage. For as much organization that goes into the race, there isn’t much for the benefit of the spectators, who of course line up for free (no porta-potties for hundreds of thousands of fans?) And so I waited until John sent me the report by email from Seattle to our phone (where I’m writing this) that I found out that Frank Schleck wound up attacking Cunego on the turn beyond us to win the stage and Floyd Landis beat Oscar Pereiro by enough time to win back the yellow jersey.

So would we do it again? If I was passing through France at the right time, yes. But if I was going to make a special trip to France to watch the Tour, I’d make sure I had a camper with a satellite link (like most do) to watch the action up to the point that you see the riders and follow the rest of the stage, be able to drive to several stages, and I would of course bring my bike again to do more famous routes.

Now we may get a chance to see the riders off from Bourg-d’Osians as they head toward Col du Galibier as we head south.