Two Moments Of Panic

The golf clubhouse where I was "trapped."
Amilly – I experienced two moments of panic Monday. Both near the end of the day – after a day that was otherwise pretty good. So we'll start at the beginning.

As I wrote yesterday, the motorcoach broke down after Stage 1. So I was appointed to drive the riders in the Caravelle (a large van) to the start of Stage 2. It's always a bit of a nervous task, making sure you stay with the rest of the team caravan and not driving crazy enough that the riders become uncomfortable. (Did I mention it's a six-speed stick?) We made it to the start in good order, save for the fact we were the second-to-last team to arrive.

We didn't sell as many autograph cards today – probably because of our late arrival and distance to the start. We were at the end of a long row of buses. It was kind of strange not having a bus. The riders had to find restrooms nearby and fans had pretty good access to them because the door to the van was open the whole morning.

After the race started, Dr. Dario Spinelli and Scott Nydam accompanied me for the drive to the finish. It was 155 km and soigneur Chris De Vos was kind enough to program the GPS on both the TomTom and the Caravelle. What I didn't realize was how close to Paris we were. So while I was expecting a drive on some little backroads, it was a bit shocking to be on four-lane highways crowded with cars and trucks for the first two-thirds of the drive. Scott and Dr. Spinelli slept while I successfully negotiated a toll booth (unmanned) – thankfully having done the same in Spain.

At the finish line, Scott and I were first to arrive, which was great. We got our pick of the parking lot. We also crashed the press room (at this race, the team PR people don't have a pass to get in) and enjoyed several hours of free wifi use. Strangely, at the TVs in the room weren't tuned to the race. Instead, when the live coverage began, the monitors continued to show a black-and-white World War II movie. For nearly 40 minutes after the live streams online started, the movie continued playing. I walked around the press room and counted 26 laptops (including mine) and only four were tuned into the streaming coverage of the race. That meant nearly everyone in the room was doing something else other than covering/following the race. Pretty sad statement on the state of affairs of cycling journalism. (Did I mention that no one at the race is live tweeting it?)

After the finish, we quickly made our way to the golf resort where we were headquartered for the night. I didn't even bother to grab my room key, knowing I had a story to write and send. Unfortunately, the only internet at the property was at the main lodge a five-minute walk away. So I hustled down there and set up "Camp Snoopy" for what would turn out to be a long time.

I took a break for dinner and then resumed work. Shortly after that, things got tense. At midnight, the desk clerk said goodbye and the bar closed. At 1 a.m., another clerk came into the lobby (shown at right) and started singing to himself. I didn't think much of it at the time, but later realized he thought he was alone. Apparently, he didn't see me sitting on a nearby couch. A few minutes later, I noticed a car leaving the lot (his) and realized I should probably think about heading out myself. (It was about 1:15 a.m.) That's when the first moment of panic set in. The front door was locked. So was the side door. And the back door. And the fire exits. They were electronically locked down. I'd never seen anything like it.

I called three people before someone answered. Jacques Michaud, our French VIP coordinator (and a former Tour de France stage winner), said he was in bed when I called. After a bit of confusion over where I was, he made his way down to the lodge and used his key to access the door from the outside. Wow.

The other moment of panic came Tuesday morning when I couldn't find my camera. I looked in the lodge, (accidentally) woke up two riders whose room I had visited last night and checked the Caravelle. Nothing. After a half-hour of praying to St. Anthony, I decided to check my backpack once more. Sure enough, the camera had wedged itself in the bottom. Crisis averted.

Old (left) and new shaving kit. Old one in service since 1989.

I thought the BMCs looked nice up against this hedge.

A nearly endless row of motorcoaches. Nearly two dozen, in fact.

The podium presentation stage at the start is actually a truck.

I got to drive through the start on my way to the finish.

This bridge thingy was cool. We saw it again Tuesday.

My view in the press room.

My view of the large-screen TV at the finish line.

And this is what I saw of the finish.