Tour de France by Motorhome – 2018 Stage 10 in Le Reposoir

Zagan the motorhome is now one of around 150 motorhomes parked up in the small village of Le Reposoir (N46.00986, E6.53626), the population of which is normally around 500 people. You can imagine what a nightmare the owners of the only shop are having when it comes to ordering baguettes. Oh, and that 150 doesn’t count the motorhomes parked up along the route either side of the village, wedged into lay-byes or precariously balanced on hairpin bends. Why are we all here? The Tour de France of course.

Look closely above the motorhomes in the aire and you can see the spectators lining the road up the mountainside.

When we arrived on Saturday we were planning on using the service point, then going to find somewhere else on the route to stop in a couple of days, but little did we know that we had chosen a rather special stage to watch, so the volume of motorhomes was higher than usual. This stage was also running the Women’s Tour de France, which is known as La Course. I have no idea why, but women are only deemed able to cycle one stage, and not even one full stage at that. With all the infrastructure already in place, you would think they could run races for men and women on the same day, if not simultaneously. Anyway, enough of cycling politics, which I try to avoid, the main thing was we would be getting two races for the price of one – winner winner.

The race was coming through on Tuesday, so we were surprised at just how many motorhomes were already in place on Saturday. Most of the obvious and flatish areas on the route were already filled, and as the days passed motorhomes were parked in increasingly precarious positions making the most of a blind eye being turned to nearly all parking laws. We did see the gendarmes patrolling the route, probably making sure no one was parked in a way that would impede the race, but otherwise pretty much anything goes.

A couple of hairpin bends above the village was what we called ‘The Flying Motorhome’

The little village of Le Resposoir could not have been more welcoming to this invasion of camping cars. They had people to guide motorhomes into spaces, many of which were by the roadside, on folk’s drives or in business car parks. Some sort of entertainment was laid on every day and a fantastic village fete on the Sunday, which incorporated France winning the world cup. On the Monday we decided to walk the 8 kilometres of the course up to the Col de la Colombière, which would be the last big climb of the stage for the riders the following day. A ‘col’, by the way, is the highest point on a mountain pass, a road which usually winds its way up and down, back and forth through a series of hairpins to keep the gradient low enough to drive.

We didn’t paint this, but I was more than happy to stand next to it!

Nearly there – helpful markers tell you how much further there is to go, and more importantly how steep it will be.

For the first couple of kilometres the road wiggled its way up the hill overlooking the village. As we walked up, we kept checking the view to find where we would sit to watch the fun the following day. Once the village disappeared from view, there was some nice tree shade, before the road was thrust out into the heat of the sun for the long drag up to the col.

The Col is just visible in the V made by the two mountains.

I thought I said we’d avoid cycling politics! Sadly this was painted many times on the road.

The walk up was hot and tiring for me, but as Jay had done lots of running training up moutains like this I think it was a bit easier for him. The various motorhome camps along the way helped to keep me entertained, marvelling at what elaborate set ups they had with flags and paraphernalia ‘acquired’ on previous Tours. Reaching the summit there wasn’t a space inch of space to be had amongst the motorhomes, cars and tents. Yes, some folks follow the Tour by car, pitching up for the night at each stage. I think it probably gives them great flexibility, but I prefer my own shower and loo. As the col was beyond busy we climbed up a path above it, here we sat having a drink and a bite to eat looking out over the mayhem below as buses and motorhomes tried to squeeze past each other on the newly narrowed road.

The restaurant at the top fenced off their parking area, we’re not sure if it was friends only or you paid to park, either way they had the best seats around

The walk back down was much quicker and we were back in Zagan in time for a late lunch, with happily tired legs. That afternoon we chilled out in Zagan before going for a walk around the village. We bumped into Chris and Debbie, the only other Brits in the aire, and chatted with them while people sang and a world champion tight-rope walked above us. A Tour de France souvenir stall had opened in the main square, so I finally got to buy a polo shirt that I had been thinking about getting since I saw it on the Le Grand Colombier, where we watched the Tour last year. This time they had my size!

We took a walk out of the village to Le Chartreuse, the nearby monastery, which was only a few hundred metres away but seemed to be in the different world. In the coolness of the evening we sat by the lake in front of the monastery watching the fish swimming around, you couldn’t hear the village celebrations here, which was a nice change. On our way back we stopped off at Paul and Ruth’s motorhome, they had arrived the day after us, so they missed the village fete. The motorhome aire was full, so they were directed down the road towards the monastery. The spot they found was flat, shaded by trees, had space to get their awning out and had a lovely view; maybe next time we’ll have a drive around before picking a spot to stay!

Tuesday morning was finally here, and Jay celebrated it by having a run up to the col that we had walked to the day before. I prepared food and drinks to take with us, and by 10am we were part of the crowds carrying rucksacks and chairs up the mountain to find a space for the day. We picked a spot about half way up which gave us a fantastic view over the village, and up the route to the Col du Romme which the riders would descend before reaching us. We put out our chairs, slapped on the factor 50 sunscreen and began the wait.

I never cease to be amazed by the mish mash of nationalities who gather to watch this sporting event. Flags from many nations and regions gave us a clue as to who people would be cheering for and numerous accents and languages lined the course. For the next seven hours we would all wait for something that will last about 10 minutes at the most.

The first piece of action came around noon with the sound of a helicopter. A small black dot appeared on the horizon over the Col du Romme, the women’s race was on its way. We watched the helicopter as it danced around above the trees following the riders as they descended into Le Reposoir. As the convoy of cars and motorbikes burst out of the trees they had only one cyclist with them, the rest were quite a way behind, spaced out due to the previous climb. We cheered all the riders up the hill towards us and as they passed the children sitting next to us put out their hands for high fives, to everyone’s surprise the riders crossed the road from the shorter path to high five them. I’m not sure I know of any other sport where that would happen mid-race.

Jay and I cheering on the lead lady.

As the cheers disappeared up the mountain along with the riders, it was back to waiting again. With the road now closed the only traffic was Tour related. Numerous vans and cars sped up the hill all using the same comedy clown-style horn to keep us from meandering into their path. Official vans with open backs sold Tour souvenirs, the sellers held in with a loose harness so they could move around but not fall out. Jay headed back to Zagan to grab some waterproofs as the sky clouded over, so I took the opportunity to buy a Tour de France umbrella – which I am pretty sure is the reason that the skies cleared and the forecast rain never happened.

A flurry of flag waving and excitement was caused by the helicopter filming all the landmarks for the area, including the monastery we’d sat next to last night and our high wire man, who was out again walking over the course. Then again it went quite. That’s the thing about the Tour, there is a lot of waiting around, at least there is on the stages we have watched so far. Both were mountain stages and both times we ended up parked for a good few days before. I suspect if you weren’t bothered about where you stood and just wanted to see the spectacle, you could drive the route the day before or even on the morning and find somewhere on a flat bit – but we warned, they go fast on the flat bits!

Around half past two a huge ripple of excitement swept across the hill. Adults and children alike were up and waving for Le Caravane. All the sponsors of the Tour have weird and wonderful vehicles from which they throw gifts to the crowds lining the route. Usually it’s just rubbish, €0.50 off some chicken nuggets, fridge magnets, key rings, but the crowd go wild, me included, as in among the rubbish you also get bags for life (I love a free bag), hats, food, drinks and t-shirts. Jay stood filming the whole thing as hats and gifts were thrown at him only to be picked up the woman standing next to him, while I was across the road having no luck because it was so packed. We swapped over halfway through and after giving away the bits we didn’t want we ended up with some snacks, a baseball cap, two tubes of glue (would that be allowed in the UK?) and a cycling top – we now support the Direct Energie team!

Here comes the Haribo section of the Caravane

As the caravane left, folks sat down to sort through their gifts and the waiting began again. Just after 5pm a helicopter was spotted on the col before ours, then another. We got up and packed away our chairs – the main event was about to begin. Then the helicopters flew back below the horizon, so we stood and chatted to a bloke from Denmark who had stopped off here on his way to Spain for a family holiday; his daughter looked very bored with the whole thing. He explained he was parked in the huge field that had been designated a car park for the village, but wasn’t sure what time he’d get out of it to continue his journey. We had already planned to stay for another night so the massive traffic jam could snake its way off the mountain first.

Finally, the helicopters came. About eight or nine of them circled above filming the various groups of riders who, like the ladies race, had become split up on the previous climb. We waved our England flags and cheered on the riders as one by one they climbed the hill – some clearly needing more effort than others.

Julian Alaphilippe was way ahead and went on to win the stage. He is French which on top of Bastille Day and the World Cup win was the icing on the gateaux.

Obviously I am shouting advice to Greg Van Avermaet, who is in the Yellow Jersey and the leader of the whole competition.

Chris Froome kept his head down as he was booed by the crowds, but we still cheered him on.

Some riders where chatting as they climbed

I got to continue my Mark Cavendish stalking which I started on the Giro d’Italia in 2015. Sadly he brought up the rear – even with a small Jay on his arm cheering him on!

Then that was it. In a flash it was done. The race carried on up the hill to the col and folks gathered to watch the finish wherever they could.

We then joined the crowds in a mass downhill walk to the town where the partying had begun to celebrate Alaphilippe’s win, or had it actually been going on all day? The queue to get out of the village was already huge, but most had gone by the time we ventured out again around 9pm. The queue for the motorhome service point though, that was another matter.

Would I do another stage of the Tour de France? Yes, but probably not arriving four days before! Even having vast amounts of time available to us, I’d probably chance it and find somewhere along the course much closer to the time. Unless it’s in Le Reposoir again, in which case I’ll be there to join in the fun.

Ju x