Well, duh, yes of course we should.
But what would we expect? Would it be exciting? Would it be deadly dull? What would we need to take?
Today, we shall explore some of these concepts together. Well, having broken Twitter (see yesterday's post) I can't waste any time on there, so I may as well do this!
Firstly, I have to recommend that you go and read Fede's new blog, Bananas About Bikes:
...which brings together real stories from real fangirls (and fanboys, if there is such a word!) of their experiences at races. Oh, I can hear Miss Fede shouting at me "It's not MY blog, it's OUR blog!" as it's a co-operative effort, let's make that plain: this is a fantastic idea, Fede has rounded up some hard-working fangirls who are prepared to write out their first-hand experiences of cycle races, to share with us.
As Figgy said in a comment yesterday, "...if I wanted boring reportage of facts, I could go to any cycling news outlet for that."
And I am sure that there are lots of us who feel the same way: we all have the internet, we can read the Cyclingnews and Velonation reports for ourselves, but it's much more interesting to read about how it appears to other people like us, who don't get VIP passes but stand in the crowd with everyone else.
As you know, Schleckland is actually in the UK, so I'm thinking of attending at least one stage of the Tour of Britain which occurs in September. All I know so far is that it starts in Scotland and ends in London, which is not a lot to go on, but I'm expecting more details next month.
So, what would I expect from attending a race?
Well, I've read the excellent Spectator's Guide to Cycling, which contains helpful hints about where to stand.
For instance, don't go to a downhill section, they will whizz past at 500mph and be a mere blur. Furthermore, you will have to either walk uphill to get there (puff pant), or walk uphill back to your car at the end of the day (puff pant, phew). The finish is the obvious place, but it will be crowded with hundreds of others. Personally I think I'll go for one of the small towns en route, preferably one with twisty turny streets to slow them down: or - and/or - one of the feed stations.
Yes, I have a burning desire for a souvenir feed bag, or Musette, as they are properly known (darn, I can feel the Fangirls' Guide to Pro Cycling approaching...) preferably in Team Leopard Trek colours, although it could just as easily turn out to be a Garmin bag, or even a Sky bag.... ...last year I even emailed SaxoBank asking if they had one left over at the end of year, but they never replied (*sniffle*).
I've been watching the race footage very closely, and the riders slow down considerably for feed stations, thus giving more chance to see their hard-working, sweaty little faces. They also discard the emptied bags a few hundred yards further down the road, so that will probably be my position of choice: firstly I'll enjoy seeing them collecting the bags, then I'll run off down the road after them (trying not to look like a crazy fan) and see if I can pick up an empty bag. Who knows, I might even get an unwanted gel bar as well... I've often wondered what they are like.
These are the ones that Team Sky (my second team) use: I guess it's an obvious small sponsorship item, to get your local team to agree to use your particular brand of gels. The blurb says that Team Sky asked for non-citrus gels, as they thought citrus caused stomach upsets for the riders.. guess it depends how many they eat? We all remember the Specialized commercial, don't we: "I can eat 20 gel bars without throwing up!" I guess that gives us an idea of what the normal consumption would be...
They seem to cost just under a pound each, by the way: that's about two-thirds the cost of a loaf of bread, to put it into context for non-UK readers, and to save me having to find a currency converter.
You can see the cyclists fiddle them out of their back pockets, rip the top off with their teeth, squirt it in, then throw away the pack. Apparently the particular benefit of gels is that, being pretty much liquid, they don't contain crumbs: when cyclists are poodling along (as much as pro cyclists ever poodle) they can eat the normal energy bars or muesli bars that we all eat, but when going at speed, the risk of choking on a crumb becomes quite serious, so they take the gels which slide down nice and easily.
Personally I am quite capable of choking on liquid as well as on crumbs, but I see what they mean.
Where were we? Oh yes, talking about going to a race.
Firstly I'm going to come right out and say it, I don't intend to be one of the crowd hanging around by the start line trying to get autographs and a word with the stars.
I know that's probably the main reason for going, for a lot of people, but I so don't want to to be one of "those" fans, you know the ones I mean. The one with the camera shoved in the face of the cyclist, who meanwhile is desperately trying to avoid eye contact and get on with signing in, focusing on the race, interviews with proper journalists etc. Also, what on earth do you say? "Break a leg"? "Oh I think you're a jolly good cyclist"? "So, tell me, what is the significance of your team number? Do you get to choose it? Do you have a 'lucky' number, I notice that you are often number 6, for example?" I can't imagine that they are in the mood for any sort of serious conversation, which just leaves "good luck" and "give us a kiss". You can see my problem, can't you?
No, my reason for going is to see whether it's true that the atmosphere of a race is different from watching it on tv: I strongly suspect that the view on tv is going to be massively superior to what you see from the roadside, but I want to find out for myself.
Bearing in mind that I have never been to a sporting event of any sort, let alone a road race, this is what I think the day would be like: settle down everyone, this could take some time.
Preparation:
As soon as the Tour of Britain release details of the route, I download the Race Manual and go though it carefully, checking the stages to work out which stage is a) closest to home and b) most interesting. I'm not sure that I'd take a day off work just to watch a time trial.... I need to work out where to leave my car, and how far in advance I need to get there to avoid the roads being closed off.
As the UK is not quite as committed to road racing as, say, France, it probably won't be that difficult, but I'd like to find a way to be able to get to my car and drive off to another spot, thus doubling my chances of seeing the race and gaining a musette...
Race Day!
Up with the larks, tea and toast - or will I be too excited to eat? Ha ha, no chance, I'll have breakfast as normal.
Sandwiches made the night before, into a bag with bottles of water, camera, spare hanky (in case I get overcome with emotion, or use it to wrap around the scraped knee of a cyclist who falls off his bike right in front of me and .. no, stop it, aaagh, back to Andyhab!), and a folding camping stool to sit on. Yes, it's a big bag - I'm hoping to collect some loot, remember?
I've already made sure that my car contains useful items such as an umbrella, a selection of coats, spare shoes, more water bottles etc.
Right, we're off! No, I just have to go to the loo before leaving. Right, we're off! I've already worked out my route, so the map is open on the passenger seat. Spare a moment to wonder if there are any other Schlecklanders doing the same thing, somewhere else in the country.....wouldn't it be great to meet up with some of them... put aside day-dream of meeting other fangirls, and concentrate on driving.
Uneventful journey, arrive in chosen small town in plenty of time, check with policemen on the streets that my plan to get back to my car and drive off will be ok. "yes madam," they say, "you should be fine." UK police are always polite. Scout around for best place to wait. It starts to rain. Go back and sit in car.
Two hours later, things are starting to stir, rain is lessening, so I go and stand by the road.
A long time later, a motorbike with flashing lights comes through, followed by a small group of riders, followed by a large group of riders, followed by a string of vehicles that takes 25 minutes to pass. Well, that was exciting.
Make my way back to my car, move some of the barriers (where did they come from?) so I can get through - luckily it's a small car - and drive off to Location Number Two, the feed station.
Park on grass verge along with several others.
Walk along with umbrella to the Feed Zone: yes, it's still raining, and the wind is getting up. Welcome to sunny Britain. Spot the Team Leopard Trek soigneurs, draped with musettes. Consider asking for one, but I don't have the nerve. Maybe afterwards. Go back and sit in car for an hour or so. Signs of life! Get out of car, oh good, it's stopped raining.
Make my way up to the Feed Zone, now strangely busy. Where did all these other people come from? At last, cyclists! Whoosh! Funny, I thought they slowed down for feed zones. Oh, they do. They're still going pretty fast, though. Completely unable to pick out any known faces, partly due to them all being splattered in mud and looking grumpy - no smiles to be seen.
Walk along the road until I start finding abandoned bags and bottles. Hmm, pity I'm not an Astana fan.. or a Garmin fan.. or a Liquigas fan.... or - oh, what the heck, I'll just pick up what I find.
Stagger back to my car through the mud, who would have believed that mere push bikes would stir it up so much? Maybe it was the enormous cavalcade of vehicles following, the ones that you never see on the tv. At least I have now seen the famous Broom Wagon! And I managed to get several bags, one of which might well turn out to be a Leopard-Trek bag, once I get all the mud off - so I'm happy.
Get back in car, struggle to get it off the now-muddy verge. Head for the finish, with the car's heater turned right up - ahh, lovely! Arrive at the finish area, am directed by policemen to park on the outskirts. That's fine, no more than expected. It's raining again, so I sit in the car enjoying the warmth and checking my camera - hmm, a little disappointing, lots of blurred photos of blurred, wet, muddy blokes on bikes. Oh well, pretty much as expected.
Walk into town with my umbrella, receiving strangely warm hails from the Radio Shack bus. Oh, it's a Nissan umbrella, and they sponsor Radio Shack. Shout "Up the R's!" to them. They look at me oddly. Walk on.
Huge crowds of people, despite the rain - well, I guess we're used to it, here. I'm glad my umbrella is a big one, it means I can use it as a shield against anyone who tries to squash me. The barriers are three deep, so I can't see much of the finish, but there's a lot of cheering and shouting.
Suddenly it's all over, the buses are going, so I drift back to my car, change into dry shoes, and drive home.
Well, as you can see, I don't have particularly high expectations of the day! Which is probably better than Plan B:
Arrive early at the start, warm sunny day, lots of promotional gear being given out, get Leopard Trek hat, t-shirt, flag and big foam hand to wave, along with sweeties and bottles of drink. Am spotted by group of ladies who are also wearing Lux socks. Hey, they know about Schleckland! Sing the Eisen Andy song, with much laughter, attracting the attention of a Leopard Trek soigneur, who recognises it despite our terrible Luxemburgisch accents. Andy Schleck comes over and makes us sing it again. He laughs. We give him a chorus of Chou Andy for good luck, kisses all round (several ladies faint at this point but I am made of sterner stuff). The sun shines, we scream and wave our socks as they set off....
.....OK, real life will probably be partway between these two: I am prepared for a long tiring day with no real focus, but I am hoping for a good day with some excitement, some photos, some mementos. Roll on September, I'll keep you posted!
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