After some shopping at Nice’s main market on Sunday, I overheard these men talking about the upcoming intricacies of the day’s stage. Thinking there had to be something interesting in the newspapers they were reading, I bought one. I was wrong, but I found myself intrigued by the grainy feel of this thing I used to buy every morning back in the day, but now get in digital form. I still read real books, but I sometimes wonder how long that will go on.
But I digress. Here, in digital form, is Tony Gallopin, who nearly got in the way of my photo of his wife, pro racer, Marion Rousse.
A couple more French riders: Romain Bardet and Kevin Reza, followed by an Astana rider who apparently didn’t get the right weather info.
Tyler Ferrar telling a tall tale to fellow tatted and bearded strongman, Tom Boonen.
And then they were off; yellow jersey wearer (and keeper), Geraint Thomas in front.
That was 11am. Shoko and I had just enough time to walk back to the hotel and check out, pack up the car, find a place to eat some lunch, then find a place to have another lunch because Shoko wasn’t satisfied with the first one, and walk back to the Promenade des Anglais just in time to see this: Richie Porte, Alberto Contador and eventual winner, Tim Wellens, finishing not quite far enough away from a raging Thomas.