Bicycling.com
Peter Flax reflects on his experience at the 2011 Tour de France.
I STAND BY THE ROAD IN VIZILLE, France, a village near Grenoble, on the penultimate day of the 2011 Tour de France, listening to nuns clap and kids holler and gendarmes blow their whistles. Flashes of muscle and spandex time-trial in and out of sight at a velocity that’s unsettling to see up close. I crinkle a bag full of buttery pastries I bought a block away. Riders blow through every two minutes or so, leaving a wake of silence that’s quickly pierced by motorcycle horns and the thrum of helicopters.
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