Vive le Tour!

I have heard and read commentaries this week of the Tour de France hallmarked by the phrase "the Tour’s darkest hour." I disagree, and I was pleased to hear Phil Liggett give a public voice to my own conviction: that despite the tragic controversies, the heartbreak and betrayal, and the innate cynicism born of cheating scandals, the Tour is as powerful, graceful, and awe-inspiring as it has ever been.

I admit that Vinokourov’s positive test for blood doping left me in a state of disappointed wonder akin to the say it ain’t so bereavement experienced by Shoeless Joe fans in 1919. I wanted to believe that his performance in Stages 13 and 15 was the product of sheer grit, determination, and heart—after all, this was the man who had been riding the Tour against unimaginable injuries and a time deficit that would whittle even the most steadfast competitor’s resolve. Team Astana seemed a ghostly presence when the race resumed without him, and through my brumous veil I almost failed to notice that both Moreni and Sinkewitz produced positive A samples.

Then came Rasmussen. The Maillot Jeune. The leader. This was the man I’d cheered for the last two years, grinding his way up formidable ascents to win the King of the Mountains competition. He had been, in recent years, a brilliant competitor, winning on what seemed to be raw hunger and carefully-wrought skill. Despite the reports that he had failed to report his whereabouts and his cavalier attitude regarding what he called an administrative error, his performance in this year’s tour seemed a natural progression from performances past. But then, watching his time-trial set the red—and yellow—flags aflutter: he looked like a different rider. What would, under other circumstances, be celebrated as the athlete overcoming his Achilles heel collapsed under the burden of suspicion, of guilt by association. I want to believe he is clean, believe that his test results are accurate—but I also wanted to see the leader, well, lead . . . in more than just minutes and seconds. Leadership is a double-edged sword, no?

Still, when one witnesses Leipheimer’s humility during his pre- and post-race interviews, or glimpses Contador’s face as he is draped in slim-fitting yellow, or follows stand-out achievements like Evans’ believable-yet-unbelievable final 5K on Stage 19, one can see the true beauty of the Tour. These are the survivors. They have overcome so much more than injuries, quirky fans, roadside bombs, grueling climbs and treacherous descents. They have survived each other.

I, for one, will celebrate as they round the Champs-Elysees. Few could claim a better-earned victory lap than the riders who remain, and I suspect the historic cobbled avenue will seem smooth compared to the rest of the ride that got them there.

Vive le Tour!