It’s 9:00am on a nippy autumn Sunday in the town of Chateauneuf-en-Thymerais. Most of France is asleep. Not here. Not this Sunday. It may be cold and grey, but Chateauneuf is a town coming to life.
Paris-Tours is today.
The team buses line the road into town, a colourful array against the cloudy sky. It’s chaos on the street, fans crowding the buses for glimpses of their heroes. Orica-GreenEDGE is one of the 25 sets of cars and buses among the throng, the Australian team almost anomalous amongst all the European entrants. The fans love them nonetheless. Baden Cooke and Jens Keukeleire are stopped and asked for photos and autographs as they mount their bikes to sign on. Another French fan is waiting for the riders as they return to the team bus. No, she’s not a fan of GreenEDGE, she just likes ‘all good riders’. She gets a signature from Julian Dean and takes her search elsewhere..
The GreenEDGE support staff are standing and chatting outside the team bus as they wait for the day to get started. DS Lionel Marie will be following the race in the first team car with the mechanics. The other team car will be heading for the feed zone. I climb into the second car with two of the soigneurs, Joachim and Thomas, where I have a ‘back-seat pass’ for the day. The race hasn’t started yet, but it’s 10:00am and time for us to leave.
Someone’s iPod is plugged into the stereo, Madonna playing over the speakers as the car heads out of Chateauneuf-en-Thymerais towards the feed zone, and then Tours. Joachim and Thomas are chatting as we head out of town and into the countryside about the end of the season, plans and life at home – normal topics of conversation between co-workers. They share a joke about the gendarmes we pass at the entrance to every road that crosses the race route. “The ones at the end of the race have to stand there all day,” Joachim laughs.
A wrong turn with the GPS puts us temporarily off track, but Joachim and Thomas are quick to notice and turn the car around. “We always fuck everything up,” Joachim comments.
“Not always,” Thomas corrects him.
“But most of the time,” Joachim notes sagely. We do another lap of the roundabout and re-join the convoy of team cars heading for the feed zone. The drivers are all joshing one another, waving or flipping the finger with a grin on their face. There’s an exclusive sort of fraternity among the support staff that transcends the team boundaries. Nothing is sacred to these guys, and the humour and language is irreverent, almost crude, but it’s tempered by a mutual understanding and respect between those in a very hectic, demanding line of work.
We reach the edge of the houses around Chateauneuf and enter the French countryside, where the hunting season has already begun. We pass a few hunters walking the fields with their rifles, some waving as the race cars pass. There are a few cycling fans and locals out for an early morning walk or ride, but otherwise the landscape is devoid of life, just us and the road. We stop in one of the many small, nameless towns between Chateauneuf-en-Thymerais and the feed zone for a few minutes. “Something interesting happen?” Joachim asks as he climbs back into the car.
“Nothing,” Thomas replies. It’s a good word to describe what fills most of the day – driving, waiting…nothing.
The fields and woods, so very European in their greenery, seem never-ending. Joachim pushes the speed limit around every corner of the winding French roads as cannily as the riders take the corners of the narrow streets in the towns. As we drive, we constantly drop in and out of the groups of team cars, vans and trucks that fill the roads between Chateauneuf and the feedzone, and we start to look for a petrol station to fill up along the way. By now it’s almost lunchtime, so we pull into the nearest Macca’s for something to eat while we can. Joachim uses the iPad on our table at Macca’s to show Thomas the trailers for some Australian movies and TV shows, commenting on how crazy all the characters in Underbelly are. We’re back on the road soon after. We slip through the road blocks to find the race route yet again, the gendarmes always waving us through.
Passing through the small town of Santenay, we head into the feed zone and pull over on the side of the road. The riders are maybe half an hour behind us. Thomas opens the Eski and begins preparing the musettes for the riders, hanging them off the side of the car. The little knot at the top of the musette strap, he tells me, is to stop the strap sliding through the rider’s hand when he grabs it from the soigneur. As he fills the musettes with various small foods wrapped in tin foil, he talks a little about what it’s like being a soigneur. The majority of them are ex-riders, just like the team managers and sports directors. Most soigneurs leave after a few years, though; it’s not the easy, glamorous work it might seem. It’s a job, like any other. There’s a lot of time spent away from home, and a lot of long hours on the road driving from the start to the finish of a race. Paris-Tours is 183 kilometres. It takes us nearly five hours.
With the musettes ready, there’s not much to do until the peloton arrives. Thomas plays a game on his phone while Joachim tries to set up the race radio in the car and figure out how far away the race is. The breakaway of 11 is still preceding the peloton, and Orica-GreenEDGE’s Michael Hepburn is in it. “Can you imagine if he wins it?” Joachim asks.
“It will be perfect,” Thomas replies. There’s a moment of silence in the car as they think about a GreenEGDE win. Though to an outsider they might seem totally disinterested in the race for most of the day, they still want the team victory. Then the moment is gone and it’s back to business. The riders are on their way and there’s work to be done.
Joachim pulls an Orica-GreenEDGE vest out of his backpack, while Thomas dons a cap, unable to find the other vests in the car boot. They organise how many musettes each of them will carry. Joachim will hand Michael his bag as the breakaway rides past. They take up positions on the right-hand side of the road – Joachim lower down with the most musettes and Thomas a hundred metres further up to catch any riders that Joachim misses.
We can see the breakaway at the bottom of the hill. Michael spots Joachim and tries to veer right, but there’s another rider in the way. The other rider ducks as Joachim hands Michael a musette over the rider’s back. The peloton appears shortly after, and it’s hard to make out individual riders in the mass. The riders know to look for the soigneurs, and Baden Cooke heads right towards Joachim, holding out his hand. The baton relay doesn’t come off, though, and Baden manages to grab a bag from Thomas instead. Joachim hands a musette to Fumiyuki Beppu, and then the peloton is gone, with no sign of the other GreenEDGE riders. We wait until the race convoy passes, jump in the car and continue on.
It’s another 90 kilometres to Tours. Thomas takes over the driving while Joachim naps in the passenger seat. Foo Fighters are playing over the stereo just a little too loudly. As far as the eye can see is nothing but farmland and woods and little hamlets in between. We can’t see Tours until we reach the city’s outskirts. We still haven’t gone past a petrol station, and Thomas is adamant that we need to fill up before we head to the race finish. Joachim types in the finish co-ordinates as we leave the petrol station, but really the neon signs saying ‘Paris-Tours’ guide us into the city centre.
It’s 2:30pm by the time we join the GreenEDGE bus in Tours where the third team car is waiting for us. The soigneurs and team physio, Manuel, unpack up everything from the cars and pile all the bags of the riders going to the airport in the second car. Other teams’ support staff drop by to say hello. Until the riders get here, we’re playing the waiting game again.
There’s a small flurry of excitement as the under-23 race finishes. All the GreenEDGE soigneurs wander over to the fence to have a look too. They start swapping stories of their own careers as riders, laughing as they point out where in the stragglers they’d have finished. Most of the time it might be just a job to them, full of organising, driving and waiting, but the sparkle of cycling is still there for all of them, especially at moments like this. As the race convoy rolls past we return to the team cars. Back to waiting.
It’s 3:30pm, just as Joachim predicted, when the riders finally sprint past us with 400 metres to go. There’s a GreenEDGE rider in the first 10 riders, and we assume it’s Michael Hepburn and the rest of the breakaway, since we haven’t heard anything of the race since the feed zone. Joachim heads to the finish line to meet the riders while the rest of us wait at the team bus. The riders roll in one by one, leaning their bikes again the team truck for the soigneurs to pack away while the riders go and shower on the team bus. We eventually hear that it was Jens Keukeleire, not Michael Hepburn, who was up the front in the sprint and managed to take 9th place. Lionel Marie certainly seems happy with it, smiling and talking to each one of the riders. Everything is almost packed and the riders and staff are preparing to leave. Some are bound for the airport, others have another long drive ahead of them to get home.
It’s been the end to a very long season.
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