Watching the Tour de France go by

Watching the Tour de France go by

“It’s all kicking off out there,” grinned my teenage son when he returned from buying croissants with his dad.

By “kicking off” he meant that every inch of the roadside was lined with massive campervans, the majestic tower of Crest, one of the highest keeps in Europe, was draped in the Tricoleur and the road surfaces had been chalked with everything from Champion to pretty pink and blue hearts.

As luck would have it, this year’s Tour de France passed within half a mile of the House With No Name. And on Bastille Day too. But my cycling-obsessed son announced that the road was too flat to watch from our village and the cyclists would flash past before we had time to blink.

So we drove along the dusty back roads...

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