Crenellated Flotsam

I once had a bike that had a Tour de France sticker on it. I seriously doubt that bike, a Follis, was ever a contender.

I’ve watched a little of this biking classic this year and I have to say I’m perplexed. Yes, the scenery is breathtaking and watching the bikes flow over the course is hypnotic and oddly beautiful, but I find the sport puzzling. Right after college, about the same time I got my Follis, I was attracted to a classmate and ended up moving in right next to her and her boyfriend. He’d met some guys while working in a bike shop, and they were all serious riders. Also, they liked Frank Zappa and getting wasted, so we all get along fine.

None of which has anything to do with the Tour de France, but from them I did learn a lot about track bikes, the various racing contests, and a lot about strategy. None of that has proven overly useful, but I hardly discount any knowledge on those grounds.

Anyway, back to the Tour de France. The first thing I’ve noticed is that only teams compete, no individual riders. Much worse, out of the the twenty-one teams of nine riders, twenty-one of the teams are sponsored by corporations. That’s every one of them!

I realize Formula One is getting that way, but motorsport at least has privateers. Evidently there’s none of that in bike racing, which I have to say pretty much turns my stomach. The only reason a company would sponsor a bike team is for advertising exposure and I’d prefer it if some people who loved the sport itself could have some teams.

Another thing I don’t like is the broadcast team. Yes, I know, sports commentators are never decent grammarians or speakers, but another of my pet peeves is brought up by this group. No, it’s not the overuse of the superlative this time, nor even the laziness often evidenced by those who confuse motors and engines. This time it’s the misuse of the word race.

What the Tour de France is, is a rally. The difference between a rally and a race is a rally is a series of races with the winner the one with the fastest combined time. Dakkar is a rally, the Indy 500 is a race, just like the Kentucky Derby.

I don’t think the event sponsors ever call it anything but a rally, but it’s the weirdest one I’ve ever seen. Instead of the pure accounting of time I’d expect from a rally, the winners are given “bonus” times, a subtraction of time for the top three finishers. In a race for time, time shouldn’t be a prize — it’s the goal! So not only does the winner win, he wins even more than he does on the road.

This may be justified by the most bizarre rule I’ve ever seen in sport: According to article fourteen of the rules, “All riders finishing in the same bunch are awarded the same time.” That’s right: a bunch of riders, who may be separated by a minute in real time, all get the same score. I have no idea what this does to inspire anyone to race, but I guess it makes it easy to keep score. They could use a sundial.

Oh, sure, it cuts down on crashes, but it completely ruins any sense of a race.

I guess the designers thought along these lines:
“Let’s have a race around France.”
“Great. We’ll make it a rally.”
“The thing is, we’ll give just about everybody the same time. That will reduce hurt feelings.”
“How can we tell who won, then?”
“Oh, we’ll give bonus times to the winners.”
“So, let me make sure I have this straight. We’ll have a race for time, but won’t be all anal about keeping track of that. Instead, we’ll award time as a prize…in a race for time.”
“Sure.”

Still, nothing beats the scenery, and, like I said, watching the riders is hypnotic in the same way watching a lava lamp is. You may want to watch a part of it, just don’t expect much of what you may think of as a race.