Images: Katy Madgwick and Dan Wattis (credited)
This year's Tour of Britain men's edition, like the women's counterpart, almost wasn't a thing. Under new management, as British Cycling took the reins after the demise of former organiser Sweetspot, the team worked hard to pull together a race that was not only logical logistically, travelling from one end of Britain to the other (loosely speaking) but included some variation in parcours, and would (hopefully) not end in six bunch sprints.
With a selection of top names in attendance, along with a host of teams new to the race, there was plenty to be excited about. For me, actually going to a bike race was the main one. It's a rare and special occurrence, and here I reflect on what it was like to commit to travelling the country to be involved in the first few stages of the race - as a broadcaster, a fan, and a tourist.
Here are a collection of thoughts and experiences from the four stages I attended - less of a race report and more of a travelogue, or mini memoir musing on the realities of following a race around a country, it's a slice of life from a series of British cities, and a small, fleeting glimpse into the inner workings of a multi-stage bike race, as viewed from a curious observer. I have broken it down into chapters to make it more palatable, and I hope you enjoy it.
Stage 1 - Kelso: Elite driving skills in the beautiful borders
Stage 3 - Barnsley: I'm just a fan
Stage 4 - Derby and Newark: Unseasonable weather, a track try-out, and traffic chaos
Fading out - some conclusions from stages 5, 6, and everything after
Stage 1: Tuesday 3 September, Kelso-Kelso
There’s nothing quite like the first week in September. Autumn is creeping in around the edges of the tired dregs of summer, the kids are back at school (with varying degrees of enthusiasm) and oh – there’s a bike race in town.
The scheduling of the Tour of Britain is quite honestly the thing I like least about it – awkward logistically, as well as clashing with La Vuelta and at least one other World Tour race – but there’s no denying that it’s quite opportune for riders heading to the World Championships in terms of timing – a chance to hone form and test the legs, and enjoy Britain doing one of the few things that it clings onto, as a superpower – delivering a really good sporting event, and supporting said event with gusto.
The weather even got into the spirit, giving us an opportunity to exclaim ‘isn’t it lovely?’ instead of, you know, the usual British moaning.
Kelso was a place alive with the buzz of a sporting event arriving in town. Sometimes you have a sense of the race inconveniencing a town and its citizens, of being a sudden interruption in daily life that’s begrudgingly tolerated at best, actively resisted at worst. Especially an event involving bikes, one of the most divisive topics in the British cultural and political landscape, currently. Kelso had the feel of a town that had not only embraced its notional ‘opening stage host’ role but was cherishing it, and the beautiful weather only served to cast the Border town in an even better light, bathing the cobbled town square in warm early autumn sunshine, and hanging a stunning blue backdrop against which the day’s images would all be set.
The town square was buzzing with life, good-natured enthusiasts jostling in front of the podium or revelling in their prime positions, seated at wooden picnic benches with cold beverages and an optimal view of the stage outside the Cross & Keys Hotel. The venue was playing the role of media hub, hotel and pub space, and thrived at the heart of the action. I charged into the building and ran up the stairs, almost crashing directly into Ned Boulting who was about to set up for a day's commentary in a conference room (he spoke about it on the companion podcast Never Strays Far) and grabbed my media pass, panicking about being late for the start - I had a very important place to be.
There was a sense that despite the idyllic location, Kelso’s kitsch town centre vibe was a little tricky when it came to logistics, with the designated team car park housing the World Tour teams and a few others, while the pro continental teams were strewn around back streets, sitting in camping chairs on the pavement like displaced travellers, team mechanics awkwardly wrestling gear from vans onto team cars down back alleys. Two portaloos had been placed improbably in front of the town hall, and were frequented by locals and riders alike, while bemused security floated around completely disenfranchised by the convivial mood and sedate comings and goings of what must be the politest of pro sports, when it comes to both the British fans, and the riders themselves.
I had an appointment with Saint Piran DS Chris Lawless for my first ever ride in a team car, and though my arrival was a little later than I would have liked (thanks satnav) Lawless and team mechanic Glen couldn’t have been more relaxed, casually pulling the car out and working their way through the melee, ending up pulling over at kilometre zero and just parking on the side of the road to wait for the convoy to pass through, as it appeared to be easier than trying to double back through the town, with the seconds to the official start rapidly ticking down.
My internal alarm was jangling, worrying what if they missed the start, what if they couldn’t take their allotted place in the convoy, all the 'what ifs' that displayed my naivety – of course, they would find the convoy. It was a long stage – 181.9km to be precise – and it’s not as if we wouldn’t catch up if we somehow found ourselves off the back of the race. You can’t drop a team car, after all – especially not at the speeds they are driving at.
Yes, my experience in the team car was to be many things – primary among them though, was an absolute masterclass in advanced driving. Every one of these DS’s could quite easily pass the kind of elite level driving test you'd have to take to join the emergency services. I lost count of the amount of times I embedded my fingernails into my palms as motos flew past at close range, and overtaking was carried out on narrow country roads at lightning speed. Lawless was quick to point out that not everyone is up to speed, figuratively speaking, when it comes to the superior driving skills. A couple of examples later and I find myself grateful I’m in the capable hands of a DS who is clearly at ease with the ‘behind the wheel’ element of the role, despite being relatively new to the post. I remarked on how similar it was to being part of a peloton, the frantic pace and alarming proximity mirrored in the convoy, where we spent all day snuggled in between Groupama-FDJ’s car in front, and the Great Britain national team car behind, never more than a foot or two from the bumper in front. Cosy.
'Make a move and commit,’ is Lawless’ clear appraisal of team car driving, and the resemblance to the pro peloton itself is proven. Is it any wonder so many riders make the move from the bike into the team car – they are surrounded by peers (Lawless pulls up alongside a number of other cars during the day to exchange greetings and catch up with other DS’s) and moving fast along the road, acting and reacting on instinct, tucked tightly together in a pack, but at least they get to turn the heating up, and care somewhat less about their fuelling (we all enjoy a care package from the Saint Piran soigneurs – ham and cheese wraps for lunch, though Glen the mechanic starts eating at about 10.00, polishing off his crisps before we’ve even made it 50km – it turns out, that Glen really loves crisps).
That’s not to say everything was seamless. I spent the first part of the drive trying to repair the lacklustre mechanism that was supposed to be holding up the iPad, displaying the day’s route. It seems that when you’re a continental team, nothing is straightforward, and that would become even more apparent as the day wore on.
The kilometres ticked by and time as a concept lost all meaning, as we passed by locals on hillsides, schoolkids eye-catching in high-vis jackets, and border towns resplendent with bunting, the area embracing the race and welcoming it briefly as it flew through. The points of tension were all based around climbs – a total of five categorised climbs were spaced along the route – and each one was signalled by Lawless to the riders over the team radio from so far out, that it’s easy to see why tension spreads through the bunch like wildfire in races, ahead of these key features on the parcours. The importance of positioning cannot be underestimated it seems, and the subsequent panic stations on the descents playing frantic catch-up, as we plunged down hills and flung around bends with reckless abandon, my stomach left unattended at the top of some hill in the south of Scotland (though I’m proud to say, I managed not to puke).
I shared a moment of recognition with a bemused elderly lady who sat in her car, pointed in the opposite direction to the race, clearly having pulled out of her house unaware that there was a race going on. Her mild bemusement as a string of lycra-clad men and a line of colourful cars all far exceeding the speed limit flew past her mirrored my own state; like turning up the volume to 11 on transport, following my sedate progress from home to Kelso earlier that morning, steadfastly obeying all the speed limits and stopping at all the red lights. It was quite a buzz, not having to do this, and I have to ask about whether the team, or anyone else that they know of, has ever received a speeding ticket during the race. (The answer is yes – though usually the police waive the fines if they haven’t turned off the cameras for the day). The speed at which the cars are moving though, is never more alarming than when they have to service their own riders. Pulling up behind a cyclist at that speed is something none of us want to see or experience on British roads, but of course the DS's must do this to make sure they reach their rider as quickly and efficiently as possible - pairs of gloves being thrown in through the window, and bidons being passed back out in exchange as the two vehicles reach a synchronous speed and once again, I'm able to breathe. Of course, as a consummate pro, it hasn't phased Lawless one iota. in fact, he's hoping for more.
'I hope it kicks off later and there's bodies everywhere - that's when you can do some really fun driving!' he says with undisguised glee. Lawless talks me through the brief history of his life as a DS, a journey which he is just beginning, having called time on his riding career at the age of just 28, after stints with INEOS Grenadiers and TotalEnergies.
'I miss racing, but to be able to go home and not worry about training and going out in the crap weather. I was a bit nervous like anyone starting a new job. I didn't know (1) whether I was going to enjoy it and (2) whether I was going to be any good at it. But I'm really enjoying it and from the feedback I've had from riders, they think I'm doing alright. I'll see where I go with this team and ultimately with my own career as a DS.
'It feels like starting again, working up the ranks, but it's nice, and gives me goals to aim for.'
He talks me through the day's plan, which is basically to ride it like a one-day race, staying in touch with the front groups and trying to keep numbers ahead of any big splits, and then reflects more broadly on the contrast of recognising plenty of familiar faces, both still in the peloton and in other team cars.
'Races don't become easy as a DS, but they are easier. But mentally I feel more fried at the end of a stage race as a DS than I did as a rider.' He proceeds to list off the multitude of factors he has to take into consideration as a DS, as opposed to as a rider.
Race radio is of course an essential element of the race experience, but the insistent buzzing of the messages interrupts the flow of conversation every thirty seconds or so. It's an interesting relay of information though, the bright and breezy notices delivered via the lead car to the entire convoy serving as a reminder that drawing the short straw of a position so far to the rear of the convoy meant you really had no clue about what was happening at the front of the race. This in turn is a reflection of the situation in the peloton itself, where those at the rear of the bunch, or in groups that have lost contact with the leaders, ride blind in terms of the race situation, completely unaware of any specifics until they are brought up to speed later on.
It’s another example of just how different pro cycling is to other sports. There are few analogues (with the exception of long-distance running) where as a participant, you have no idea at all what’s actually going on in the sporting event that you yourself are a part of. It’s reflected throughout the race, from every perspective – that of the continental DS stationed at the rear of the convoy, without a rider at the front of the race; the fans, selecting a spot along the parcours to support the riders, knowing they will not be present at the race’s finale, and will probably just have to catch up on what happened later on, with the highlights. The race as a whole is a patchwork of experiences, each fragmentary element compiling to create a complete picture - one which we can never really have access to.
After my initial alarm at the speed of the experience, it became second nature as we pushed on through the day, and I was able to absorb more of my surroundings. Flying through the town of Melrose at 50mph, the doppler effect of cheers and cowbells stretched out behind us as we headed back into the countryside. The ebb and flow of the convoy, as cars moved back and forth in increasing numbers to deal with mechanicals and nutrition, slipping between the motos, other team cars, and lone riders looking for a tow back on after a comfort break. More close-ups of comfort breaks than was, um, comfortable. And plenty of support for local boy Oscar Onley out on the roads, though it wasn't a day for him, near the back of the bunch with Stevie Williams and other riders whose days would come, when the terrain got a little tougher.
The realities of life as a continental team unfolded, as the DS and mechanic discussed the lack of race radios in the team, meaning the other squad of Saint Piran riders, racing a team time trial somewhere on the continent, went without team radio. More realities unfolded as we rode past a displaced saddle lying in the middle of the road (race radio cheerfully warning everyone before we approached to have caution - 'you'll see why when you get here!').
'We'd be in trouble if that was us,' was the comment from within the car. They proceeded to explain how, without a bike sponsor, the riders were mostly on their own equipment, meaning that carrying spares was a far more complicated process, and a nightmare for mechanic Glen, who had to be au fait with all different types of equipment, carrying one of everything and being ready for anything, should one of their riders come into difficulty.
'I shouldn't say this,' Lawless remarked. 'But there haven't been any crashes today.' He jokes about how the next race radio bulletin will state 'crash Saint Piran,' so that when it actually happens, it feels like the worst example of tempting fate that's ever unfolded. A touch of wheels has brought down the team's rider Rowan Baker, but luckily he avoids the worst and can continue on in the race. It's all kicking off at the front now, with the day's final climb followed by a hair-raising descent, and plenty of riders dropped, their demise announced over race radio and prompting a frantic game of startlist bingo, as we scanned through lists to try and figure out who was where.
The role of DS grows ever more complex the closer to the finish we come, and Lawless must dish out different advice to different riders, depending on the ever-changing composition of groups and relative positions. Much of the advice is 'don't ride' as the politics of being a 'lesser' team come into play, alongside riders with bigger ambitions. And eventually, the race finishes, and the results are confirmed via race radio - we, of course, are far too far back in the convoy to have any notion of what's actually happening out in front. A win for Soudal-QuickStep's Paul Magnier after everything came back together.
We rolled back into Kelso weary and ready to stretch our legs. I managed to make it to the mixed zone in time to catch up with stage winner, and the first race leader Magnier for the podcast. (Introduce yourself, I asked. Magnier proceeded to patiently and politely give me quite a detailed description of what type of rider he was, rather than simply telling me his name for the pod, instantly winning me over as a fan).
And that was that. Team staff, riders, fans and organisers dispersed as quickly as they had come, and I headed back to the car park to begin my journey home, finishing the day where I had started it, just as the race had, and crossing the border back into England, ready to continue south.
Stage 2: Wednesday 4 September – Darlington-Redcar
My 'local' stage in terms of travel, it was only an hour from home to the stage start in Darlington, so I was afforded the luxury of an easy journey down in time to take in the atmosphere prior to the race start. There was a mob of fans around the Soudal-QuickStep bus - a feature which would persist throughout the week, and I chatted to team communications manager Phil Lowe for the podcast - we were later joined by Saint Piran's Ricci Pascoe who seemed to be everywhere at the race, putting in the hard graft to make sure his team's profile was raised, giving out merchandise and meeting and greeting with anyone and everyone.
The strange mix of architecture makes 'Darlo' city centre quite an interesting place to be, and the race organisers had done the best they could with the awkward lay-out of the town centre, meaning that the start line trailed back to a cobbled street, surrounded by the main city square, with passers-by and commuters rubbing shoulders with fans and elite athletes in a refreshingly chaotic yet simultaneously laid-back scene. The media swarmed around Remco, and I was finally able to take a closer look at his golden bike, helmet and various other details as he patiently answered the press pack's questions, later finding myself directly obstructing his path as he headed to take to the start.
'Sorry Remco.'
Is a phrase I hadn't foreseen myself uttering, to be honest. He didn't seem to mind. Attention turned to Julian Alaphilippe who waved enigmatically as fans shouted his name, and Ricci Pascoe once again popped up from nowhere and ambushed Loulou with a chat about the domestic bike racing scene, while my podcast colleague Sanny Rudravajhala and I interviewed him. There were just seconds remaining until the official start time, and riders gathered around us as it became apparent that the mixed zone for all intents and purposes was actually just 'the road,' so we edged our way out of the scene and waved the race off on its way.
From being surrounded by a rainbow of lycra and tens of thousands of pounds of top of the range cycling gear, to an empty town square, in a matter of seconds. A band continued to play as the announcer clocked off, and in the media centre there was already a sense of it being time to pack up and move on to the finish. The mobile, nomadic nature of a bike race in which all the moving parts must up sticks and continue to the next place means there's never much time to sit and reflect, though Sanny did just that in a long-form interview with Ricci for the podcast, while I drove around trying to get some signal, to come up with a plan for our next steps.
Travel logistics are theoretically quite easy if you're intending to visit a stage start and then head to the finish - in fact you can have quite a relaxing day, if you don't want to go anywhere in between - but taking in the race as it unfolds is all part of the fun, so I navigated tricky one-way systems, parking on a double yellow line in a Boots delivery-only bay (honestly you don't understand how complicated Darlington city centre is to drive around), rapidly calculating effort versus reward before any lorries arrived. Was it worth trying to get to one of the major climbs on route? Could we get to a climb and then back to the finish? Would Saltburn Bank, where we had congregated just a few months earlier for British nationals, be too close to the finish in Redcar to be able to do both?
I couldn't hang around so plans were made and shared, and we were back on the road. I found myself tailed by another race vehicle sporting the technical parking sticker - we really were all in this together. We'd opted to head to Saltburn Bank. Familiarity was probably the primary reason – that and the fact that if there was anywhere guaranteed to be embracing a bike race on a Wednesday afternoon in September, it would be there.
And we were not disappointed. Arriving around lunchtime with a couple of hours still to wait for the peloton’s arrival, the sun was almost as hot as it had been in June, the vast beach dotted with dog walkers and the bank already filling up with cycling fans, including the legendary Beefeaters of Beefeater Bend fame, who were blasting out dance music at 11:50am with the confidence of a group of people for whom this is not their first rodeo.
Not quite ready for that level of party, we headed to a café for lunch, eating while strategizing for the finish, the race streaming live propped up on the iPad next to coffees and sandwiches. It was the closest we came all week to following the action while still being within the bubble, rather than tearing from one place to the next completely unaware of what was actually going on in the race itself, and it served as a reminder that while we're choosing which sandwich to order and posting pictures on social media, driving and listening to audiobooks and chatting about the state of sports freelancing, the riders are all the while engaged in high-speed chess, switched on, travelling at unthinkable speeds, and planning their next moves.
When we headed back down to the bank to join the melee, the Beefeaters’ MC was delivering snippets of info in between club classics from circa 2015, the jolly gang in red whipping the crowd up and into action, and it’s honestly not something I ever expected to experience at a British bike race, local club riders bouncing around alongside rosy-faced revellers and a long line of upwards of 40 people sitting down in a line for links-rechts. A Wednesday afternoon rave, in the blazing sun, on a very steep hill. Ladies and gentlemen - that's cycling.
Every amateur rider who attempted the Saltburn Bank climb was given a huge reception by the jubilant crowd including my podcast colleague, Sanny Rudravajhala, who was given an honorary Saint Piran jersey to wear for his attempt, just a shade before the peloton arrived, and showed us how it was done. (Ricci Pascoe was in attendance again, dishing out t-shirts and getting into the spirit). It was the best atmosphere I've ever experienced at a race in the UK, and the highlight of the week, for me.
We picked out spots to watch the action unfold as the riders drew closer. The relative speeds as the race leaders charged up the unforgiving gradient of the Bank heading for the race finale were something to behold (no shade thrown on any or any of the other brave riders who attempted the climb). No sooner had the first 20 or so riders passed through, than I was making like Kate Bush and running up that hill to get back to the car. Having taken in the brief but exhilarating rush of the peloton passing by, there was limited time to make it to the finish, and I hotfooted (hot-wheeled?) it to Redcar, ditching the car ten minutes from the finish line after being stopped in a long line of traffic at a level crossing. I walked (reader, she panic-sprinted) the rest of the way and arrived just in time to see Stevie Williams take the stage win, and the race lead, in a three-up sprint ahead of Julian Alaphilippe and Oscar Onley.
Also on the north-east coast, Redcar is just a few miles north of where we’d been in Saltburn just before, but it’s somewhat bleaker and more expansive, and lacks the warmth of its southerly counterpart. It still attracted a decent crowd to cheer the riders to the finish, and after the race, we caught up with Ed Clancy and the mayor of Redcar for the podcast, the latter fobbed off for time with stage winner and new race leader Stevie Williams, who shivered in the mixed zone answering the media’s questions before he was led away by Press Officer Nick Bull – the former Tour of Britain communications manager now on the other side of the fence, working for Israel-Premier Tech. We chatted to the man with the most majestic mane in the peloton, and points classification leader Julius Johansen of Portuguese conti team Sabgal-Anicolor, as well as Oscar Onley, who was proving himself to be up there with the best at the race, and reflected on a strong result. And we took the opportunity to snap a few close-up pics of the golden bike, sans Remco, as he was otherwise engaged with anti-doping and media commitments.
We wandered away and sat down on a wall on the coastal road to take stock and plan journeys home. It just so happened the Trinity Racing bus was parked right in front of us, and fresh from anti-doping checks, the current king of the mountains Callum Thornley arrived, climbed onto the bus and was promptly asked to delay his shower to have a chat. We talked Trinity as a breeding ground for riders who are now performing well on a bigger stage, his own ambitions for following in their footsteps, and he was most gracious with his time given he was clearly in need of some food. Day two was done, and it was one to remember. Back over the level crossing and into the north-east rush hour traffic, I'd be heading further afield for the following stages, so I relished the opportunity to head home, enjoy dinner with my family and sleep in my own bed. But the race continued...
Stage 3: Thursday 5 September – Sheffield-Barnsley
Miraculously the only wet day on the 2024 men’s Tour of Britain, stage 3 began in dismal conditions in South Yorkshire, and as the first day I’d opted not to head to the stage start, I was afforded time to prepare for a day and night away, and the dubious luxury of spending most of the period of bad weather in my car, heading down the A1(M) as the race rolled out along the edge of the Peak District, with some tricky terrain lying ahead of them.
Finding my way around Barnsley was a bit complicated, but I finally rolled into the technical parking, slowing down beside the Decathlon-AG2R team bus purely by chance to make sure I was in the correct section.
'Are you a sponsor of the team?'
The question came out of the blue, and I suddenly realised I was wearing my Decathlon team jersey and had to admit somewhat embarrassingly 'no, I'm just a fan!' before driving away and hiding in the media centre as the rain eased off.
The timing was perfect. Enough of the race remaining for me to catch up on the situation (a lively, attritional day of racing that had seen Israel-Premier Tech closing down a number of late attacks) before ambling along the final few hundred metres of the course to find a favourable spot to watch from. I got chatting to a man who was sporting a Basque flag and expounding upon the virtues of the region, comparing the architecture of Vitoria-Gasteiz with Halifax which on the surface of it sounded like a stretch, but he had pictures handy of his recent travels to the area to share, and having doubled checked the Piece Hall in Halifax, he was spot on. He confided that if it wasn't a Basque team winning, he'd be supporting Stevie Williams, as a proud Welshman.
It turned out that Hound Hill, the final climb of the day, had already split the bunch, and the drag up into the town centre proved an excellent stretch of road on which to conclude a bike race. Heading steadily uphill for at least the 500m that were visible as we walked down the hill, the road swung left almost at its steepest point, kicking up towards the finish line. It would stagger whatever remained of the bunch as they arrived into the town, and this is exactly what happened. First on the scene, Eduardo Zambanini of Bahrain-Victorious, ahead of race leader Stevie Williams, and towing a group of around 14 from which the welshman was able to sprint to victory - the steep gradients proving too touch for the sprinters among the group, but suiting Fleche Wallonne winner Williams down to the ground.
In his post-race interview, Williams couldn't thank his teammates enough, promising to buy them 'more than a pint' when I asked him if he'd be taking them out for a beer later on to celebrate stage win number two, and more importantly, the retention of the race lead. We also caught up with Louis Sutton, riding for the Great Britain team, who had managed to win the most combative rider of the day award after a late campaign spear-headed by Joscelin Ryan, a well-deserved plaudit given he had crashed heavily earlier in the stage and still been very active in the race.
And finally Oscar Onley, who was probably getting a bit sick of our faces by this point in the race, although he revealed that he would be heading to Zurich as part of the Great Britain squad for the road World Championships - news which at the time, might have been an exclusive - at the very least, it was news to me. I was bouncing with excitement for Onley, a rider whose progress I have tracked closely since his strong performance in the 2022 version of the race, after he caught my eye at the previous year's national championships. It reminded me that first and foremost, I am a fan of the sport, and my enthusiasm comes from following the progress of individuals who I want to see succeed - this was a deserved step forward for a rider who has been making major waves in the past couple of seasons. [He went on to finish 16th in the road race and prove the selectors were right to trust him].
I was truly a part of the race now, not heading home but instead driving down to Derby, to stay overnight and be in place for the following day's stage start. A glamorous and memorable location, it was not.
Stage 4: Friday 6 September – Derby-Newark-on-Trent
We stay overnight in Derby, assuming it will be buzzing with race-goers, but find little to write home about in the outlet-mall wasteland on the outskirts of the city, where the velodrome is situated next to Pride Park Stadium. The Harvester is rammed, however, so we end up in a Frankie & Benny’s – them’s the breaks, when you pick Derby as your destination of choice.
Our hotel selection proves to be inspired though, paying dividends the following morning when we have just minutes to travel to be in amongst it at the race start, and we’re on site before a number of teams, including Soudal-QuickStep who end up parked in the technical car parking area as the team parking is already full.
Image credits: Dan Wattis
It’s retina-piercingly sunny, and I tell anyone who’ll listen that it’s going to be 25 degrees, because that’s what it said on BBC Weather and because I Want to Believe, that in early September we’re really not already in the early throes of autumn. The gusty winds that whip through the yawning chasm between football stadium and velodrome have other ideas however, doing their level best to blow hoardings, tangle hair, and generally provide a stringent reminder that you can never rely on the British weather to do what it’s supposed to do, even if it is 'unseasonably warm'.
The now expected gaggle of fans magnetised to the golden livery of Remco Evenepoel is the equivalent of a big, neon arrow pointing down from the sky proclaiming ‘look! Here’s Remco!’ and of course we go over for another peek, and once again find the man himself patiently signing everything that’s thrust his way, sitting on his bike looking relaxed and unperturbed by the frenzy that has followed him around the country all week. We have to opportunity to say hello to broadcaster Matt Stephens, who is mingling with the rest of the fans, along with his wife Holly who astutely points out that Remco 'is like the golden sticker from the Panini sticker album' - a quote which stuck with me for the rest of the race, and probably will for his four years as reining Olympic champion. He really is the jewel in the crown of the race.
Doubters of the Belgian wunderkind would have done well to track his progress around this particular race, where he's proven himself to be amiable and generous with his time where the fans are concerned, frank and honest with the media, and a valuable teammate to boot, working on behalf of his sprinter Paul Magnier throughout the race, but in particular on this stage, where he turned himself inside out to bring Magnier back following a late split. It's refreshing to see a rider of his calibre following through on his plan to use the race for conditioning and building form, and serving his teammates on the road, despite being the centre of attention off of it.
But I'm leaping ahead. I run manically around the car park like a budget-grade Anneka Rice finding people to chat to, including Israel-Premier Tech DS Sam Bewley, Tour de France combativity king Jonas Abrahamsen, and INEOS' Tom Pidcock (who is characteristically downbeat until I mention mountain biking, at which point his face visibly lights up). I spend some time chatting to former WiV Sungod rider and Tour of Britain stalwart Jake Scott, who is philosophical about the twists and turns in his career, and who reveals he's welcomed a baby this year which has understandably shifted his perspective (he would go on to reveal some weeks later that he is hanging up his cleats, and calling time on his cycling career).
We waved the race off from a hill next to Pride Park stadium, before heading inside the velodrome for a much-needed coffee. From there, Sanny was recruited for a track try-out session, so we spent the next hour chasing him around the track trying to record audio for the pod and picking up some excellent tips from the team at the velodrome, where a group of around eight newbies tried their hand at riding track bikes on the boards for the first time (though some of them looked as if they'd definitely done it before). It was a topical tangent that offered a fascinating insight into another discipline of top level cycling, and I was a bit sad I didn't take up the offer of having a go myself, although I maintain I'd probably have landed on my face.
From there, little did we know, we would be up against our own time trial, to make it to the finish in Newark on time. Our laid back demeanour took a turn when Google Maps revealed heavy congestion along our route, and we set off in individual vehicles, to find our way through the urban nightmare of the Nottinghamshire streets, with wildly varying speed limits, insane amounts of traffic lights, and interminable labyrinthine blocks that seemed to bring me no closer to my destination. Finally, the run-in to Newark, which saw every road snarled up with traffic, and road closures preventing access to the finish area, even though technical parking was on the other side of the blockage.
A long, sweaty walk in the blazing sunshine followed - the wind now history - and a battle through the crowds in Newark, just in time to catch the sprint finish that saw Paul Magnier back on top once again, taking his second victory of the race (it would not be his last).
Post-race the Frenchman was once again polite and patient, completing a series of interviews while we meandered through the adjacent city park and enjoyed an icecream while soaking up the summer holiday vibes, taking stock of what had been a crazy day. British Cycling staff and various team personnel were easily spotted amidst the clamour of young families and cycling fans, but as we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, the final time I would be present at the race, a lasting image presented itself.
From golden Remco at the beginning of the day, the contrast could not be more stark as stage winner Paul Magnier trudges across a field, still in full kit including his cleats, long after everyone has packed up and moved on. The stage is being deconstructed and after he’s completed an endless round of interviews and made it through anti-doping, he must trail through the local park, kids’ playground to the left, food outlets playing mildly celebratory steel drum music to the right, to find his way to the bus and move on to the next pinned location on the tour of the most seemingly random locations that Britain has to offer (no shade thrown, honest).
It's an arresting image and yet another reminder of just how unique this sport is, in its curious existence alongside 'normal' life, rather than contained within an arena, stadium or court, at a remove from reality. The elite rubbing up against the mundane in a way that is almost poetic, summing up everything I love about being at a race in person, though the anti-climax of having to head home to my own reality is already hitting hard.
Fading out
Stages 5 and 6 continued on after I return home, back to reality, the bubble of being a tiny part of the moving, shifting entity that is a top level bike race bursting and with it, robbing me of the drive to see the race through to its finale. The anti-climax is real as the final two stages unfold, confirming unequivocally that Williams is the best rider at the race, overall, and producing a surprise result on the final day, as Tom Pidcock and Paul Magnier crash allowing the rest of the sprinters to challenge for the final stage win. The battle is won by Bahrain-Victorious’ Matez Govekar, whose prize is a post of congratulations from Tadej Pogačar himself on social media, though I don't find out until later what happened, as life really does go on, beyond the bubble.
On reflection, and despite the many barriers British Cycling faced as they were putting together both the men's and women's races, they navigated what really was a make-or-break year for the continuation of the race itself with aplomb. It was a stripped back, no-frills version of the race - no flowers for the winners, a reduced pot of prize money, and just four World Tour level teams on the start list, a record low for the race, down from a substantial ten by comparison, in 2019.
Nevertheless, grappling with the pitfalls of organising a bike race in a country that is growing increasingly hostile to cyclists, with many local councils unwilling to involve their towns in a potentially costly sporting event, is no mean feat. Here's hoping that in subsequent years, the race can head back up in its trajectory and deliver even more memorable moments (though if we could possibly avoid the first week of the academic year, that would be just perfect).
If you want to listen to the atmosphere, catch up with the riders mentioned and even go inside the team car yourself, check out the Tour of Britain episodes of the On Yer Bike podcast, available wherever you get your podcasts.
Image credits: Dan Wattis
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