With all the usual fanfare and pomp, the route for the 2011 Tour de France was announced yesterday. As tradition dictates, the route will run in the opposite direction relative to last year. That counter-clockwise switch is even more convoluted than usual, as the course doubles back on itself more than once in the first few days, following the Grand Départ in the Vendée on July 2, 2011.
What that really boils down to, in simple terms, is that the riders will face the Pyrenées prior to entering the Alps this year. Rather than two climbs of the Tourmalet, as in the 2010 edition, the 2011 Tour will see the peloton ascent the Galibier on two consecutive days. The infamous switchback climb of L'Alpe d'Huez also returns after a brief omission, an appropriate return given that 2011 marks the 100th anniversary of Le Tour's first passage through the high Alps.
A few structural decisions will be carried over from the 2010 edition. There will be no time bonuses at the stage finishes or at the intermediate sprints, a decision I support as it keeps the race for the yellow jersey pure — based solely on the final placing on each day's stage. As last year, there will also be only one long time trial (and not a terribly long one, at that). Again, I like that; it's just enough to sort things out among the climbers without giving an undue advantage to the TT specialists. The spectacle of the team time trial returns; always fun to watch, and a great way to focus on the fact that cycling really is, though it's not always immediately apparent, a team sport.
One big change has been announced in conjunction with the 2011 Tour, to the green jersey competition. My gut reaction to it is not favorable. Instead of the multiple intermediate sprints, with only three placings and minor point awards, which have been the standard in the contemporary era, the 2011 Tour will see only one intermediate sprint on each stage. The catch? That sprint will carry half the points available at the finish line of each day's stage, with placings going 15 riders deep rather than three — far more weight than the mid-stage primes have carried in the past. This, I fear, will make the race even more dangerous than it already has been as the pressure to tally points toward the maillot vert will lead to increased risk-taking leading up to the mid-way point of each day's racing. It may well spell doom, too, for the long standing tradition of the stage-long suicide breakaway attempt.
All of that said (and tainted beef claims aside), I'm already looking very much forward to next year's Tour. As with the 2010 edition, I have every intention of providing daily Tour highlights here at MFWT, covering not only the race but also the food and beverage culture of the regions through which the race passes. And as with last year's coverage, I have no intention of doing it all myself. So, as the title of today's post suggests, it's never too early to start planning... not even for a procrastinator like myself. Check out the route and the day-to-day details and let me know if you'd like to lay dibs on writing up any particular stage come July 2011. Hey, Stage 19 is already spoken for.... I expect the rest to go quickly, so don't delay.
Like most kids in the mid-70s suburban community I called home, I grew up with a bike between my legs. Back and forth to school, after school, especially in the summers off... we built makeshift ramps, rode through the yet to be developed corn/soy/tobacco fields, raced up and down the street and, piloting bikes not designed for any of it, crashed and burned with screaming, scabby regularity.
Like most kids of my generation, high school got in the way. Music, hanging out with a wider circle of friends and all entailed by that, drinking beer, and girls (or at least the idea of girls) all got in the way. The childhood bike, more than put through its paces, went out to pasture, rusting idly in the garage.
When I went off to college in '83, I came back to the bike. Living off-campus — even though I had a car through most of my undergrad years — the ten-speed clunker I picked up gave me a way to get back and forth to class without dealing with parking hassles or forking out for gas (a particular issue during my years in possession of a '70 Plymouth Fury). I'd like to think the idea of exercise figured in there but, honestly, I'm not sure it did. It was a utilitarian pursuit at heart. But once in a while I'd go hands-free, or dig in a little on an ascent, and I'd feel a flicker of the old joy.
It wasn't until the start of my senior year that cycling came back, and came on, with a vengeance. I'd spent the majority of the preceding summer EuroRailing it with a good friend who just happened to have dabbled for a year or two as a bike messenger. I needed a way to earn some dough rather than continuing to sponge off my folks and my pal convinced me that courier work was the way. By that time, largely through the local music community (read harDCore) , I'd become friends with a few other messengers who all seconded the motion.
I didn't take much convincing. I spent the rest of the summer getting my bearings as a rookie bicycle messenger in DC, picked it up pretty quickly as I remember it, and then worked one or two days a week, class schedule permitting, through my senior year. That old clunker didn't last long, rattled and rolled to death on the pothole ridden streets of our nation's capital. An upgrade was due and my first serious bike was forthcoming — a mid-80s Cannondale touring bike. It still sits in my garage, long since converted to a fixed gear commuter. Back then, though, it was a serious workhorse. Continuing on to grad school, I also continued on with the courier gig. Bear in mind, this was prior to the public advent of the Internet. Fax machines were still a novelty. The work was hard but the pay, for what it was, was pretty solid — enough, in fact, to pay my way through graduate school without taking out so much as a dollar in student loans.
Graduate course work completed in '89, I left DC for North Jersey. Why is not part of today's story. Suffice it to say that I left behind the messenger grind, and the daily commute in and out of the city or back and forth to campus. And I missed it. I missed the bike. So much so that I quickly got to know the guys at my new local bike shop, invited myself along on their group rides. I was loving it. One of the guys was a local Cat 2 racer. Another had just started as a Cat 4. It didn't take them long to convince me to give it a try. And the rest is history, albeit a story for another day.
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Laurent Fignon won his first Tour de France in 1983. It was his second year as a pro, his first riding Le Tour, and he won it. He went on to repeat as victor in 1984. Those, it would turn out, would be his only Tour victories, eclipsed by the mighty Badger, Bernard Hinault, the most dominant Tour rider of the decade, and a fellow Frenchman to Fignon.
I graduated high school in 1983, not long before the start of that year's Tour. In turn, I finished my Freshmen year in college not long before the '84 Tour. I hadn't a clue what was going on in the Tour in either of those years. If you'd asked me at the time, I might have known what the Tour was in a vague sense but I had no idea what was happening, who the players were, what it all meant. That wouldn't come until a few years later... '87, '88 and especially '89.
1989. In spite of Fignon's two Tour de France victories, it will always be his glorious defeat in the 1989 Tour for which he'll be most remembered. It's also the first year in which I can remember actually watching any meaningful amount of the Tour rather than just catching the daily placings in the stats section of the paper. While I can hardly say I don't remember watching that ignominious finish of Fignon's on the Champs-Élysées, losing the stage by 58 seconds and the entire Tour by eight to overall victor Greg LeMond, the entire race leading up to that point was just as exciting. I can still remember Fignon fighting it out with LeMond, day in and day out, in the mountains, with one gaining the upper hand on one stage, the other taking it right back on the next.
That's how I expect Fignon would like that year's race to be remembered, not via the unfortunate image of him squirming on his back in the streets of Paris after realizing his defeat. It was one of the most exciting Tours I can ever remember watching, and it was Laurent Fignon, The Professor, wispy ponytail, wire-rimmed glasses and all, who helped make it so memorable. The video clip above should give you a sense of that, even though it focuses only slightly on Fignon. It's long but worth the watch for fans of the era.
Laurent Fignon died last week, on August 31, 2010, to be exact, losing his year-long battle with cancer. I never had the chance to see any of the coverage he did of the Tour as a commentator for French television. Something tells me, though, that it would have been much like his riding style — far more opinionated and punchy than the "old" American coverage you can watch above, though no doubt with his own signature twist of melodrama.
This post goes out to the memory of Monsieur Fignon, and as way of thanks for helping to make my first real taste of Le Tour such a meaningful experience.
Three weeks. As quickly as it came, it’s gone. Another year of what must be considered one the world’s greatest sporting spectacles: the Tour de France. The final week of this year’s Tour proved to be less decisive than some had postulated it would be, as the final positions on the podium had already pretty well shaped up after the first day or two in the Alps. Yet the final week was still as exciting as always, perhaps even more so than usual given the penultimate stage’s finish atop the giant of Provence, Mont Ventoux. The end results may have been predictable but the fireworks were no less thrilling to watch.
In all the times I’ve traveled to France, never once have I put rubber to road on a bicycle. Friends who know how much I like to ride find it hard to believe, but it’s true. Wine, food, culture and good old general tourism have always taken precedence. One of these years, though, I’ll eventually make it over for a cyclo-centric trip. When I do, I have to say that L’Alpe d’Huez will be the mecca atop my list of mountains to be climbed. But the Ventoux won’t be far behind.
I’ve spent enough time in its tremendous shadow to have a clear mental image of what to expect, for the Ventoux dominates the vista in much of the Vaucluse and can be seen from most parts of Provence and the Southern Rhône, its bald, lunar pinnacle looming in startling contrast to the rolling green countryside that surrounds it. When last I visited the Vaucluse – the French department in which Mont Ventoux is situated – we spent several days hiking, driving, eating and exploring throughout the villages and countryside in the mountain’s environs. Our home for the duration of our stay was a lovely little B&B on the outskirts of Menerbes, just down the street from the winery that produced the wine I sipped with dinner while watching the riders claw their way up Ventoux’s slopes.
Côtes du Luberon “Les Artèmes” Rouge, Domaine de la Citadelle (Yves Rousset-Rouard) 2001 $18 on release. 14.5% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Petit Pois, Moorestown, NJ.
Much as the Luberon hills lie in the shadow of Mont Ventoux, Domaine de la Citadelle sits directly beneath the fortressed, hilltop town of Menerbes. The Domaine’s wines are soundly among the best in the Luberon, while their winery itself makes for an easy, even quirky afternoon tasting destination. Outside there is a “demonstration” vineyard, with specimens planted of just about every vine known to the area and then some, while inside is the Musée du Tire-Bouchon, which features a highly entertaining array of corkscrews in various shapes, forms and designs from throughout the ages.
Though the blend in “Les Artèmes” rouge shifts slightly according to the conditions of each vintage, it is generally a roughly equal part blend of Grenache and Syrah, aged in a mixture of tank and older barrels. At eight years of age, the 2001 Artèmes has shed much of its youthful brightness and taken on a richer, mellowed feel, with slightly Port-like aromas, a hint of browning in the glass and loads of fine sediment in the bottle. There’s still plenty of generous fruit and enticingly spicy scents, but I think I preferred it in its youth, when it displayed a snappier acid balance and slightly crunchier, less overripe flavor and textural profile. A bit overmatched with my staple chicken pot pie (I still haven’t found a better pairing than Puffeney’s Poulsard) but I think this would be right on with braised lamb shanks… about four months and forty degrees from now.
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That’s my final report on Les Vins du Tour de France…. There was no Sunday morning Champagne (as I’d suggested as a possibility in the opening stage of my race coverage) while watching the coverage of the final day’s TGV ride from Avignon to the Parisian suburbs and the ensuing race into Paris – at least not for me – so I leave you with a few simple thoughts on the 2009 Tour.
Contador conquered, as expected. Lance rode amazingly well and, in spite of all the drama generated in the press, he did it in a truly supportive manner – didn’t think he had it in him. The brothers Schleck both impressed; watch out for Andy next year if he can get his time trialing skills dialed up a notch or two. Mark Cavendish is a freak of nature. His performance in taking six stage wins this year was leaps above his level in last year’s race, and he won four stages then. My man of the Tour, though, was Cav’s teammate, George Hincapie. Riding in his fourteenth consecutive Tour, and perhaps his last, he came within reach of the yellow jersey only to be struck with the disappointment of missing it by five seconds. A few days later, he crashed hard, bruising or maybe even breaking his collarbone – I still don’t know which – but refused to be x-rayed for fear that he’d be told to retire from the race. Nope, he forged on, rode through the pain. And consummate team rider that he is, he finished with a flourish in setting up the perfect lead out for Cavendish’s final stage victory on the Champs d’Elysées. Cav, of course, deserves all the credit for the win. And Mark Renshaw is unquestionably one of the best lead-out men in the cycling biz today. But just watch George’s jump from under the flame rouge (the 1K to go flag). It’s a thing of beauty.
It’s been an exciting trip through the Alps. The first half of the final week of the 2009 Tour de France has seen the riders cross borders, scale peaks and stake their claims. It’s seen them suffer. It’s seen many riders implode, with pre-race contenders such as Carlos Sastre (last year’s champ) and Cadel Evans dropping by the wayside, perhaps weighed down both mentally and physically by the huge time deficits they incurred way back in the Stage 4 team time trial. It’s seen others live up to or far exceed expectations. If anyone had told me before the Tour started that Bradley Wiggins would still be in the top six after the Alps, I’d have called them crazy. The Schleck brothers have ridden stupendously, too, especially Frank. The image of them crossing the line in yesterday’s stage, finishing first and third, both with arms raised high, will be one of the classic memories from this year’s Tour, no matter where they figure in the final outcome.
Image courtesy of Roberto Bettini.
Of course, the biggest drama of the week was the ongoing question as to who would finally prove themselves strongest, the team leader of Astana: Armstrong or Contador. It’s played out just as I’d expected, and the team has played up the drama with serious panache and fine tactical sense. There’s little doubt now, barring misfortune, that Alberto Contador will finish the Tour on the top step of the podium. Even with today’s time trial and Saturday’s finish atop Mont Ventoux on the horizon, I think he’s got it locked.
Armstrong himself has been incredibly impressive, coming right back to the top of the sport after three years of retirement. I wasn’t sure he had it in him – not the performance but rather the teamsmanship. He may be struggling a tad more in the high mountains than he did in years past but only a tad. What he’s really been doing is riding in strong support of Contador’s position, watching Alberto go up the road, discouraging other riders from chasing him down by setting a tough tempo, and then managing to drop them to defend his own position in the general classification. The Schlecks may have bumped him down to 4th place after yesterday’s stage. But with today’s time trial and Saturday’s finish atop Mont Ventoux (sound familiar?), don’t count him out of the top three come Sunday’s ride into Paris. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him scratch his way back past one if not both of the Luxembourgian brothers.
Today’s post, though, is dedicated to Jens Voigt. The video above may focus upon Armstrong’s Stage 16 exploits but I like it most because it shows Jens, always the immaculate professional, riding way above his comfort zone in support of his teammates. That’s him about half way through the video, the big guy in the white and black kit of Team Saxobank, leading the group from which Armstrong had been dropped. These are the high Alps, mind you, not the rolling hills where Voigt usually launches his breakaway escapades. Regrettably, Jens crashed out of the Tour later in the same stage, wiping out horrifically during a high speed descent. Luckily, he came through it okay. His crash has been the scariest of the Tour thus far – let’s hope it stays that way. And while his crash is likely to be the image that will be remembered, I prefer to think of him leading the charge up the hill, sacrificing himself for the good of his team.
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It may seem anti-climactic to bring wine into the picture at this point. But I did half-promise, half-threaten to follow the wine trail along the route of this year’s Tour, so here goes. The last few days, as I mentioned above, have seen the riders crossing not just the Alps but also borders, from France into Switzerland into Italy and back again to France. I had no wine in my cellar from the Swiss Valais or from France’s Haute-Savoie, and I didn’t manage to open anything from Italy’s Valle d’Aosta. So I opted for something from right in the midst of it all – the Jura.
Arbois Pupillin Chardonnay, Emmanuel Houillon 2006 $25. 12.5% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Louis/Dressner, New York, NY.
This was definitely a great bottle – subtly funky on the nose and electrically alive in the mouth, with no signs of reduction. What is it about the aromas of so many Jura wines that makes me think of the beach? These are mountain wines after all, not coastal produce. But Houillon’s Chardonnay showed a pungent nose of sandy minerality tied to scents of lemon meringue pie crust that, yep, brought to mind the seashore. It’s full of lees-y high notes in the mouth, in that respect consistent with the last bottle, which made me think of sake. This time around, it was the respective citric and wild yeastiness of witbier and geuze that came to mind. A joy to drink and a great food wine, too. Its combo of mouthwatering acidity, minerality and lemony fruit paired amazingly well with a simple summer dinner of grilled chicken and feta sausages, arugula dressed with good olive oil, and my wife’s latest rendition of potato salad, made with green olives and preserved lemons. I’m quite sure this was the wine Joe D. had in mind.
The "Contre le Montre" part of today's posting title? That's the rather more poetic French for time trial. And a reference to my goal to actually write this and get it posted before today's Stage 18 race against the clock comes to an end. Mission accomplished, I think.
[Editor’s note: I’d hoped to finish and post this piece this morning but speed blogging, it seems, is simply not my forte. I can’t bring myself to adjust the verb tense below so, as I’ve yet to watch today’s stage or check out the results, I’m just going to pretend that the race into Colmar didn’t actually finish several hours ago….]
The thirteenth stage of this year's Tour de France finishes today in Colmar, where the natural barrier of hills that is likely to make it a tough day in the saddle for most of the peloton is the same barrier that greatly influences the terroir of Alsace. The Vosges.
The mountains here are not as high and mighty as the Alps or Pyrenees but they're more than steep enough to put a hurting on the legs of the climbers and a serious crimp in the style of the flatlanders. From a terroirist perspective, the north-south running ridgeline of the Vosges serves as a natural storm break, stopping much of the rain that comes across France from the west. The mountains also act as reflectors, radiating sunlight and heat onto the vineyards immediately to their east. These factors combine to make Alsace a surprisingly warm, dry region, a somewhat counterintuitive condition given the region’s position near the northern periphery of wine growing possibility.
Today’s post, though, is not so much about the intricacies of Alsace terroir as it is about addressing a couple of questions I (and others, I’m guessing) have about the region and its wines. Today’s wine – the 2002 Alsace Rosenberg de Wettolsheim Pinot Blanc from Domaine Barmès-Buecher ($16/20, 13.5% alcohol, cork, Petit Pois, Moorestown, NJ) – seems as good a vehicle as any for addressing those questions.
First, can Pinot Blanc-based wines be age worthy?
I frankly don’t have a shoe box kind of answer for this one. I think that common wisdom dictates no. But like any rule, if indeed that is one, there are always exceptions. At about 6 ½ years of age, Barmès’ Pinot Blanc is hardly old by wine world standards; I think it’s fair to say it is old, though, by Pinot Blanc standards.
When first opened, I wondered whether it had weathered its slumber in my Vinotheque. The color was fine – medium-golden and bright – but the aromas were suggestive of decay and the beginning, at least, of decline. Its flavors weren’t entirely off-putting – corn, wet hay, dried honey and composting leaves came to mind – but weren’t exactly enthralling, either. Air came to the rescue though, and the wine actually picked up freshness and complexity with some time in the glass. Less decay, more dried honeycomb and minerals. My “delayed” posting schedule has allowed me to revisit the wine on its second day (I’m sipping it as I write), and I must say it’s more than held its own, maybe even improved. That minerality is still there, along with an aroma that I can only describe as corn meal pound cake, slathered with butter and maple syrup. So yes, I guess, Pinot Blanc can age relatively well, at least when grown and produced by François Barmès in a good year. In spite of all the sweet descriptors above, what really strikes me is that this seems much drier than I remember it feeling in its youth. And that brings things around to…
The second question: Is Alsace’s naturally warm, dry climate combining with global warming to push many Alsace wines over the top in terms of balance and concentration?
When asking this question a while back, I fear it may seem as if I too easily jumped on the bandwagon of answering “yes.” The real question I was asking in that posting, about a Riesling from biodynamic producer Marc Tempé, was about the role of biodynamics as a potentially contributing factor in delivering a more and more common over-the-top style in Alsace. Allow me to quote myself….
“The nurturing of the soil and harnessing of energy achieved through biodynamie can actually accelerate vines' growth and production cycles and result, especially in already warm climates like Alsace, in ultra-ripe, concentrated grapes.”
Thor Iverson called me out on that assertion, leaving a comment to which, I’m embarrassed to say, I never managed to respond or rebut. I still don’t have an answer for you, Thor. But I can say that I meant my original thought to be as much a question as an assertion. I agree that the evidence doesn’t prove that biodynamic farming contributes to the fattening of Alsace wines. But there’s no real evidence to disprove the possibility either. Oddly enough, I’ve increasingly found the wines of Barmès-Buecher, a biodynamic producer that Thor cited among the non-obese camp (and who I’ve visited), to display just such tendencies toward richer texture and more honeyed fruit. Today’s wine started there six years ago but has since morphed into something more graceful.
I guess what I’m really trying to say, in my typically long winded way, is that all of these questions remain, as far as I’m concerned, unanswered. But I’d sure love to hear your thoughts, honorable readers, if you’d care to share.
Now to go answer the real first question: who won today’s stage of the Tour? Just don’t tell me, at least not until tomorrow. I want it to be a surprise.
As predicted, I’ve not managed to drink along with the route of this year’s Tour de France. Nope, I’ve not managed to post daily notes or wine-related stories that relate to the locale of each stage. Fact is I’ve had a hard time keeping up with the race itself. I managed to completely miss what’s arguably been the most exciting stage of the race thus far – the finish atop Arcalis in Andorra. Somehow, so did my DVR; so I’ve seen only the brief highlight reels of Alberto Contador dropping the other overall contenders during Stage Seven’s mountaintop finale. I haven’t even watched yesterday’s stage yet, much less today’s (which should still be in progress as I write). So don’t spoil it for me by spouting out the results. I’ve got some catching up to do.
In that spirit, here are a few highlights and observations from week one of Le Tour. I’d hoped to share them earlier but hey, what can I say?
En route from Marseille to La Grande-Motte, Stage 3 took the peloton straight through the heart of the Camargue and the network of lakes of the Bouches du Rhône, south of Arles and Aix-en-Provence. I recognized the countryside right away but was pleasantly surprised when I recognized some of the actual roads the race was traversing, as the pack climbed the Category 4 Côte de Calissanne. It’s a pretty little bluff in the immediate environs of Château Calissanne, an estate in the sprawling Coteaux d’Aix en Provence AOC that my wife and I visited on our honeymoon back in 2000. I profiled Château Calissanne last year, after a visit from their then commercial director allowed me to taste through their more current range of wines and reflect on our trip.
While the Stage 7 finish atop Arcalis may have given us the most exciting finish of the Tour thus far, it was the Stage 4 team time trial (TTT) that’s proven to be the most decisive stage of the race up to this point. It was one of the craziest, most dangerous TTT courses I’ve ever seen, twisting and turning, climbing and dropping through the narrow roads around Montpellier, the capitol of the Hérault and of the Languedoc-Roussillon. TTTs are more typically held on wide open roads as a sheer test of speed, precision and teamwork. While crashes in a TTT aren’t entirely uncommon, there were just a ridiculous number of spills in this year’s stage, the most dramatic of which has to have been the off-road wipeout of half the Boygues Telecom/Bbox Team.
After Stage 5 took the race through the heart of Corbières on its way from Le Cap d’Agde to Perpignan, Stage 6 saw the entire race transfer into Spain for a stage from Girona to Barcelona, finishing atop the Montjuich hill. When I think of Barcelona, I tend to think more of Antoni Gaudi and the beaches of the Costa Brava than of wine. If you were listening closely enough during the evening coverage of Stage 6, though, you may have caught commentator and ex-racer Bob Roll’s typically anti-Gallic comment that he “had to go Spain to find some good wine – an '04 Priorat….” As absurdly misguided as are Roll’s opinions on wine, he was right about one thing: Priorat is indeed just down the coast, to the south and west of Barcelona. Here’s another hit from the archives, my notes on the Priorats of Trio Infernal – Spanish wines made by a bunch of Frenchmen. Take that, Bob Roll!
To round things up….
Author Robert Camuto, who was kind enough to guest post here with the story of his day at Stage 2 of Le Tour, also chimed in with a response to my assertion that there is no wine grown in the tiny principality of Monaco, where the Tour started this year. Confirming my suspicion, he dropped this little tidbit my way:
“Bellet (Nice) would be the closest appellation to Monaco. Bellet has about 12 producers and is the only in-town appellation in France. Reds are made from the Folle Noire (lit. "Crazy Black") grape, which sort of unbelievably can have some fantastic pinot qualities after a few years in bottle. Best producer = Clos St. Vincent. (biodynamic etc.).”
As Le Tour reaches its midpoint, 31 Days of Natural Wine is heading towards its final stages at Cory Cartwright’s blog, Saignée. If you haven’t been following along, put down your work, sit down for a spell and catch up; you’ll find it worth your while. And stay tuned in the closing days for my contribution, an interview with Mr. L’Enfant Terrible himself, Michael Dashe of Dashe Cellars.
Finally, in the wake of all this action, I managed to miss a minor benchmark. My recent piece on the Chablis of Laurent Tribut marked my 500th posting here at MFWT. How’s that for a little pat on the back? Maybe I should open something decent tonight to celebrate.
First though, it’s time to grab some lunch and catch up on the Tour….
As hinted at and hoped for in my last post, today’s story takes us right back to Le Tour de France; this time, though, we get to experience it through the eyes of someone who is actually there.
Robert Camuto and I first made the cycling connection after I reviewed his book, Corkscrewed: Adventures in the New French Wine Country. When I saw Robert’s photos (on Facebook) of his day spent with friends watching Stage Two of the Tour, I had to ask him if he’d be interested in writing about the experience here at MFWT.
Robert is a frequent freelance contributor to Wine Spectator and many other print publications. You can follow his regular adventures at Corkscrewed.info. Needless to say, I’m excited to welcome him here as guest blogger today. So please read on and enjoy!
It’s Not About the Bikes: The Tour de France Passes Chez Nous
By Robert Camuto
I always wondered why it is so many wine lovers enjoy watching professional cycling. And I finally figured it out: It’s one sport you can drink wine with and really feel like you’re part of the event. (The vinous equivalent of the relationship between weak, gassy beer and the NFL).
What it took for me to grasp the obvious was the Tour de France running right by my house—I mean on the street right outside last Sunday. In other words, the road that we use every day to go to the bakery or the post office or to carpool was transformed into the pitch for the world’s third most viewed sporting event (after the Olympics and the Soccer World Cup). And the sidewalks that day were turned into one 100-mile tailgate party.
The Tour de France is, of course, much more than a sporting event. MUCH much more: It’s a three-week national (actually international as it crosses France’s borders) street party. Most people in France couldn’t name more than one or two cyclists in the race or explain the teams and point system. But that’s not the point. The point is all about ambience, which, not surprisingly, is a French word. From a public point of view there is more effort put into the pre- and post- race festivities than the actual race which whizzes by in a few seconds.
A big part of ambience is the gorgeous vistas, the villages and France’s terroirs. Yes terroirs. It would be one thing for me to sit here and write about the steep contours of the Pyrenées or the Luberon mountains, or to even show you pictures. It’s quite another thing to see cyclists straining to crawl up those rocks in the summer heat as the asphalt practically melts.
The whole ambience and terroir thing not only complements the wines—it makes them taste even better! I can assure you that for the grueling mountain finale up Mont Ventoux on July 25, I will be raising a glass of some modest Côtes du Ventoux which on that day will taste more profound than Domaine de la Romanée-Conti.
When race day arrived we had only an approximate idea how many friends and neighbors would be showing up for our race-watching party and barbecue. (It turned out to be about 20. I still haven’t made a final count.) Because the actual road was closed off from 11 a.m.—about three hours before the pack of cyclists came though —everyone had to arrive at least part of the way on foot.
Picking the wines for the occasion was not too difficult. It was hot. It’s summer in Provence, and on this day the tour left Monaco for Brignoles—right in the heart of rosé country.
The overall quality of Provence rosés has increased so dramatically in recent years it has made lists of star producers obsolete. If the wine is to be served on a cool evening I’ll go for a complex, darker Bandol or Coteaux d’Aix. For an afternoon rosé, I like to keep it simple: paler smooth-drinking wines made without headache-inducing chemicals priced between 5 and 10 Euros the bottle from appellations like Cotes-de-Provence, Coteaux Varois, Palette, Corsica and (the hilltop AOC in Nice) Bellet.
For the tour, we skipped bottles altogether and went B.I.B. (less waste, cost) with 5-liter packages of two Grenache-Cinsault-Syrah blends from the Var not far from the Tour’s stopping point that day: a delicious rose-petal colored wine from (organic producer) Domaine de La Grande Pallière followed by a salmon-pink wine from Domaine Thuerry.
We began gathering on the sidewalk around noon. That morning we’d installed the LANCE OUI CAN! sign on our front wall, and on our fence we posed a baguette marked with “Just Do It” in yellow (official Livestrong) chalk. About an hour before the cyclists comes the arrival of the caravane—the parade of wildly decorated publicity vehicles that tosses out free caps, bottles of water, saucisson and candy.
The neighborhoods of our village emptied to gather along the route, and we talked to neighbors we’d never met, shared rosé with a television crew that had stopped to film us, cheered for products, banks and companies that we don’t even know or like without any thought, and called out bravo! to the French riot cops on motorcycle.
Then–after their caravan passed—there was this deep, strange silence as we waited for the Tour to arrive. When the cyclists did arrive, the crowds exploded in cheers. There were four cyclists out front and then a few seconds behind, the peloton – the pack of unimaginably close riders pedaling workmanlike.
“Did you see him?” friends ask. Well yeah, sort of. I mean I could never tell you which particular part of that multi-colored blur that flew past us was Lance Armstrong.
While the cyclists continued their work for another two hours, we fired up the barbecue and ate and drank—summer salads accompanied by delicious grilled Merguez (lamb) and Chipolatas (veal) from an Arab- Hallal butcher in Grasse. (These butchers make some of the best artisanal sausage in France now.)
For the second round of barbecue, we brought out bottles of the red wine I made in my garage with friend and wine collaborator Ken McNeill. Our 2008 cuvée of 2 Gars Rouge (Two Guys- Red) is made from Carignan (also picked in the Var) from the vineyards of our friends at Domaine Borrely-Martin. It was young and fruity and good and nobody was making tasting notes.
The Tour de France isn’t—to paraphrase Lance—about the bikes. Just like wine isn’t really about the notes or about how many flavors you can identify in a glass, or about making a lifestyle statement. It’s all about sharing nourishment, this miracle of fermentation, and some moments together.
* * * Buy Robert's book. And like Cory said, not a used copy. Like the baguette says, just do it!
Le Tour de France. For the 96th time in 106 years, the Tour began the annual pageantry of its circuit around France on Saturday. Most Americans may have been busy that morning preparing for their 4th of July festivities. I on the other hand was glued to the tube, forgoing the Wimbledon women’s finals – not to mention the possibility of a bike ride of my own – to watch the opening time trial of this year’s Tour.
Stage One: Fabian Cancellara crushed it, storming the 15.5 km time trial course in and around the principality of Monaco nearly 20 seconds faster than his nearest rival. Monaco served as an epically beautiful starting point for this year’s race, even though, as the second smallest country in the world, a crossing into France was required as there aren’t 15.5 kilometers of suitable roadway in Monaco. (Trivia award of the day to anyone who can tell us what the smallest country is.)
Ever since I started this blog a couple of years back, I’ve thought about what a great idea it would be to map out a wine trail that follows the Tour route, writing up a wine or wine region (or beer or cheese, when necessary) that matches up with some point along the road of each day’s stage. But I’ve never managed to plan well enough ahead to lay it all out. This year, I didn’t even come up with an entirely appropriate pairing for day one. I’m not aware of any wine being produced in Monaco, so Provençal rosé would have made the most sense. Not a bottle in my cellar at the moment though… sad but true. Champagne might have been a fittingly celebratory substitute but, believe it or not, I wasn’t in the mood for wine that early in the day. Besides, bubbly is even more appropriate for the final day in Paris. So, given the race on the Riviera and the Swiss stage winner, I opted for something not too far off.
Coste della Sesia “Rosa del Rosa,” Proprietà Sperino 2008 $18. 12.5% alcohol. Diam. Importer: Petit Pois, Moorestown, NJ. If you’re interested in somewhat detailed background information about Proprietà Sperino’s “Rosa del Rosa,” a Nebbiolo dominated rosé from Paolo de Marchi’s estate in Lessona, check out the review of the 2007 I wrote for WBW 47. For today’s purposes, suffice it to say that the 2008 is the color of a perfect slice of watermelon, right down to the pale greenish rind around the rim of the glass. In the mouth, it’s slightly frizzante – some bottles more so than others – and full of cranapple snap. Less complex than the 2007 in aromatic and textural terms, it’s still wonderfully refreshing, fruity and flavorful. Not too shabby an accompaniment to a dinner of pasta with a quick garden vegetable sauce.
Stage Two: The first road race of this year’s Tour, Sunday’s stage left Monaco, following briefly along the Côte d’Azur before swinging upland through the heart of the Var. While I did get to drink some cool wines on Sunday, none were from Provence, the Rhone or the Var, much less from the Isle of Man, home of stage two winner Mark Cavendish. Perhaps I can coax Robert Camuto, author of Corkscrewed and recent contributor of a great segment to 31 Days of Natural Wine at Saignée, into guest blogging about his experiences – and what he drank of course. Sunday's stage passed directly in front of his house in the Var Department. That's him below, being interviewed by a press crew from France 2.
Much More to Come: This year’s course is a strange one. Starting in the extreme southeastern corner of the country, it runs clockwise, eventually doubling back very close to where it’s passing in the first few days for the penultimate stage finish atop Mont Ventoux. From there, of course, there’s a transfer to the outskirts of Paris for the now classic and largely ceremonial yet still ferociously contested finishing circuits around the Champs-Élysées. As mentioned earlier, 21 Jours des Vins du Tour de France is not to be this year. But I imagine I will make another stage stop or two along the virtual route. Enjoy the race, all.
What that really boils down to, in simple terms, is that the riders will face the Pyrenées prior to entering the Alps this year. Rather than two climbs of the Tourmalet, as in the 2010 edition, the 2011 Tour will see the peloton ascent the Galibier on two consecutive days. The infamous switchback climb of L'Alpe d'Huez also returns after a brief omission, an appropriate return given that 2011 marks the 100th anniversary of Le Tour's first passage through the high Alps.
