The Tour de France

Martha Marino

Days 4 and 5

The canal was incredibly beautiful this morning. Bright sunshine

filtered through the tall trees and dark shadows danced on the water.

As boats streamed by, a special sense of excitement hung in the air.

Everyone was headed for Castelsarrasin to see the Tour de France,

just like me.

I cycled along until I noticed buildings by the towpath draped

with red, white and blue flags. At that moment, I knew I had arrived.

“Excuse me,” I said to a young man standing outside, “Can you direct

me to the campground, please?”

“Sure,” he answered. As he was giving me directions, a man with a

gray moustache and goatee walked by. “I wouldn’t go to the

campground,” he advised, “It’s out of town and may not be safe. Why

don’t you come and stay at my house? I live nearby.”

A vision of no tent, no sleeping bag and a comfortable bed for a

night flashed through my mind. His offer sounded great, but would it

be safe staying with someone I just met? We talked for a while, and

when he assured me that his wife, Annie, would like to meet me, I

accepted his invitation, never imagining what I was about to

experience.

I followed Michel to a wide avenue with a center island of leafy,

green trees. Bordering the sidewalk stood a row of plain-looking,

two-story houses, each with two rows of shuttered windows and sharing

connecting walls.

Annie invited me inside and led me down a long hallway passed a

living room, dining room and kitchen to a lovely garden at the end of

the house. While sitting beside a pond among flowers, trees and

bushes, we got acquainted. The day of the race I was as excited as if

I were going to the Summer Olympics. At 8 a.m., Michel led me through

the streets that were buzzing with the commotion of a carnival. In

front of the canal among the crowds, we watched a stream of pre-race

events.

First, a parade of official team-cars inched by, each carrying on

the roof two or three extra bikes standing up erect. Next, bands

marched by, interspersed with cars decorated like floats. The Festina

team (a watch company), for instance, displayed a big, rubber clock

on top of the hood.

Then came the unexpected. One of Michel’s friends, an official,

came by. Upon learning that I was from the States, he handed me a

special-events pass that gave me the freedom of a flying carpet.

Shortly, the cyclists in their brightly colored jerseys lined up

in the street ready for their 137-mile race. Seeing 200 bikes

glistening in the sunlight was an impressive sight. Then suddenly

everyone became silent and tension filled the air. Exactly at 11

a.m., a gun blasted off, and the cyclists disappeared so rapidly --

as if someone had waved a magic wand.

At about 2 p.m. I returned to Annie’s and Michel’s to find that

they had prepared a special lunch for me of magret de canard (roasted

duck). Sharing this sumptuous meal was a perfect way to celebrate the

day’s events and end my stay.

When I reflect about Castelsarrasin, it’s hard to decide which was

the best: meeting Michel and Annie or seeing the Tour de France. Both

were fantastic!

* MARTHA MARINO is a Laguna Beach resident and author of “Asian

Adventure.” This is the third in a series of stories from Marino’s

recent bike tour.