Watching Le Tour go by

The oblivious amongst you might have failed to notice that the first stage of this year's Tour de France (Le Grand Depart) went through the dales (valleys) of North Yorkshire.

My parents live in a little village not far from Masham ( a small town in Wensleydale and home of the Black Sheep Brewery) and our eldest has recently got into road cycling (competing against persons unknown on a smart phone app called Strava), so it was too good a chance to miss and we went over the night before so we could cycle into Masham where they were expecting 20,000 to turn up and the playing fields down by the river had food, beer and a couple of big screens.

In the morning, to get in a bit of outdoors before watching the first couple of hours on the telly, we went out on a short circular ride up the local moor. On the way we met whole groups of cyclists - or as we call them "people on bikes" - heading for Masham. Every single one gave us a greeting. The sense of solidarity in social identity was palpable and, being particularly soft, literally - used in the correct sense - brought a tear to my eye.

Later on, when we'd had our dinner and judged we'd only have about an hour to wait for Le Tour to come through, we set off for Masham. Surprisingly we found other cyclists heading the wrong way; presumably they'd worked out there was time for a quick ride before anything much would happen.

In Masham itself, right through the town and out over the river, the route was lined with the folding chairs of the sedentary. They'd been there for hours; at least 5 according to a women Joe briefly stopped in front of when he was checking his phone and who I had to reassure that we were such fidgets that we couldn't possibly stay still for more than a couple of minutes and would be well out of the way by the time the riders came through.

So, as you rightly surmised, a mixed bunch. The professional spectators who can sit still for hours waiting for the world to go by, as long as there are enough other people doing the same thing to make it feel like a sensible thing to do, and the people who like riding their bikes - and making the world go by them -

When Le Tour did arrive, we only had a side on view and they were going so fast that all you really got was an impression of speed. My son did take some pictures on his phone and it was only later that he realised he got one of an as yet undamaged Mark Cavendish - for those not paying attention he crashed on the final sprint of the day up Parliament Street in Harrogate (the town in which he spent his early life) and dislocated his shoulder - a slightly sad end to a grand day out.

Is that Alberto Contador in the fluorescent yellow behind Cav?