However, I do not want to dwell on Wiggins's athletic achievement – partly because the whys and wherefores of how he did it are being discussed in depth elsewhere, and mainly because this is a travel blog. And there is a travel backdrop to this morning's main story – as there is every year, in the month when the Tour brings a sudden presence of whirring spokes to the football-dominated back pages. Because ultimately, whoever pedals into Paris wearing the maillot jaune, the real winner in cycling's grand hurrah is France itself.
The Tour is more than just a race. It is a showcase for what may – and feel free to disagree on this point – well be Europe's most beautiful country. Certainly, France is a place of endless geographical diversity – from the sun-bathed sands of its south shore to the snow-clad peaks of its two major mountain ranges, via a chorus line of cosmopolitan cities that all come armed with epic slabs of history and decadently tempting culinary options.Wiggins retains yellow jersey.
And the Tour does an able job of showcasing the whole package. I defy anyone to watch some of the astonishing footage that the French broadcasters conjure onto our television screens – the star contenders for the title snaking up a steep Alpine pass, the magnitude of their task underlined by helicopter shots that capture their progress from high above; the peloton powering through fields heavy and golden with corn as horses canter happily alongside – and not feel an urge to grab their passport and immediately leap the Channel.
The Tour is more than just a race. It is a showcase for what may – and feel free to disagree on this point – well be Europe's most beautiful country. Certainly, France is a place of endless geographical diversity – from the sun-bathed sands of its south shore to the snow-clad peaks of its two major mountain ranges, via a chorus line of cosmopolitan cities that all come armed with epic slabs of history and decadently tempting culinary options.Wiggins retains yellow jersey.
And the Tour does an able job of showcasing the whole package. I defy anyone to watch some of the astonishing footage that the French broadcasters conjure onto our television screens – the star contenders for the title snaking up a steep Alpine pass, the magnitude of their task underlined by helicopter shots that capture their progress from high above; the peloton powering through fields heavy and golden with corn as horses canter happily alongside – and not feel an urge to grab their passport and immediately leap the Channel.
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