Tour De France- 2020 a cycling tour de force

Tour De France - 2020 a cycling tour de force.

So here we are again, back on the roads of Europe and the cyclists of the world are pedalling furiously for their life as if their life depended on it. This year the Tour De France, cycling's blue riband event of the year, went ahead when there were those who thought it would never happen. They looked at the sky, felt the bracing air and felt sure that no virus could ever stop these two-wheeled masters of their craft from reaching their personal target in their relentless hunt for the Maillot Jaune, the ultimate prize for the rider who breasts the tape at the finishing line known as Paris and the Champs Elysses.

Cycling may have a rough ride in recent years with all of those sleazy drug-taking scandals bedeviling its every pedal and spoke. When Lance Armstrong found himself at the centre of all that unnecessary controversy over his alleged misuse of narcotics, cycling threw up its hands in horror. Surely a cyclist of Armstrong's stature could never be so naive enough to get all tangled up in such wretched illegality because he was Lance Armstrong and nobody could ever accuse Armstrong of anything so abhorrent as dabbling with those naughty sweeties that none of us should ever take.

But this is  2020 and the Tour De France. Once again tiny pockets of French vineyard owners and upbeat farmers from deep in the heart of France's thriving wine drinking heartlands are lending their voice and encouragement in the way they've always done since time immemorial. This year the Tour De France isn't quite the same eye-catching product that it used to be. The fans and crowds lining the typically twisting and winding country lanes are still there but not in the sheer weight of numbers.

High up on the Swiss Alps where formidable mountain ranges gaze down on equally as forbidding open roads that remain as stamina-sapping and punishing as ever, small groups of cyclists of the highest class will hunch forward on their bikes, clutch muscular arms onto their handlebars and then push themselves beyond the point of endurance. It is one of the most riveting sights in world sport if only because we mainly use our bikes to get the Sunday papers, a pint of milk, a loaf of bread and the rest of the shopping in our local supermarket. Then again there are those of us who just love cycling long distances for all of its healthy benefits.

In recent years Britain has excelled in the Tour De France. Sir Bradley Wiggins famously took the yellow jersey and Chris Froome also collected the garlands with sparkling victories. This year Adam Yates is champing at the saddle, gritting his teeth tenaciously and putting his feet down hard in the hope that somebody falters and flags at the finishing line. Above all we can only hope that nothing untoward occurs such as blatant cheating, a mass collision of bikes fighting for supremacy and perhaps the inevitable accidents.

Cycling of course is one of those sports that somehow defies categorisation. Quite clearly it is richly deserving of its Olympic status but then you look at the innumerable cheats, the cheeky mavericks, the law-breakers, the ones who quite literally think they can get away with it. Cyclists are completely focussed, driven to the point of obsession, unwavering in their belief that they are the best. They climb the hills vigorously, puffing out the reddest of cheeks, pounding the pavements for mile upon mile and then pedal like crazy through barriers of the pain threshold as if it were something that just came naturally to them.

And yet this year there will be no cheers of Allez Le France resounding from gentlemen with onion bags on their shoulders or just harvesting the local crop of grapes. Along the route there will be the familiar sight of brooding cows curling up in their traditional fashion, models of curiosity, languid and thoughtful as ever and then staring up at the cyclists while munching their lengthy lunch on a grassy meadow. Then the sheep will join in with just a few bleating choruses and all will be well.

Eventually the cyclists who comprise this year's Tour De France will head for the valleys and the heavenly hills for one last heave-ho. On Sunday they will attempt to break all records, arms and shoulders pushing, panting, gasping for air, rivers of sweat pouring from their saturated foreheads, rolling their wrists, grinding out one more painfully excruciating ounce of energy out of exhausted bodies. We salute their dedication and we acknowledge their courage and their heroic bravery. The world of cycling and the Tour De France has always made for compulsive watching and this year should be no different.