Nightglow Window

Amgen Tour Of California Stage 8

The 2009 Amgen Tour Of California saved the best for last. Stage 8 was the Queen's stage, the most difficult of the race. It was a 96.8-mile pedal from Rancho Bernardo to Escondido, which was the first time the race has traveled to San Diego County. The route included four King of the Mountains climbs, none bigger than the fearsome Palomar Mountain, an "above categorization" climb that peaks at 5,123 feet, the highest summit ever reached in the Tour.

This morning I leave home in the blackness of 4:30 a.m. -- partly because I knew the route would be packed with spectators and the road closing early to traffic, but also because of some incredible snoring from the other side of the bed. A true bronchitis symphony.

No matter, the early start has me up at the 4,500-foot level of Mt Palomar just before sunrise. I crawl into the back of the Vanogon and sack out for 90-minutes until 7:00 a.m. Cars line the road, but everyone is still asleep inside. Tents dot a nearby switchback. Nothing much is happening. It's peaceful and still and beautiful, and I'm now fully awake.

I make the 2.5 mile walk up to the summit for coffee. Nothing much is happening there either, so I walk back down, read a bit, twit my thumbs, then head back up. What else am I going to do until the race comes through at 1:30 p.m. or so?

Luckily I finally run into a group of REI friends (a few of whom went on the J-Tree trip) who had camped on the summit in the snow. We shoot the shit for an hour then find a spot just below the King Of The Mountain finish on a steep section of the climb. We still have two hours to kill.

A pro bike race is unlike anything I've experienced. It's been said that attending a bike race is "a combination of excruciating boredom and unbelievable excitement that stems from the math: You wait hours to see something that lasts twenty seconds, and afterward you have no idea what the hell happened -- who's winning, who's losing. So you solve it by making your own good time."

I find that's an excellent description. The road is choked with people--quite a few of them in full costumed regalia. We sit around drinking beer or coffee (it was cold!) for a few hours. Occasionally a tour vehicle drives by, but news of what's happening on the course is hard to come by.

Then, a long ways away and far down the mountain, you hear it. It's the sound of helicopters. The red helicopter is especially noteworthy in that it beams live video to versus, and its appearance, even miles away, shocks the crowd to life. A phalanx of CHP blasts through and the crowd goes nuts in earnest.

Then you hear it.

To quote more of Daniel Coyle's excellent book, "spectators began to hear sirens, then the roar of engines, and behind them, an unfamiliar sound. A sound few of the Americans had ever heard; a deep, whirring churn, like the inhalation of a monstrous breath, and as the pack drew closer -- going far faster than they'd imagined -- the sound grew louder and louder until they appeared, a flashing sinuous rush of raw power, a storybook dragon. A five-year old girl covered her ears and cried."

It's exactly like that on Palomar, minus the crying kid. Motorbikes with the TV guys dangling off the rear seats. A blur of color. The costumed crowd races alongside the riders -- sometimes getting in the way -- screaming encouragement. Cops bellow to get out of the way and are uniformly ignored. A thousand camera motor drives hum to life.

Then the riders are gone. The sound of the helicopters fade and it's all over. In a relative blink, the party has ended.


Early morning looking down on a lower switchback -- one of 21 on the climb. (click any of the photos to supersize.)


Sunrise on Mt. Palomar.


More spectators cycle up. There were literally thousands of people on bikes who made the long ride up the mountain to watch. Next year for sure.


Looking way down from the summit.


REI staffer Luke and I ham it up at the top of 5,200 foot Mt. Palomar with some LiveStrong chalk (which you are supposed to use to write messages on the course).


The KOM crowd just below the crest.


Antler Man leads out Jens Voigt and Levi Leipheimer.


Jens Voigt and race leader Levi Leipheimer, 200M before the KOM at the top of the "Beyond Category" climb up Mt Palomar, a mountain I look at every clear morning from my kitchen window.


Michael Rogers.


Andy Schleck.


Antler Man leads the Armstrong group.


The swirl of the main pack.


The one and only Lance Armstrong, being led by the one and only Chechu Rubiera. Good stuff.


Big George Hincapie!


Christian Vandevelde.


Ben Jaque, with Chris Horner on his wheel. Look at how excited that guy in the background is, and also notice Horner is smilin -- or is that only a grimmace?

So What's It Really Like?

This was shot a few hundred yards up the road from me, and his angle sucks, but it still captures the swirl and confusion quite well.