Inside Team Sky (28 page)

There is also an Irish corner for the first time, less populous than its Dutch equivalent, but with enough green and raucous cheering to distinguish it. Every group has its favourites among the
cyclists. It isn’t a universal feeling, but if there were to be a referendum for which team are getting it in the neck, Team Sky would have a second yellow jersey.

Coming through the tiny little village of Chantelouve back down the road, somebody has taken the trouble to hang a curiously inquisitive banner. Simply: ‘FROOME?’

Now on the corner where the Irish have gathered hangs another banner. ‘FROOME DOPÉ’. A camper van with four Frenchmen in it is reckoned to be responsible. They fixed it to the
bare rock, just over four Irish tricolours. The first time the cyclists come up this corner three of the occupants run towards Froome and squirt water at him from large toy syringes. He assumes
it’s water, but he doesn’t know. It is fired at pressure and mostly what he wants is to keep it out of his mouth on the chance that there is a contaminant lurking in there.

The yellow jersey instinctively strikes out with its right sleeve and punches the assailant in the face, an act of physical violence utterly at odds with the character of its inhabitant.
‘Some of the stuff went into my mouth, it might have been beer but I was conscious of not wanting to swallow even a drop and just kept spitting out. I was thinking, “What if
there’s some product in that stuff?”’

All the way up to the top some fans scream at Sky riders while miming shooting up. Eggs smash against the cars, beer too, and when a car slows enough for the jeering mob to rock it from side to
side, that’s what they do. The abuse is worse on some parts of the climb than others.

Froome is used to some interaction with the gallery. He often tells the story of how, on Stage Seventeen of the Vuelta in 2011, a spectator ran up to him and put a proposition to him. ‘You
win. I kill you.’ He dismissed the guy as a lone crazy but three more showed up with the same message before the finish line. This, though, in its own way, has more ugliness to it. This felt
like a siege.

The race rolls on. Upwards and onwards. This is just the first climb. The pandemonium can only grow.

The American rider Tejay van Garderen is out on his own at the front of the race now, 7'45" ahead of the peloton, with 56km left. Christophe Riblon is the closest man to Van Garderen, about 15
seconds back. Riblon is French so this is major excitement. Behind them, the field continues to thin out and 2011 winner Cadel Evans gets dropped again. It has been a tough Tour for the Australian.
They battle to the summit. Van Garderen first, Christophe Riblon next. For the French it would be the best day of the Tour if Riblon could win. So he will be excused the left hook he swings towards
an over-enthusiastic countryman who almost blocks his way up the hill.

Crazy scenes now, fans spilling everywhere. Sérgio Paulinho who made that odd break with Roche is finally caught and almost immediately gets spat out the back of the peloton. That was one
tactical gambit which didn’t work.

Froome and four Team Sky riders are still battling through the multitudes as they hold position near the front of the peloton. Up ahead, Moreno Moser of Italy catches van Garderen and has the
moderate thrill of being first over l’Alpe this time round. It’s him, van Garderen and Riblon for the descent down Col de Sarenne, which is either very tricky or very crazy depending on
who you speak with. Or depending on the weather.

Five minutes later the Team Sky guys roll over the summit. Shadowed still by Contador, Roman Kreuziger, Nairo Quintana and Joaquim Rodríguez, the race is now less about the yellow jersey
but the places alongside him on the podium. Sure, if Froome weakens the others are ready, but no one expects it and his lead is big enough to allow for a relatively bad day. Better for the others
to fight for what they believe is winnable.

Behind, in the convoy of cars, Team Sky have unexpected problems. The two
soigneurs
, Marko and David, who last night packed the cooler with ice, had duly topped up with more ice this
morning. Unbeknown to them the previous evening’s ice had begun to melt at the bottom of the cooler and on the descent from the Col d’Ornon, 15km before the first of two ascents of Alpe
d’Huez, Gary Blem was sitting in the back of the team car when he heard water sloshing about in the cooler.

Not good. Around the tight corners on the descent, the water crashed against the sides of the cooler, some spilling out into the boot of the car and, from there, into the electronics.

This was the Number One team car, driven by the
directeur sportif
, Nicolas Portal, but also carrying News Corp’s James Murdoch and Blem. They just about got the car to the top of
Alpe d’Huez. A stop-start-stop business through the hairpins even on a good day, Portal knew something wasn’t right with the car. Then the dashboard panel began to light up like a fruit
machine. Flashing warning lights everywhere. Blem reached back and saw the water, all over the boot, causing the electrical carnage that foretold the day’s disaster.

Things are starting to happen on the bikes too. Out ahead on the descent Moser has been left behind . . . until van Garderen’s chain goes, leaving Riblon clear, until . . . Riblon
misjudges a turn at speed and leaves the road to explore ditch and stream . . . leaving Moser to reclaim the lead.

Meanwhile, at the top of the descent, Alberto Contador surveys what’s ahead, takes a deep breath and launches an attack. Chris Froome surveys Alberto Contador, takes a deep breath and says
‘Off you go.’ Froome, the calculator, works it out instinctively. If Contador attacks on the descent it is because he knows he cannot do anything on the climb.

With 21km to go (nearly 14km of that is another climb of Alpe d’Huez), Contador finds himself 20 seconds ahead of Froome and 90 seconds behind Moser and Riblon. At this point he is second
overall and still feels he has a chance to win the day.

Meanwhile . . .

On the bumpy descent from the Col de Sarenne which Contador has just hurtled down, the Team Sky Number One car just cuts out. The riders are pushing ahead for the second climb of Alpe
d’Huez, but here on the downslope the car has cut out. They give quiet thanks that this has happened on the loneliness of a descent and not amid the wild multitudes on the way up Alpe
d’Huez.

Chris Froome will later comment that those scenes between the walls of fanatics reminded him of being stuck in a car in Kenya once with his mother as a riot went on outside. A broken-down Team
Sky Jaguar might have been stripped for parts in seconds as the mob turned to piranhas.

On the Col de Sarenne, Gary Blem gets out and coaxes the battery into renewed life. The reprieve, however, lasts only minutes, so they wait on the side of the road for the second team car to
come. Seven minutes that seemed to stretch towards eternity. The back-up arrives. They switch cars and head off trying to recover their number one place in the cavalcade.

It was close to hopeless, for by now the leaders were climbing Alpe d’Huez for a second time and, on a road filled with fans, overtaking was dangerous and difficult. Needing to feed before
Alpe d’Huez, Froome got teammate Pete Kennaugh to go back to the team car.

‘Car’s not there,’ said Kennaugh on his return.

And if Chris Froome was into his country and western, he might have hummed Kenny Rogers: ‘You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.’

Froome was hungry, he needed some sugar and soon.

And so they hit Alpe d’Huez for the second time. The leading trinity have been reunited. Moser, Riblon and van Garderen will battle it out for the stage.

On the corner where the ‘FROOME DOPÉ’ libel hangs, there is yet more chaos. The first Team Sky car squeezes through the mob. The syringe gang have entered their camper van and
changed into medical scrubs ready to cause more chaos when Team Sky come past. Somebody takes the rather brave decision to throw themselves against the door of the camper van, trapping the phoney
medics inside. The one escaping member of the group is running around outside with a bucket of water.

The second Team Sky car approaches through the churning sea of people. Dave Brailsford is inside. People are shouting to shut the windows. People are shouting abuse. People are shouting. The
bucket of water comes through the window. The car goes on. There are scuffles on the road behind. The gendarmerie begin to take an interest.

Contador has been hauled back to the bunch which is really pushing on now. Richie Porte takes a turn at the front. Froome is behind him. Then Froome attacks.

He doesn’t go with a swoosh, though. Just grinds it out and the serious men behind him are having none of it. Contador, Quintana and Joaquim Rodríguez go with him. Now, now, Mr
Froome.

Mr Froome is undeterred. He hopes his little attack has seduced his rivals into thinking he is still going well, and that he can leave them whenever he wishes. Bluffing isn’t just for the
poker table. No one reads that Froome isn’t himself; he’s not going to hold up a sign that says glycogen depletion.

A roar is building up ahead and rolling down the mountain like a wave so that the whole climb is one big noise. The roar is for the battle for the stage. Van Garderen is ahead again. Jens Voigt,
forty-one, the heroic old breakaway lad of the Tour, is second! Riblon and Moser haven’t given up.

And Froome goes again. Maybe the noise is sucking the judgement from his brain or maybe he reacts to the need to do it to them before they do it to him. If he attacks, they can’t know how
weak he feels. This time he loses Contador, but Quintana won’t be shaken. The Colombian seems the most comfortable of all on this second ascent of l’Alpe.

This is the sport of our childhood, the Tour as told around the fireside on a winter’s evening. Contador is crumbling before our eyes. Richie Porte and Alejandro Valverde are trying to get
across to join Froome and Quintana. Joaquim Rodríguez has succeeded in that already.

Froome is now looking as he feels. Wasted. Porte makes it across, which cheers Froome because he’s going to need his friend. Up the road nearer the summit van Garderen is pushing on for
the stage.

At this point amid the heave, Nico Portal in the team car is too far from Froome for their two-way radio to work. Having missed an opportunity to refuel, the race leader is becoming
hypoglycaemic – extremely low on sugar. Seven kilometres from the summit, Portal had worked his way through some of the race cars when he hears Froome’s voice on the radio.

‘Nico. Sugar, sugar, I need sugar.’

Portal still has some more overtaking to do and by the time he gets into position behind Froome, it is too late to legally give the rider the sugar-rich gels he needs.

Froome makes lots of mistakes but he seldom makes the same mistake twice. Five years ago he arrived at the foot of Alpe d’Huez in his first Tour, a race for which he had
only a ten-day crash course to prepare. The weeks before the Tour started, being quite sure he wasn’t going to be selected anyway, Froome had gone home to Africa following the death of his
mother, Jane. He hadn’t been home in some time and he stayed a while after the funeral. When he came back to Europe he got the word. ‘Prepare.’

He was riding for Barloworld, a South African team which was disintegrating by the mile. Their leader, Moisés Dueñas, had tested positive for EPO after the Stage Four time trial
and as soon as the result was announced the French police raided his room in Tarbes in the Pyrenees. They found a one-man pharmacy and took Dueñas away in handcuffs.

Froome commented that it was best if he never saw Dueñas again as he would risk getting arrested for assault if he did. Then two other Barloworld riders crashed into each other and
withdrew. By the time the Tour hit Alpe d’Huez, Barloworld were four.

Still, Alpe d’Huez. Froome isn’t steeped in the lore of the Tour but he knows the places where a man might leave his mark. Froome tucked himself in ambitiously behind a group
containing many of the race favourites including the eventual winner, Carlos Sastre. At the bottom of l’Alpe Sastre went for it with a sudden and aggressive attack. Froome was on the wheel of
Denis Menchov, but when it all went off Froome found he had no response.

He had seen Alpe d’Huez as a venue where he might make a name for himself. He’d latched onto the leaders’ group ready to take up the gauntlet. In the thrill of it all, he had
forgotten to take food on board. In fact when the team car beckoned him with a fistful of energy gels he waved them away politely.

‘I blew completely. I had no sugars left and lost a lot of time. That taught me a lesson.’

This isn’t like that, but it’s still not good. Froome and Richie Porte have an exchange now. Greater love hath no
domestique
than that which will slow down
on Alpe d’Huez, wait for the team car to come alongside and get some food for his leader who has just, to use the term favoured by academic nutrionists, ‘bonked’. Porte gets the
energy gels. While he is delivering Froome service, Quintana attacks.

Can a gentleman not have his afternoon tea?

Froome doesn’t panic. This was to be expected. Letting Richie Porte drop back as Nairo Quintana burst forward was a game of percentages which Froome got exactly right. He remembered the
lesson.

Ahead it is all delirium. Riblon is closing on van Garderen as they grind it out. They pass the two-kilometres-to-go sign. A little way up the road the Frenchman heroically overtakes the
American. Not bad for a cheese-eating surrender monkey, cry thousands of his countrymen. Riblon just keeps getting faster. Or van Garderen keeps getting slower. Either way it’s going to be a
French win on l’Alpe.

Van Garderen comes in second. Moser third, and Quintana takes fourth after a mature display of climbing nous. Joaquim Rodríguez, then Froome and Richie Porte come home together. Froome
and Porte will be docked 20 seconds each for the energy gel business.

Nico Portal wants to appeal the penalty because the team were victim to such bad luck with the car. Froome tells him to drop it, explaining that if Richie hadn’t broken the rule, the time
loss might have been a minute or a minute and a half. Twenty seconds was a price worth paying. Portal shakes his head in wonder, for such maturity is not common in an athlete, let alone one bearing
the pressure of the yellow jersey in the Tour.