at the Col du Granon, the magic of the last kilometer – Liberation

One kilometer from the finish, the Granon surrenders entirely to silence. One last breath before the final meters. No more screaming or shaking. They will pick up further. The collar is a soft serpentine. Without pins or jerks. The pain of the climb is latent there, 11.3 kilometers at 9.2%. Never has the Tour arrived so high, 2,400 meters exceeded, except this time at Galibier. Do we need such a pastoral and at the same time so hard theater to transcend the runners? They are approaching. Soon the speakers will be talking about “drama” and of “comedy”.

800 meters from the line, a man is lying in the grass. Feet crossed, face immersed in a book full of aphorisms and poetry, of very physical journeys or filled with dreams. He reads the Peregrines d’Olga Tokarczuk. Dit: “I haven’t decided if I’m one yet.”

At 700 meters, the scenery widens. Sheep nets protect the area – the Granon is located in the Natura 2000 area. Scenery of green dunes. Shaved moor. Lower down, you could smell a smell of thorns and burning. The ground was as dry as sand. There it looks green, interrupted by rocky outcrops. Cottongrass, a cotton-like flower, purple butterworts, mealy primroses, grow here and there. The herds of sheep have recently been moved: the chaos of the supporters attacks the animals and the guard dogs. Here, the breeders go up to the summer pastures in groups, in pastoral groups.

500 meters away, a duo of amateur cyclists under a Pelforth parasol. They have a southern accent, come from the Pyrenees, wear espadrilles, have never climbed such an arduous pass. A reassuring breeze, which appeared around a bend two kilometers below, is cooling. At 400 meters, a bald man with a mad dog descends before the arrival of the runners, “ready to argue with everyone”.

At 350 meters, a blood red tag praises Gaudu, Pinot and Bardet, hates Pogacar, who would pedal fast thanks to dope. Slovenian supporters are positioned right at this level. They come from Maribor, in the east of the country, follow the Tour for four days. Shake their heads no when translating the inscription on the road. The French would be too chauvinistic. They like Pogacar, Roglic, Mohoric… In truth, all Slovenians.

250 meters away, the stone sheepfolds are in fact military barracks, those of the seventh battalion of alpine hunters. At 100 meters, the panorama can be seen like nowhere. To the east, behind Mount Pelvoux, the Ecrins massif dissolves in the clouds. A blue fan laces the horizon. La Meije and the Lambs are black spines.

At 50 meters, an apostle with long brown locks in a cycling overcoat. It is covered with an earth-colored canvas sheet. Motorized bicycles surround it. Two hundred people or more are lying on the moor, as in a bed, on their backs, on their stomachs. A bar offers sandwiches but the Granon has wilder ingredients: sweet cherries, tiny cherries, blueberries and plums from Briançon, “ugly fruit even with 1 kilo of sugar” according to a local.

At 25 meters, we find the alpine hunters. They do here their «petite com». The advertising caravan has no place at this altitude, but a soldier with enormous black eyebrows as if embroidered on his face exhibits submachine guns, pens and cans – gizzard salad and red quinoa.

On the finish line, Jonas Vingegaard (Jumbo-Visma) crosses the line and celebrates like a child. By raising his finger, as he massacred his opponent, Tadej Pogacar, with a chisel. Who ends up emerging, without the smile that has punctuated each of his arrivals on the Tour for two years. He slips out of his saddle, is seized with spasms. The Granon has revealed a new yellow jersey, with crazy power.

And then 50 meters after the finish: Romain Bardet has just finished. He sits on a rock. Takes his face in his hands. His feet almost fall into the void. La Roche Gauthier, on the other side of the Granon, bare and massive mountain, submits the cyclist. Bardet finds himself alone in the world. No one comes to pick him up. Below, a shepherd’s hut comes into view.