Stage 1 Leeds / Harrogate - Ee by Gum, it's the Tour de France!

As sure as tax time, the Wimbledon final and dubious ‘Christmas in July’ events, the Tour de France has rolled around once more for the 101^st edition of the great race.

Gabriel Gate returned with his tenth Taste Le Tour series. He kicked off not with Yorkshire pudding as you might expect but with Rhubarb andStrawberry Fool. Apparently 80% of England’s rhubarb comes from the Yorkshire ‘rhubarb triangle’, not to be confused with the infamous Bermuda triangle or pedaling in triangles. The recipe fails to budge the Taste Le Tour ‘Beurremetric Counter’ (yes, it’s back) but what it lacks in butter is made up in mascarpone and whipped cream from the other end of the dairy cabinet.

198 riders from 22 teams lined up for the Grand Depart from Leeds, Yorkshire to Harrogate on 190.5km of narrow twisty dry stone wall lined roads typical of the Yorkshire countryside.

First day of a big occasion like Le Tour tends to bring out the nerves and the riders can thank their lucky stars race radio isn't tuned into SBS to jangle those nerves further. Yes that's right, every Tour fan’s favourite commentators Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen are back and while they weren’t commentating the scintillating dry stone wall action and blathering on about Jens Voigt’s age, they found the time to make some passing comment about a bike race that so rudely interrupted.

Paul pointed out that there’s even a festival event dedicated to the building of dry stone walls and you just know he’s going to go ape when he pops in on Sunday morning. I suspect though if these walls could talk they’d be saying, “Shut up Paul”.

If these walls could talk

The cow spotting in the hills and dales of Yorkshire was pretty abysmal. Have to hand this stage to the sheep who were out in vast numbers, some sporting leader jersey colours. You could say they are the real dyed-in-the-wool Tour fans. And the explanation for the profusion of mouton? This could either be the result of a secret breeding program or the people of Yorkshire paid Somali pirates to hijack a livestock ship bound for the Middle East.

Yorkshire looked gorgeous and no one’s quite sure if it was the rare sunshine or the Tour that accounted for the enormous turn out of spectators. Paul observed (because he counted them) there were Super Bowl sized crowds in every town along the route. Thankfully no wardrobe malfunctions in the peloton and Wills made doubly sure Kate was properly dressed for Yellow jersey presso.

Tour officials also made doubly sure the Orica-GreenWEDGE team bus was parked well away from the finish line. It was the sprinter’s time to shine and didn’t disappoint in a thrilling finish that saw Marcel Kittel (Giant-Shimano) take the stage and yellow.

No word on whether Mark Cavendish (Mega Farmer-Quick Stop) will race who blamed no one but himself for a crash short of the finish line that also took down Simon Gerrans (Orica-GreenWEDGE). Gerro seems OK apart from bruises and some lost skin but I suspect the Liege-Bastogne-Liege winner will be giving stage 2 a real nudge with the help of his team mates.

Before I go I’ll leave you with a song I penned in honour of the great race and to ordinary riders everywhere.

Rollands (to the tune of Lorde’s Royals)

I’ve never seen a maillot jaune in the flesh

I’ve counted teeth on elliptical rings – in the movies

And I’m not proud of my progress

Just out of town, got dropped at Epping

But every rides like cog teeth, don’t chute, Sammy and his gold shoes

Blood stains, bidons, chasing down Chris Froome

We don’t care, we’re riding Cannondales in our dreams

But everybody’s like skin suits, gel packs, directeur in your earpiece

Team cars, extension bars, chamois cream in the butt crease

They don’t care, they’re not caught up in your cycling love affair.

And we’ll never be a Rollands (Rollands)

They’ll never test our blood

That kind of ride just ain’t for us

We crave a coffee buzz

Let me be your rouleur (rouleur)

Or super domestique

And baby I’ll roul, I’ll roul, I’ll roul

Let me live that fantasy.

My friends and I hit the frog and toad

We don’t count watts like the Sky train, we party

And everyone who knows us knows that where fine with this

We don’t ride for money.

But every rides like cog teeth, don’t chute, Sammy and his gold shoes

Blood stains, bidons, chasing down Chris Froome

We don’t care, we’re riding Cannondales in our dreams

But everybody’s like skin suits, gel packs, directeur in your earpiece

Team cars, extension bars, chamois cream in the butt crease

They don’t care, they’re not caught up in your cycling love affair.

And we’ll never be a Rollands (Rollands)

They’ll never test our blood

That kind of ride just ain’t for us

We crave a coffee buzz

Let me be your rouleur (rouleur)

Or super domestique

And baby I’ll roul, I’ll roul, I’ll roul

Let me live that fantasy.

Ooh, ooh, oh

We’re bigger than we ever dreamed

And we’re in love with the cycling scene

Ooh, ooh, oh

Life is great without a care

They aren’t caught up in your cycling love affair.

And we’ll never be a Rollands (Rollands)

They’ll never test our blood

That kind of ride just ain’t for us

We crave a coffee buzz

Let me be your rouleur (rouleur)

Or super domestique

And baby I’ll roul, I’ll roul, I’ll roul

Let me live that fantasy.