The summit of Col du Tourmalet is a wind swept, barren mountain peak with a few parking spots and a nondescript restaurant whose water closet is reserved only for patrons. However, to the dozens of bicyclists who one by one rounded the last bend and saw the sign that marked the top of the route, there was no more beautiful location on earth. This was hallowed ground as attested by the placards and statues honoring the Tour and its history. For those who’d made the journey as part of a team, fellow members cheered enthusiastically as each comrade appeared. In many languages they were saying, “Job well done, mate”. The freshly sheered sheep who grazed on nearby slopes had long ago lost interest in the cyclists. It was just another day to them.
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