Tour de France: Andrew Talansky is an American hero

CHAMROUSSE, France -- An Oeuf Meurette is a poached egg topped with lightly-fried foie gras in a red wine sauce. In broader terms, it is two good things smooshed together. One of them simple, the other bizarre and probably immoral. Both taste good on their own, and it isn’t a stretch to imagine them working well together. Then you try the thing and it exceed all expectations.

In even broader terms, an Oeuf Meurette is France. It’s a complex country made of simple parts, and at its face you understand it -- wine, cheese, old buildings, pretty buildings, the countryside and the Eiffel Tower. Until you’re here, however, it’s difficult to realize how in harmony everything is. Everyone and everything occupies a well-worn groove. The downtrodden types sit next to the well-to-do at cafes that blend seamlessly into the architecture that blend seamlessly into the landscape. Soon you realize you never really knew what you were getting yourself into, and the effect is grand.

The feeling is something like walking onto a movie set. I made it to my hotel in Grenoble and was greeted by this ...

... and my first thought was that I shouldn’t be here. Nothing belonged to me anymore, not my shoes, not my camera, not the laptop I’m tapping letters on at the moment. I felt like a lost extra in the grand production of the Tour de France, and everywhere I went I felt people looking at me as if I was in the wrong spot. The feeling persisted when I made the hour-and-a-half drive up to Chamrousse, and passed under the big blow-up Vittel banners you see on T.V. -- 5 km. to go, 2.5 km to go -- until I hit the top of that brutal ascent that 170-plus riders will grapple with on a bicycle in about four hours. I even made it to the podium.

I was sure I was in the wrong place, but I was assured oui, monsieur I am not. Now I’m sitting in the Salle de Presse on WiFi that cost 30 euro. I have a press pass with a horrendous photo. No one has told me to leave. It still feels like they should.

Until that happens, and as long as I’m considered an authority on the matter, let’s go over the things I know that I know about the Tour de France.

The Stage 5 pavé was the glorious shitshow everyone knew it would be. Favored riders have been picked off, one-by-one, by injuries, leaving everyone else and Vincenzo Nibali, who may be riding well enough to win the Tour in a healthy field.

Remaining in contention are Sky’s Richie Porte and Movistar’s Alejandro Valverde, but behind them are French youngsters Romain Bardet and Thibaut Pinot. They aren’t expected to dethrone Nibali, but they’re at least within a great breakaway of doing so, and that possibility has the French anxious. That’s to say nothing of Tony Gallopin, who enthralled the nation by wearing yellow on Bastille Day and winning Stage 11 two days later.

For the Americans, Tejay Van Garderen sits in sixth, and is the United States’ best hope to something of note now that Andrew Talansky is out. And oh god, Andrew Talansky ...

Talansky finished dead last on Stage 11 after riding through excruciating back pain. As television hosts tracked down Gallopin, cameras kept cutting to Talansky, all alone somewhere in the Rhone. Gallopin kissed his girlfriend, Talansky pedaled. Gallopin said something about how much the stage win meant to him, Talansky pedaled. Gallopin thanked his teammates, thanked his sponsor, said everything right, and Talansky put his head down and pedaled.

When the hosts had exhausted everything they could ask the Frenchman, the cameras cut once again to Talansky and they said something to the effect of holy shit this guy is still going. More than 30 minutes behind the winner, Talansky made the cut, and for no other reason than he wanted to. He would not start the next stage.

Talansky is 25 years old, and after besting Christopher Froome and Alberto Contador at the Criterium du Dauphiné, should be a force in cycling for the foreseeable future. He didn’t have the Tour he would have liked, but he certainly made a name for himself.

Those are the things I can think to say with my laptop getting hot and a buffet waiting.

Even if Nibali is seemingly well-positioned, there is still potential drama waiting, with the Alps and Pyrenees looming. I’ll be roadside taking pictures. You can follow along here, or at this website where I’ll be writing a travelogue of sorts. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I don’t know who I am except that I once ate an Oeuf Meurette.