By Christopher Cudworth

Watching the Tour de France race go through and up and over the island of Corsica has been an exciting start to the 100th Tour. Corsica from all angles is alternately rocky, woodsy and beachy. That makes it perfect for a Tour stage or three.

A bus wedgie

With the first day’s racing almost running into the back of team bus wedged under the finish line scaffolding, things could not have been more odd and tense.

Today’s stage saw some idiot trying to cross the course like it was a parade route, and a tiny little dog almost getting run over by the peloton, which was traveling nearly 40 mph at the time.

Grab your seat

But the descents were what made you grab your seat, and I mean that literally and figuratively. Cyclists cutting tight corners at very high speeds are possibly participating in one of the most dangerous sports on earth short of a UFC fight held on a hockey rink.

At one point the riders screamed through their radios to get the TV helicopter to pull away from the race because the cyclists could not hear the safety signals normally used to read the actions of the riders around them. The screeching of brake pads on rims, for example, is a key device to know who’s going faster or slower.

But when one rider breaks away, that’s when the risks get interesting. It’s hard to stay ahead of the peloton in any circumstance. But when you’re heading downhill at more than 50 mph on a mountain road where the wall against which you almost nick your wheels is an absolute boundary, it takes more than mere experience to handle your machine. You have to know what risks and rewards really are.

50mph barrier

Having only topped 50 mph once on my bike, I cannot speak to the rush of doing that consistently or in a race. My 50mph experiment occurred on a long steep section of road in western Pennsylvania. I was there on vacation to view the Frank Lloyd Wright creation Fallingwater. A morning opened up and the bike and I went for a 30 miler on the tight roads around a state park. It was harrowing to be a cyclist on those roads. There are no shoulders. None. Logging trucks and campers and semi trucks come whaling over the hill and around the corner. You learn quickly to ride on the defensive.

Tempting proposition

But let’s say there’s a quiet section of road and it just stretches invitingly out in front of your bike and you start to pedal with the momentum. With ease you’re up to 40 mph. Then 45. The road keeps going. Nothing is coming up behind you. Nothing ahead either. The pavement is smooth. No tarsnakes. No thumping cracks. Just smooth asphalt and a clear view for about a mile ahead.

You go for it, pedaling in the highest gear and the cyclometer seems to quiver as you inch on up, 46, 47, 48. You wonder for a moment is this is wise. 49mph. This is all new territory. You turn your head to look at the bushes rushing past on your right and the whole bike does a swerve. The grooves in your helmet suddenly have an effect on your aerodynamics. Then the cyclometer pops up with a 50. Five-Oh. You’re going 50 mph. Then 51. 52. When you hit 53 the road starts to flatten slightly and the opportunity for more speed wanes. But 53 is good enough. That’s a little more than half a hundred miles an hour. It’s quite a rush.

Wobbly perspective

I’m glad I did it. But won’t be trying again unless I swap my Mavic wheels out someday. I’m pretty sure they’re what caused my 40 mph crash last Labor Day. My original Shimano wheels that came with the bike were what handled 50 mph. I simply don’t trust the Mavics, I’m sad to say. Even crimping the top bar with my knees would not provide the assurance I need to go 50mph again.

Which makes what the Tour riders are doing all the more real to me. I could never do 1/100th of what they do in terms of riding. They are the world’s best cyclists, and I’m not even the best in my home town. Not by far.

But at least I’ve gone 50 and know what that means. It’s a rush. And that means something.