Off to Harrogate today, via Knaresborough, which has just been voted Best Dressed Town ahead of the Tour de France. It’s done a fine job. The whole town is festooned with bunting: not the signature knitted-yellow-jersey bunting favoured all over the rest of the district, but hundreds upon hundreds of white T-shirts, decorated by the schoolchildren of the town. It all looks very festive, and combined with a yellow bike trail to send you bike-spotting down every street and in every shop window, it’s made for a fine community effort. I still have a soft spot for red-spotted Hawes however, which we visited last week. But Knaresborough’s Mayor has tricked out his house in red spots too.
Knaresborough’s spotted house on a busy corner.
Harrogate though. What a shock. We were diverted away from West Park Stray, and once we’d parked up, we discovered why. This usually car-filled thoroughfare was a pedestrian-only zone. No, that’s not true. There were no cars, but instead, huge articulated lorries, buses, media vehicles from all over Europe, Tour de France vehicles so large that no ordinary parking place could accommodate them. There was even an immense lorry whose purpose was to offer, at just the right moment, 3 rows of tiered seats for about 3 dozen spectators. All this circus came from the Netherlands, Belgium, Italy, Germany…. but above all, from France.
All around us, busy teams of workmen and women, technicians, electricians, craftspeople, media types rushed busily around, talking in the main in French. We spotted registration plates from Val-de-Marne; le Nord; Pas-de-Calais; even the Haute Garonne, the next door département to the Ariège. And suddenly, I was assailed by homesickness. It was just like being back in France. There was even a marquee filled with one particular team of workers sitting down together and sharing a midday meal. That really whisked us back. We wandered about, listening in, and engineering conversations with any French type taking a breather. England’s nice, we’re given to understand, but our motorways are a nightmare. We know.
But this immense team is only one of several. There are others in Leeds, in York, in Sheffield, Cambridge and London, the other five towns where the three English stages begin or end. I’d never previously understood quite what an industry the Tour de France really is.
Local teams from Harrogate itself had already uprooted many of the town’s pride and joy, its colourful flower-beds, in favour of providing viewing platforms for spectators who want to see the Race finish there on Day One. I expect it was the right decision. No self-respecting flowers could survive the expected onslaught, and the beds that remain look particularly magnificent.
Decking and emptied flower beds await the crowds.
Another delivery of crowd barriers,
Then they have to be distributed….
Temporary seating goes up.
More seating solutions.
Tour de France vehicle.
And another. This is just one vehicle.
And another…
Some of our new French friends!
Everything stops for lunch. C’est la France.
A more homely sight at the church on the opposite side of the road.
And as we leave, mobile traffic signs.
When we’d looked around for a while, we nipped into a supermarket for some odds and ends we’d forgotten. This is what the fresh produce department looked like……….
One more shopping day before le Tour…..
Normal life has been suspended, for one weekend only.
Back in the shopping quarter, Duttons for Buttons celebrates le Tour … entirely in buttons.
Even isolated houses in the country get in on the act.
Cheerful bunting in Addingham
Little knitted jersey bunting in Ripley
Red white and blue bunting; yellow, green, white and spotted bunting; multi-coloured bunting: that’s what you’ll see as you pass through the Tour de France communities of West Yorkshire, and Craven and Richmondshire in North Yorkshire. Here in Harrogate District, and in Hambleton too, it’s those jolly little knitted jumpers in all the Tour-jersey colours that are festooned round town.
Follow the signs to follow the route.
We know, because yesterday we got up betimes, had a healthy breakfast, packed maps and drinking water and set forth to Ride the Route for Day One of the Tour de France. On our bikes? Not likely, though many people are doing exactly that. We took the car, because the whole circuit is 195 km. long. The Tour riders will get that done in not much more than 5 hours. We were out of the house for 9 hours.
Leeds celebrates the Tour de France with a series of cheerful banners.
We didn’t quite do the lot. From Leeds, the riders will take it steadily till they get to Harewood House, between Leeds and Harrogate, and that’s where the race will begin in earnest. So that’s where we began too, though unlike the competitors, we couldn’t ride through Harewood’s grounds. So join us as we begin our own Tour, not far from Pool-in-Wharfedale.
A cheerful bike at Pool-in-Wharfedale
A butcher’s window in Otley.
On the route in Wharfedale.
Skipton Castle sports a yellow jersey.
The route near Skipton, warning the road will be closed on the day.
The road near Rylstone.
An easy stretch of the route.
Climbing towards Kettlewell ….
….. and descending again.
The scenery here is the gently rolling countryside of lush fields and woodlands that characterise Lower Wharfedale: it’ll break the riders in gently. Through Otley and Ilkley, our winding road took us through quiet pretty villages on into Skipton. Now we approach the Yorkshire of soaring fells and dramatic limestone scenery whose fields are bounded by dry stone walls. The area round Kettlewell used to be important for lead mining. These days sheep and tourists – walkers and cyclists – provide the village’s income. Unlike the cyclists, we paused for a leisurely lunch at the King’s Head. Fabulous food, with friendly service. Very highly recommended, but perhaps not if you have to ride ever upwards over the fells after you’ve eaten.
Kettlewell. Look for that Tour jersey up there on the hillside.
As you travel northwards, then westwards from Kettlewell to Hawes, via Buckden, Thoralby, Aysgarth and Bainbridge, you’ll be climbing through increasingly dour and empty hillsides. I love their severe beauty, and relish too the occasional descent into the valleys where once again the road passes through glades of trees leading to picture-postcard villages.
The road near Buckden.
Only sheep for several miles.
The climb continues.
A novel way of advertising cheese: on the side of a hay bale.
Bainbridge welcomes the Tour.
A house outside Bainbridge welcomes the Tour.
Then Hawes. Hawes has taken its duties as Gatekeeper to Buttertubs pass, where the King of the Mountains will gain his crown, very seriously. The King of the Mountains gains a red-spotted jersey for his efforts, and Hawes has become a red-spotted town for the duration. Bunting, shop fronts and decorations, even whole houses have been painted white with large red spots. The effect is very jolly and festive, and Hawes, it’s clear, plans to have a great Tour.
A friendly French welcome at Hawes.
The Mulberry Bush welcomes the Tour….
… selling a right Yorkshire T shirt….
… and King of the Mountain mugs.
A house in Hawes.
Bunting in Hawes market.
But then it’s Buttertubs. There are few more dramatic roads in England. It climbs sharply, but there are sudden descents, unlooked-for tight corners and mile after mile of uninterrupted moorland view. If I were a Tour Groupie, this is where I’d want to be to watch on 5th July. At its highest point, the road can be seen as it swings right, left, up and down for many a mile. This is where those riders will be put to the test. But it’s not over at the bottom. Because here, the road chases round unexpected corners, bounces over small ancient bridges, darts in and out of woodland, narrows rapidly as it skirts past hamlets…. they won’t be able to relax for a second.
The road towards Buttertubs.
Welcome to the King of the Mountains!
Another fine welcome on the road from Hawes to Buttertubs.
Buttertubs.
The road at the top.
A cyclist rides the route.
By the time the riders reach Reeth, they’d feel entitled to a bit of down-time. But no. There’s another long moorland slog before, at Leyburn, civilisation kicks in once more. The villages become more frequent, the countryside softer and sweeter. We trundled in our car back home to North Stainley, having done the home-to-Harrogate stretch first thing in the morning on the way to Harewood.
A challenging descent in the village of Reeth …..
…. not over yet. Another moorland climb before Leyburn.
And at Leyburn, even the Parish Church joins in the fun.
We were left with an impression of how the Tour has fired the imagination of many communities through which it will pass. Not all of course, but many have seized the opportunity to build on the opportunity the Tour provides. They’ve involved everyone from the youngest to the oldest in generating understanding of aspects of French life, or of sport and cycling, of promoting the Arts in the widest sense, and in bringing the whole community together quite simply to have fun together, both in the period leading up to the Tour and on the day itself. Our own village is a case in point: more of that later. The once-in-a-lifetime opportunity the Tour presents means that it’s more eagerly anticipated here even than in France, where for years it’s been an important part of the summer calendar. Those people who’ve shuddered with dislike and arranged to go away for the duration may come to think they’ve missed out on something quite special, and uniquely enjoyable.
A cheerful corner in the next village along, West Tanfield.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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