Our man Mark was introduced to the cobbles of Flanders last week by Velo Classic Tours, riding the roads of Wevelgem, Scheldeprijs and De Ronde. To finish him off he tackled the Hell of the North and those murderous tracks to Roubaix, but he still had time for rider watching at the sign-on in Compigne.Its Monday morning and Im sitting in a cute caf in the heart of Gent, reflecting on the craziness of the last few days, and how our cycling superstars are put squarely in the frame and then, almost as easily, forgotten about until the next race.Ive just literally bumped into Tyler Farrar coming out of another coffee shop, this time a well-disguised Starbucks (you can take the American out of America…), and nobody but me knew who he was. We shared a knowing smile and he knew hed been recognized, possibly because hes seen me sticking a camera lens in his face several times over the last week, but hes off-duty now and so we both left it at that. And this is the essence of the sport that we call our own. Our heroes are treated to mass adulation by an audience that can literally get close enough to tug their sleeves and ask for autographs and photo opportunities. There are no security men or personal bodyguards (now that the bogeyman of cycling is gone) and the riders literally run the gauntlet whether its to sign on or during the race itself. Stand in the...
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