Down the lane cheers began to bob into the sky, buoyed by the crowd’s anticipation. In the baby-blue overhead a helicopter hovered above the source of excitement, a further indicator that something grand was coming. My camera trigger finger twitched as everything drew closer. I was on the street leaning past a wall of my fellow spectators. We were two banks waiting for the river to flow.
Suddenly it rounded the corner. A tsunami of colours, tires, helmets and faces fiercely focused on the starting line just a few meters beyond.
Intent on capturing some photos I mashed my face against my camera and clicked away. Through my telephoto lens the mass grew substantially, bloating like a balloon on a high-pressure hose. Lifting my eyes from the camera window I instantly realized I was alone and in trouble.
I was about to be mowed down by the Tour De France.