By Chris Gardner

I COUNT myself as favoured by the cycling gods.

In 2012 I took a short break in France, taking in the last 2 stages of Le Tour – a time trial finishing at the Cathedral City of Chartres, then the climactic Tour finale in Paris. Unforgettable as Team Sky, led by Yellow Jersey Wiggins and second place Froome, wiped the floor with their nearest riders in the time trial.

The hairs on my neck prickle as I call to mind the deafening roar of 1000s lining the Champs Elysees, as 'Wiggo' led out Mark Cavendish, the missile, to win the final Paris stage yet again. Two stages viewed, two British winners, the Yellow Jersey and second in the General Classification. What a year for a British cycling team!

Opportunity knocked again in 2015. Late decision made, B&B booked at Arras and bike slung in the back of the car; I set course for La Belle France.

Aim was to take in the finish of Stage 4 at Cambrai, the start of stage 5 at Arras and its finish at Amiens, then the start of Stage 6 at Abbeville before returning home that night.

The first objective began badly. Striking French ferrymen and desperate would-be immigrants brought the early Eurotunnel trains to a standstill. Eventually, they restarted and I made the short trip to Arras to check in to my lodgings and 'dump' the car.

Eighty  minutes and 40 frenetic cycled kilometres saw me stationed in the finishing straight at historic Cambrai, beside a huge live TV screen.

It was 3 pm local time and the Peloton was still 130km distant, hammering along brutal cobbles from Holland and Belgium.

But first, the warm up act. TV does not do justice to the enormity of the Tour de France travelling show.

Every town selected as start and finish has to improvise an athletes, sponsors and media village. Naturally, the townsfolk want to showcase their community and take their share of visitors' Euros. It is gob-smackingly huge.

The best Cotswold analogy is Fairford Airshow repeated at 45 different locations over 22 days. At every start point, 2 hours of sponsors floats and cavalcade parade.

Extravaganzas of glass fibre on transit platforms, there are mountains gushing mineral water, supermarkets brimming with produce, giant baguettes, holiday destinations in relief, Tyre – literally hundreds of them, all throwing gifts and freebies to the ecstatic crowds. It makes Gloucester look tame.

Next the team cars and coaches, official cars and motor bikes, Police outriders, Press bikes, old Pros taking their bow and so much more.

As the temperature reached gas mark 5, the most popular float was Vittel Mineral Water, their girls hurling out bottles of their produce and spraying us with a hose-gun. Finally, the leading riders and Peloton doing speeds you would not believe.

So, great is Le Tour, green it is not. For every competing cyclist there must be 100 gas guzzlers. Yet it is a compelling spectacle.

Two hours before the leaders arrive at a finish, the parade is repeated. When the dust settles and all the riders accounted for, cue parties and barbies as local streets turn themselves over to celebration.

Back at Cambrai, the TV screen showed the competitors battling stifling heat and humidity, dust, a strengthening headwind then squally showers that turned the cobbles to slippery stuff of nightmares.

Froome was already in Yellow (unexpected in the flat early stages) and was not giving an inch. Finally, as the riders reached the cacophony of the finish straight Tony Martin's burst gave him the stage and a ten second bonus.

Enough to wrest the Yellow Jersey from Froome. The drained competitors looked like coal miners, caked in clinging dust and mud, rivulets of sweat forging through the grime.

I took in the impromptu party scene, setting off for Arras before night fell. By then the wind was stronger still and right into the face.

It was a sapping two - hour slog. How does the Peloton manage 180km per day at average speeds into the high 30s km/hr? Well for a kick off, the riders are not in their 60s and they are amongst the fittest athletes on planet earth!

I followed a Roman-straight D road, undulating and fast (at least, when the wind is not pushing you backwards).

It crosses some of the bloodiest battlefields of World War 1. At the top of every incline a chillingly beautiful British & Commonwealth war grave, stark reminders how every piece of relatively high ground produced the hard fought butchery of an industrial war. Passing these monuments at cycling pace gives you lots of time to ponder the scale of carnage a century ago.

Arras is an achingly beautiful town. In the centre, a wonderfully ornate Baroque square dominated by Town Hall and Clock tower. It was destroyed in the Great War, only to be rebuilt using the rediscovered original architects plans.

The Second World War brought more destruction and then restoration. Today it is a show piece, deservedly so.

Stage 5: Wednesday 8th July. Gone was the steaming hot humidity, replaced by cold north west breeze and steady rain. From 9.30, I stood at the impromptu barriers in the main square, like everyone else feebly dressed, cold and wet. What had happened to Summer? Through went the cavalcade followed at 12.45 by the Peloton.

The stage finish was at Amiens some 42km as the crow flies or by my chosen route by car.

The Tour would be taking a sombre scenic trip some 140km longer, passing through the direst battlefields of the Somme and passing the Thepal monument to the dead of the Australian regiments.

The whole region has been blood soaked down the centuries, a regular host for warring tribes and nations since Caesar's day. And Henry Vs finest hour – Agincourt – is slap bang in the middle. With the wind bending the trees and scuttling foliage, it is easy to imagine ghosts at every turn.

I took the cowards way out. Parking up 5 miles from Amiens, I enjoyed a leisurely cycle to the town centre, locked up the bike and found myself a decent cafe to soak up the atmosphere. Later, I elbowed my way to 100m from the finish, opposite another big screen, and settled in as the excitement and festivities increased in pitch.

Amiens was expected to be a sprinters finish and hopes were high for Cav, the missile. He missed out narrowly in a blur of yawing wheeled machines.

Froome was not far behind, very much in the box seat, minutes ahead of those he counts as his closest rivals. (A day later he'd be back in Yellow as the popular but unfortunate German Tony Martin crashed out, collar bone snapped, yet finishing the stage as a hero, supported on either side by riders from his team).

I left soon after the finish, taking a leisurely drive back to Arras stopping at the WW1 museum at Albert and the awe inspiring Thepal monument. Pas de Calais, Picardy and Normandy chill and fascinate in equal proportion. I find the region intoxicating.

An early start on Thursday saw me driving another 80 km to Abbeville, parking up again for a shortish ride into town. There I found a favoured spot at a cafe just outside the town centre, where the exit road crossed a hump back bridge over a canal, then turned sharply along its bank. A great place to photograph the Peloton heading off towards Le Havre.

The heat was building again, so the Vittel hose was as welcome as at Cambrai. And the cavalcade seemed to enjoy the return of Summer, the float reps hamming it up big time. Shortly after noon, the Peloton swept over the bridge in front of me then out of sight. My Tour was over, at least watching it at first hand.

Home TV would have to provide my fix for the remaining stages. My next appointment was with the Spirit of Kent ferry at Calais then on to Stroud. An intense few days that will live long in the memory.

I am determined to arrange a week or more at the 2016 Tour, maybe in the Alps. Depends upon the route that is decided.

Simply, I cannot get enough of this amazing sporting event. Three weeks blending top cycling competition, theatre, circus entertainment, tourism, fine architecture, yo-yoing climate and heaps more besides. If you've never tried it, add Le Tour to your bucket list. You will not be disappointed