WHEN THE TOUR STOPS
Daniel Friebe was present as Nicholas Dlamini toiled up to Tignes on stage 9
The speed at which the Tour de France peloton swishes through the French countryside is mirrored in the cadence of the entire circus’s daily relocation and reiteration. Within an hour of every finish, grandstands have not only been vacated but dismantled; whoops, hollers and “ooh-la-las” have been replaced by a grunting, clunking orchestra of barriers being tossed onto lorries; the race hasn’t yet physically left town, but its spirit is already being yanked towards the next destination.
So it goes, day after day. Withering, relentless. I have been aware of this process, not so much witnessed it - because no one really watches - for the last 20 years. So when it is suddenly halted like it is at Tignes, you notice. I, we, everyone notices.
It’s well over an hour after Ben O’ Connor has crossed the line, and 20 minutes after the Australian has answered my questions in the mixed zone - when we hear that Nic Dlamini may still be on the course. ‘May be’ because not even his team’s press officer is totally sure of his whereabouts. Six riders including Arnaud Démare have already finished outside the time limit.
I, like a lot of other journalists, interviewed Dlamini early in the first week. Our stories, ‘From township to Tour de France - Nic Dlamini is the first Black South African to ride the Grande Boucle etc. etc. etc.’ - have all been broadly the same, all similarly glib in their use of adjectives like “inspiring”. Which is not necessarily a selfreproach, just an admission that what Dlamini has accomplished is so staggeringly odds-defying I don’t think I’ll ever fully be able to understand it or find the words that do it justice.
It’s far easier to comprehend what he’s enduring now, in the vernacular of stinging legs and a sinking heart. Indeed, with these last few kilometres, Dlamini is signing off with a metaphor for his life and career. Or, at least, as his last act with a dossard on his back, exhibiting the legacies of that climb out of adversity - his grit, his dignity and, yes, also his gratitude.
If we’re all very honest, we know very little of where he has come from. But as he rolls over a finish line in Tignes at two minutes past seven, all time except the one on the stop-clock above his head seemingly having frozen, we can all admire where Nic Dlamini is today.