Fanatical Alpe d'Huez

Alpe d'Huez was out of this world. Never before have I seen a mountain resort boasting such a bizarre mixture of animal-kind.

900,000 supporters crammed her slopes from Bourg d'Oisans in the valley, to the resort up top. Crazy Scandies, drunken Dutch, grizzly Germans.

And who can forget the squeeky, seraphic Americans who, in a shower of high-fives - and insisting on the inculcation of Lance trivia upon their children - forced the poor souls to cycle the 21 windy turns to the summit themselves.

Tents stretched as far as the eye could see, planted both ingeniously and ingenuously: in the middle of roundabouts, on rocky mountain faces...

It was more like being at a music festival with endless groupies donning replica cycling outfits. Surreal, to say the least.

But we were not there for music - no, we were there to watch suffering cylists sweat seriatum up the slopes!

My vantage point was superb. On a ledge above virage un(see left) , I was perfectly poised to view Armstrong pace past Ivan Basso. Presiding over the whole valley, I feasted upon the orange mass where Amstel-feulled Dutchmen had appropriated their habitual graveyard to the tune of dodgy 80s synth-rock, and could hear the crescendo of Germanic war-cries as Ullrich caterpillar-tracked his way up the mountain.

The resonating booms of 'Ulle, Ulle, Ulle!' was enough to make teenage boys cower with apprehension.

Germany's favourite off-season weight-fluctuator had problems getting through his own hoards of fans - and they were trying to egg him on!

Full credit must go to Armstrong then, who was at the full brunt of the actions of a minority - infringing on the roads, cursing, spitting, even full-mooning! - which led to his post-stage plaintive admonition that the event "was just not safe".

"I even heard McEwen saying he was scared the whole time up there," he added. The irascible and often curmudgeon Robbie McEwen was targeted by brash and simian German fans because he is based in Belgium. The Australian is renowned for his whinging, but he did have a point.

Intemperate Germans suppurated obstreperous boos and indiscriminate quips in the direction of fellow countryman Jens Voigt too, simply because he rode for the Danish CSC outfit, and not for voracious national icon Jan Ullrich's Team Telekom.

Of course, Armstrong was the main target, not just from the Germans, but from the French.

The French hate the American because they see him as ruining the Tour; because, in their narrow-mindedness, they associate him with the politics of Bush.

It doesn't help matters that Tour organiser Jean-Marie Leblanc constantly talks of his unbridled "disappointment" in Armstrong's rivals, that he annually unveils a new route that he feels, hopes, will topple the Texan.

Typically, the fickle French supporters belied logic and showed off their trait of running with the hare and hunting with the hounds - cheering Virenque on every virage, yet disingenuously shouting dopé to Armstrong ad nauseum.

Tags had been painted on the road by fervent fans in the exciting build up. Someone had written, matter-of-factly, the words LANCE and POSTAL, suggestively highlighting the E of one and the PO of the other. Less suggestive was the glistening syringe painted alongside.

But Armstrong did not let such jaundiced opinion get to him as he percolated his way through the masses; remaining focused, not granting even a gander at the splenetic crowds, he sundered all those who went before him to smithereens.

That crowds have to react like this was rather disconsolate, and their over-the-top malevolence was incontrovertible, but luckily, on this occasion, inconsequential.

Such actions happen in all sporting arenas, and once the heat is on, harmless ribaldry often overflows into deep-set rancour. We have all cursed 'the referee's a w*****r' in our time.

But you just cannot bowdlerise the rowdy fans and the unequivocally boisterous tags up the Alpe d'Huez – ça fait partie du jeu , as the French say.

Admittedly there is the fear that something of Monica Seles proportions could occur, but if it did, it would not be the first time in the sport. In the 30s, one Sicilian rider was beaten to death when training. At least that didn't happen over the summer.

Supporters are notoriously fickle - very much like riders - but it is more a reflection of their love of the event, and their shared competitive nature.

Look at Richard Virenque. From his miraculous solo break on Bastille Day to his selfless nurturing of new French hero Thomas Voekler, his case serves to highlight that while the peleton has its fair share of lying and cheating, it has an equal share of honour and courage. Sometimes in the same rider.

The Tour brings out the best and worst in both riders and supporters alike, and this was evident for the latter category at Alpe d'Huez.

As for the riders – they were all heroes that day, with no exception.