Ahh, the Tour de France caravan.
Something like 50 to 75 crazy promotional vehicles of all kinds that drive the entire race route each day, playing eye-splitting French dance music and throwing out branded hats, handkerchiefs, candy, key chains, snacks, cleaning product samples, gimcracks of every kind.
It’s tacky, irritating, boisterous, thrilling, beautiful, tacky again, and also loaded with attractive and peppy French teens dancing, shouting, flinging junk and spraying water. Who does’t want this damsel to cool you down on a burning hot summer day in Le Tour?
You’ve been on a mountainside for half a day frying in the sun or standing in some town behind a metal barrier melting as you wait for the racers to arrive. Then she appears, toned, lovely, riding a massive water bottle and holding a cool spray gun. You reach out your arms to embrace her and receive her cooling benediction.
Yeah, that’s a memorable experience. Not as good as the race itself but good.
Vive le Tour, vive la fille du spray gun!