On the face of it nothing has changed; the peloton snaked its way through the valleys of Brittany this weekend as though without a care in the world other than reaching Paris in three weeks' time. The pain lies ahead for the riders but for the Tour itself we hope the suffering is over.

Banned substances have cast an enormous shadow over cycling in general and the Tour de France in particular but at last it appears that something positive – other than drug tests – is afoot.

The decline of the Tour has been terrible. Sponsors have gone out of the sport, the reputations of several who were perceived as great riders have been torn apart and public interest, even in France, has been in steep decline.

Two recent surveys underline the point. Ninety per cent of French people questioned said that they felt betrayed by doping in cycling, 85 per cent said they no longer believed the results of the race and 69 per cent thought that all top-level cyclists were taking dope.

The other study revealed that, when asked why they watched the Tour, the highest number, 22 per cent, said they were attracted by the scenery. Another 20 per cent said they watched for the mountain stages. Only 16 per cent said they followed the race out of interest in the competition.

Against that background, the Tour is back on the road with organisers knowing this may well be their last opportunity to see the three-week test of will, strength, stamina and talent completed without any hint, however slight, of drug interference.

They made a bold commitment when they did not invite the Astana team as a result of persistent infringement of the drug rules which led to the squad, including Alexandre Vinokourov, a serious contender for the yellow jersey, being thrown out of the race a year ago. In contrast, they have embraced entries from three new teams – with new sponsors – who are totally clean and work under management teams determined that drugs will play no part in their performance.

The coming weeks will see whether the words and actions amount to much. They will also provide a magnificent spectacle.

Australia's Cadel Evans, comfortable in the mountains and a redoubtable time-triallist, is clear favourite to be wearing yellow when the peloton reaches Paris with the Russian Denis Menchov, a brilliant rider despite appearing to be far from happy in the saddle, likely to mount a serious challenge along with Spaniards Alejandro Valverde – the winner of the opening stage – and Carlos Sastre.

Mark Cavendish, from the Isle of Man, is riding for Columbia, one of the new teams, and will hope to challenge the awesome Norwegian Thor Hushovd in the points classification, having quickly established himself as the fastest man in the game over the last 100 yards of any but the most mountainous of stages.

Last year's winner, Alberto Contador, is not competing as he now wears the colours of the uninvited Astana and Andreas Kloden, runner-up in the Tours of 2004 and 2006, and the American Levi Leipheimer, who was third last year, also ride for the Kazakh-based team and are consequently absent, making this year's race one of the most open for years.

Another missing star is Tom Boonen, the popular and hugely-talented Belgian who, like Kloden, has ridden in the Tour of Britain. He was ruled out after being found guilty of taking cocaine.

Michael Rasmussen, who was sacked by his Rabobank team while leading last year's Tour when it was discovered he had lied about his whereabouts when he missed three drug tests before the start of the race, is still serving his suspension.

But in the end it matters not who wins, this really is the year when cycling must prove, not only to the general public but also to itself if is to remain a serious sport, that it can win without drugs.

A clean Tour de France could make the next few weeks the turning point. For many that would make this a special summer.

Bringing back the memories of cricket's golden era


EVERY now and then in what we call summer there comes a day, usually without warning, which brings a rare feeling of pleasure, unexpected delight which will live in the memory.

Such a day came when Yorkshire and Durham played out their County Championship match in brilliant sunshine last Tuesday.

Durham won the game with plenty of time and effort in hand but that could not deflect from a wonderfully old-fashioned occasion.

It began as so many good days at Headingley had done before, with a walk up to the old ground from the station, although in this case the station was Headingley itself rather than the Kirkstall of old. A decent, shirt-sleeved crowd was inside, the breeze sufficient to keep the heat of the sun bearable and the cricket recalled was reminiscent of how county matches used to be played with both teams fielding their internationals and no restrictions on run-ups for bowlers or the placing of fielders.

There was time to pause for a chat in the Long Room, to study the cabinets of fascinating Len Hutton memorabilia and enjoy a lager in a proper glass, having sworn on pain of death not to take the vessel outside.

There was also, as ever, complaint, inspired on this occasion by the quirk of the fixture list which means that Yorkshire will not play at Headingley again until they face Surrey at the end of the month.

A colleague put into perspective the lack of first-class cricket in Yorkshire in the middle of season by citing an observation made by Sid Fielden that exactly 75 years ago the great Hedley Verity claimed 70 wickets in the month of July.

Mention of Verity prompted another story, originally told by the bowler's son Douglas, of the day the left-arm spinner had an analysis of 10-10 against Nottinghamshire at Headingley in 1932. The congratulations came from all side, his back was sore from the slaps of approval, then Wilfred Rhodes approached, not looking at all impressed.

"Tha' should have had 10 for six," he said disapprovingly. "Tha' bowled a full toss". Verity was suitably chastened.

That was Yorkshire cricket in its glory. It was wonderful to be transported back, if only for a few hours, to those long-gone, sun-blessed days.


Serving up what we deserve


SUCCESS for a London-based youngster from Australia in the girls' singles could not erase the fact that another Wimbledon has been and gone and still we wait for our reincarnation of Fred Perry.

By the look of things, we shall have to wait rather longer than some had thought as the clock ticked round to 9.30 in the gloaming of last Monday night.

There were unbelievable scenes of jubilation when our feisty Jock Andrew Murray completed his remarkable comeback against a shell-shocked Richard Gasquet and the hysteria preceding the British No 1's meeting with Rafael Nadal exceeded anything we endured during Tim Henman's attempts to end our craving for a men's singles champion.

It was while reflecting on the subsequent brutal dismissal of Murray by Nadal – a match which defined the massive difference in strength, character and focus between the good players and the best – that
the thought surfaced: perhaps we get exactly what we deserve from each passing Wimbledon.

A gathering displaying such an appalling lack of sportsmanship towards a Briton's opponent – as did the Wimbledon crowd against Gasquet – would have had Fred Perry packing his rackets and heading for pastures new.

Our senses were then assailed by dissection of Murray's allegedly great moment – beating an opponent who wilted as the baying of the hordes intensified with every point Murray grasped and every fist-pumping gesture he made.

Prospects of him beating Nadal were exaggerated beyond reason and it all went predictably wrong; he and his madding crowd had their come-uppance. Some would call it justice.


Silverstone circuit has had its day


AT LAST, after the saga of Max Mosley's frolic and the predictable outcry from Jackie Stewart, Damon Hill and the other Silverstone brothers over the revelation that Donnington is to be the new home of the British Grand Prix, we were able to actually enjoy a race yesterday.

A combination of a typical English summer's day and Mosley's success in persuading the constructors to abolish traction control, meant we had a wonderfully exciting grand prix with spins on almost every lap, spectacular overtaking and a brilliant drive from Lewis Hamilton.

Yet Hamilton was not the only star; Rubens Barrichello, Nick Heidfeld and Fernando Alonso were just three other drivers who drove on the very edge of their nerve to give the 90,000 in the packed stands an afternoon to remember.

On a dry day, the former airfield can produce bland races but when it rains it is a totally different place; perhaps we ought to pray for more rain next season when Silverstone stages what it appears will be its final British Grand Prix.

Then it will be on to Donnington where success depends largely on the mysterious benefactor who is footing the bill, reputedly running into millions, for converting what is essentially an excellent motor-cycling circuit into a home fit for the billionaires of grand prix racing.

Bernie Ecclestone, the man who calls the shots for the manufacturers, has made it clear that he requires facilities for the teams, televisions crews and spectators at the rebuilt circuit to match those government-backed circuits in the Middle and Far East which now set the standard.

Silverstone had its chance and its day; hopefully Donnington will be better.