Allez Yorkshire

Perched on a long legged stool in the coffee shop window I had a clear view of the main pedestrian approach to the Leeds Arena.

I had arrived early, very early for the induction event for the 2014 Yorkshire Grand Depart but I could not contain my excitement surrounding the presence of the Tour de France in my home county for two days in July and my acceptance as a volunteer. I had set off from Hull allowing about 4 hours for what would normally be a 90 minute, at worst, car journey.

There was a background chatter amongst the latte's and muffins. Granted, a good proportion of the subject matter was the weekend shop and whether the rain, falling heavily outside, would put a stop to the planned barbecue in the back garden. In amongst the everyday however was a thread of conversation establishing a common interest and purpose amongst strangers centred on the summer weekend when Yorkshire would front the world sporting stage.

Many questions buzzed around the small seated groups on what was expected of the day's gathering and the forthcoming weeks when volunteer roles would be confirmed and training arranged. I glanced towards the direction of the enthusiastic voices. A mixed bunch indeed in terms of age and gender and with varying local accents which I could identify from each of the three Ridings of the county plus a bit of Lancs borders, Tees and Cumbrian lilts and neutral tones from further south showing a very wide demographic of people coming together.

There were a few obvious cyclists identified by their clutching of the current Cycling Weekly Magazine, strange sun tan line on arms and sticky up hair from airflow through an aerodynamic road helmet. I counted myself in their number by wearing my Bradley Wiggins 'T' Shirt purchased post 2012 Tour Win and worn in the middle of the Surrey countryside at the Olympic Road Race.

The rain continued to pour down splashing through the scaffolding on the Merrion Shopping Centre. A queue was developing in the sheltering overhang of the Arena more than an hour before the doors would be opened. A steady flow of cagoule clad and brolly stooped figures made the dash across the open plaza making a last minute deviation towards the straggling line or to take up a vantage point against the shiny tiled atrium of a tower block building.

I dithered unreasonably long over my sandwich and drink hoping for a break in the monsoon conditions before I made my final approach. The coffee shop population thinned gradually and I took this as my cue to join the others outside. That last few metres to the Arena was clear and open ground but in the deluge I would be rapidly saturated.

In the lee of a large building I mingled with others. It was a good spirited and excitable atmosphere. A few had been to the previous night's concert at the venue by the artist once again called Prince and remarked how well the place had scrubbed up in the elapsed 12 hours. The assembled crowd was also, by some accounts, larger than that commanded by the diminutive singer songwriter.

In the near distance the  line began to agitate and move with the opening of the doors. Supervisors checked us in and we made our way into the auditorium.

The arena, capacity about 13,000 was soon full. A combination of damp clothing and released body heat produced a distinct vapour cloud which added a big-gig type ambience to the gathering. The central stage display throbbed and strobed with a mass of multi-media predominantly green in hue from the branding of the main sponsor, Asda.

I introduced myself to immediate seated neighbours who were from Holmfirth and Huddersfield with the opener of what my allocated stage and sector was. We would be many miles apart on the day and it would be highly likely that we would never see each other again in our lifetimes but for the duration we were united in our enthusiasm for volunteering and playing a role in the greatest annual sporting event in the world. We sat back as the lights dimmed and began our adventure together.