A few other people were already setting up camp as I pulled into the parking area Thursday night at Woody Gap. Nervously, I pitched the tent and pulled out the camp chairs. This was my first taste of a mountain stage in the Tour de Georgia, so I wasn’t sure of what to expect. Sure, I had been to bike races before, but what would this be like?

A man with a beer in his hand walked over from a nearby van. He had just driven all the way from Colorado to camp in this spot. Another camper, from Gainesville, Fla., had also driven up just to camp. I wondered what the big deal was as I looked at the almost empty parking lot.

Then it began.

First, a giant RV pulled off the pavement right alongside the road at the crest of the climb. Four or five 20-something men and women piled out of the camper with a cooler of beer and began to string up banners and paint the road in front of their spot. Another RV sidled right up in front of them and did the same. Car after car began to pull into the small parking lot. As the lot filled cars began to pull alongside the road, pitching tents and hanging signs. I could feel the excitement buzzing in the air as the entire mountaintop began to come alive.

I finally settled down for the evening over a beer and some of my new friends. Everyone was excited about the prospect of the coming race. Many of the fans camping with us had camped this spot last year, and insisted they would be back next year also. Around midnight our little party finally broke up as people made their way to tents, campers or backseats. I had a hard time sleeping that night as cars and bikes continued to crowd the roadside along the mountain, all night long and throughout the early morning hours.

The party began again bright and early the next morning as more fans continued to make their way to the top of the climb. Many had parked their cars miles down the mountain and walked or biked to the top. Flags from several different nations could be seen flying from makeshift poles. The smell of food and beer wafted through the air as the roadside began to swell with excited fans.

Strangely enough, many of the spectators knew almost nothing about cycling, but they knew about Lance Armstrong. The road was decorated with bright lettering — Go Lance! Go Armstrong! We love Lance! Giant American flags were painted across the entire road along with the names of other big American stars such as Levi, Bobby, and Floyd.

Crazy fans in costume could be seen riding among the crowd, doing wheelies and stunts. Elvis whizzed past me in a glittering gold suit. Look! There’s Spiderman with a Discovery Channel (Armstrong’s team) jersey on! Cries of “Elvis has left the mountain!” rang in the air.

Friday morning gradually wore into afternoon as the excitement continued to mount. Race officials had a giant loudspeaker blaring rock music, occasionally interrupted by commentary on the slowly approaching race. Surely the other mountains along the race route today can’t also be this crowded! Veteran fans assured me that they were all just as crowded and just as rowdy.

The wonderful thing about Woody Gap, however, is the racers actually cross it twice before descending to the finish in Dahlongea. A race official suddenly interrupted the loud music to warn of impending thunderstorms approaching. The darkening sky did little to dampen the spirits of the mass of spectators. A loud crack of thunder reminded everyone that we were on an exposed mountain top. Still no one budged.

After hours anxious waiting, no one was about to give up their spot. The rain began to pour down and the wind howled as trees bent with the gale-like forces. Finally the rain began to slow ... then the hail began. The ground turned white with marble size ice pellets as people tried to cover their heads with cardboard, folding chairs, bike helmets, whatever they could find. I could just see the headlines — “10,000 cycling fans killed by freak hailstorm.” Still, no one left the mountain.

A cheer went up from the crowd! A rambunctious fan in his underwear was dancing in the middle of the road, despite the torrential rain and hail! I began to notice a small roar down the mountain side, gradually becoming louder as it seemed to be coming up the mountainside. I began to make out a line of Georgia state trooper cars climbing out of the distance, lights flashing and sirens blaring. One by one cars began to rush by. First the troopers came through, clearing the road, then car after car of race marshalls, VIPs, and sponsors.

Suddenly the roar down the mountain deepened! I suddenly became aware of the deep thumping of a chopper slowly getting closer and closer to my position. The hairs on my neck stood up as the roar seemed to be climbing up the road towards the crest of the mountain! Fans standing five deep along the soggy road strained to see around each other as cowbells and air horns joined the cacophony.

A team of motorcycles flashed past us with horns honking and lights flashing! A racer suddenly appeared out of the mist! “Chechu” Ruberia, of the Discovery Channel team flew past the roaring crowd, another racer also flashed by surging to catch Ruberia’s wheel. As quick as they appeared, they were gone. Suddenly more motorcycles charged by! There they are!

Another group chasing the breakaway! Cries of “Go Floyd (Landis)!” and “Get em Bobby (Julich)” rang through the crowd. Then I saw him — Lance Armstrong — sitting in the pack, directing his blue clad lieutenants. Then like the others, they were gone.

More motorcycles and trooper cars blew through the crowd. The rest of the pack, shattered by the relentless drive of the hard men of the peloton, finally crossed the mountain, chased only by an animated fan in a devil costume.

Since it would only take the racers about an hour to loop back around the hilly route before descending into Dahlongea, none of the spectators left their spots! My buddy Zach ran to the tent for some beers but I stood my ground beside the road. I noticed spectators of all ages and backgrounds laughing and enjoying the craziness of the bike race. The couple beside me had driven down from New Hampshire for the race. Another man was from Maine. I heard Italian, Spanish, and French being spoken in the crowd. Wow!

I heard the chopper again. Police cars began to flash by! Had it already been an hour? The mountainside began to rumble as a familiar roar began to creep up the road. My heart began to beat faster as my adrenaline levels began to surge. Is the break still hanging on? Is Chechu still away from the pack? Is Lance still with the first group? Pace motorcycles buzzed by one after one! The noise approached a fever pitch as fans were screaming and ringing cowbells. A blue jersey swiftly appeared, then a red and white one, then another ... and another! Just as swiftly they were gone. The first pack of riders suddenly appeared! Only seconds from the break of the race leaders. Once again Lance seemed to be in total control, surrounded by familiar blue jerseys.

Once over the top of the climb the racers quickly sped out of sight on the steep downhill. More motorbikes announced the rest of the pack wearily making their way over the mountain one more time. Despite the strain of a long hard day on the bike, some of the racers in this group smiled at the enthusiastic crowd! Especially the European racers, probably not expecting this kind of crowd in a country not known for bike races.

Just like that they were gone. Strangely enough there was still a charge of excitement in the air. Perhaps because of tomorrow’s stage at Brasstown Bald, or because no one knows for sure who won today.

The crowd slowly began to pack up their belongings, muddy shoes and all, for long treks back to their car. The flags and banners began to come down also as many prepared to move on to get ready for the next stage. Many fans were just settling in however, preparing to grill, drink beer, and talk about the race.

No need for me to hurry! I didn’t have anywhere to be until tomorrow for the big climb up Brasstown Bald!