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After two weeks of being saddle sore, the Tour finally went by the rulebook on Saturday with a victory for an established sprinter - the green jersey Oscar Freire.

Now Blazin' Saddles is not one to boast, but he's going to anyway - for after two consecutive weeks of shoddy predictions based on nothing more scientific than the odd hunch twinned with 80s electro pop nuggets, he finally hit the jackpot.

Rabobank's Freire may say that he won the day because - unlike the Cavendishes and McEwens of the peloton - he knows how to negotiate a punchy category four climb at the back end of 180km before stepping on the gas on the flat, home straight.

Balls, says Blazin' Saddles. It was clearly because of the signs emitted by the duel beacons of lavender and fossils (see yesterday's blog) which so irrefutably pointed to a seemingly washed up star with Dutch roots.

So, with a slap on the back, Blazin' Saddles will get back to just why Friday's saddle bore of a stage was such a return to normality.

For the past week, spectators of the sport have grown accustomed to the brooding excellence that is British superstar Mark Cavendish - a man so fast on two wheels he must have Valentino Rossi (or Casey Stoner, if you're that way inclined) peering in their rear-view mirrors in slight, ever so slight, trepidation.

But on Saturday Cav displayed the kind of star quality that British fans became accustomed in the days of Sean Yates, Chris Boardman, David Millar etc. Not able to keep up with the peloton on the final short climb of the day, Cav dropped off the back, his dream of making it a hat-trick of sprint wins in the same amount of days left in tatters.

It remains to be seen if the Manxman makes it to Paris, but if he does, the unofficial fastest man in world cycling in the world ever ever ever will surely be tipped to raise his arm in the air and, as is his wont, raise all five fingers in celebration.

Back to the climax of Saturday's stage finish in Digne-les-Bains, it also marked a return to the oh-so familiar sight of French near-achievement. Sylvain Chavanel - who else? - thrust his under-performing frame out of the peloton and, despite a traditionally plucky effort, couldn't hold off the advances of the bullet-led bunch.

But the Chav's sitting up did not mark the end of the French rollarcoaster for, moments later, Agritubel's Romain Feillu (remember him??! He wore the yellow jersey!) propelled himself on a counter attack which almost caught the jostling front-runners unawares.

But, in the end of the day, we were treated to a sight hitherto denied to our rapacious eyes: the Tour's supposedly most consistent fast man, the green jersey, in this case Freire, winning with ease. This is what used to happen with unpredictable regularity on the Tours of yesteryear - finally the race had gone to the script.

And, that was not all for we were treated to another familiar sight: that of the real fossil of the peloton, Erik Zabel, the 86-year-old evergreen (although not since 2004 actually) German, coming oh so near and yet oh so far, ultimately settling for third place.

Blazin' Saddles is not sure whether or not this can be qualified, but since the German last won a stage back in 2002 (or was it 2003? Forgive Blazin' for he is actually merely dictating this drivel down a phone line while attending a Wild West bash in Devon. Fact!), he has in fact (though not an actual fact) finished second 32 times and third 47 times.

Oh yes, and another return to form saw Francaise des Jeux's Philippe Gilbert launch a last-ditch attack in the final kilometres, only to be dragged back into the peloton. Blazin' Saddles fondly looks back to all the many times he witnessed such a thing happen and while doing so, sighs a wistful sigh: *sigh*

Predictions and Plat du Jour

As Blazin' Saddles is actually-promise-not-lying-at-all dictating this down a phone line as cowboys and cowgirls, and the odd squaw being chased by an Indian with a tomahawk, dance around a mock western-style saloon by a pond in Devon, he does not have the time to write flowery prose about the ins-and-outs of the latest doping scandal (has there been another?!), Stephen Roche's support of the death penalty for all riders who have ever come into close proximity with EPO (kissing Riccardo Ricco on the lips does not count) and David Harmon's fool-proof guide to Spanish and German pronunciation.

So, having just filled quite a large paragraph with what was essentially superfluous waffle, he will get straight to the point: tomorrow's stage will be won - or at least fiercely contested - by Damiano Cunego.

Why? Well, bolstered by his sudden return to the number one slot of Italian cycling following the demise of his fierce rival Ricco, Cunego will want to give his fans something to cry about as the Tour enters Italy and finishes on the summit of the Prato Nevoso.

And because the big guns will be too afraid of blowing their tops so early in the Alps, hinged to the fact that old Damiano is not really that much of a threat now is he, the Lampre rider will be given carte blanche for a showing of Italiano sentimentality.

Both the Prato Nevoso and the earlier, interminable Col d'Agnel - an unclassified 21km (and so, yes, not interminable) climb - are being used for the first time in Tour history, which should be fun. Maybe Cunego can take his opportunity to actually perform for the first time in his Tour history? (For all you pedants, who will point at the Italian's former stage victory, please just see through the joke and keep mum.)

In terms of eating out, this area of the Alps is celebrated for its delicious venison stew, followed by an expensive plate of white truffles - known as white gold for their spenny nature. To drink? A bottle of sweet, red Barolo wine and the odd shot of grappa (a foul, fiendish spirit which sounds as bad as it tastes).

Lanterne Rouge

Last time Blazin' Saddles checked, it was Belgian Wim Vansevenant (or was it Johan Vansummeren? Who knows. They're both Belgian and have similar names). Anyway, whichever Silence Lotto rider it was has won it the past two times and so this could be an impressive third. Tatty bye.

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Felix Lowe / Eurosport