At the junction where the stage ends, more gendarmes advise us that it's access on foot only beyond this point. We demount, pull shoes out of bags and porter our bikes up the hill to stares of bemusement from other fans.

Helicopters circle. Somewhere from up above we hear what sounds like a chainsaw with the exhaust removed being revved to within an inch of its life. The noise of diehard petrol heads.

Welcome to Rallye Monte Carlo.

The Monte has a special place in rallying history. Just like it’s F1 counterpart, the Principality adds a certain gravitas. It’s the opening weekend of a global calendar, part of a multi-million, petro-dollar sport-turned-business.

Like cycling, that business takes place in the great wide open, which changes the dynamic.

Swap your sun umbrellas beside the port for wild fires at 1,000m, and exchange your eight figure super-yacht mooring beside La Rascasse for makeshift tents and climbing trees on the roadside.

The ace up Monte's sleeve, is our very ownCol de Turini.

The Night of The Long Knives is the local name for the stage which, up until recently, ran through the dark from Sospel to Bollène-Vésubie. The long beams of the extra headlamps added to cars appeared like swords from below as they cut through the dark on the way to the Col.

It was a pilgrimage for rally fans. During the heydays, the Group B supercar era of the 80’s, the atmosphere there was electric. Partying fans, a snow covered road and red flares to light it up. Anticipation, noise, sideways action and adrenalin.

Observing French rally fans teaches you in the way of staying stationary on the mountain. That’s not something us cyclists are necessarily accustomed to.

Our first vantage point is in the shadows, out of the sun as the road winds itself around the mountain. On the inside of the corner we count three open fires and one barbeque.

The mixture of smoke and the morning light is like an 80's pop concert. There are camping chairs, cool boxes, gas stoves, rucksacks and more GoPros than you can shake a selfie stick at.

Amongst the fans are well-hydrated Italians, the odd group of Aussies or Brits and seemingly quite a lot of Finns (Finland claims to be the spiritual home to rallying after all). But it’s mostly locals. And, unlike cycling, the French rally fans have a lot to be proud of. More specifically they have two Sébastiens to be proud of.

Sébastien Loeb is known as Le Patron. He’s the most successful driver in WRC history having chalked up nine successive championships. In a Citroën too. Incroyable ! And after he retired, Sebastien Ogier picked up the mantle and has won the last five years in a row.

Today Ogier is once more in control going into the final four stages, but he has not been immune to the influence of the fans. On Friday he required the help of compatriots from his hometown of Gap (which happens to be the base for most of the rally) to push him out of a ditch.

On this stage today, not all the fans are so supportive. We witness a man come beside us at the entry to a sweeping left hander and light a flare just before Ogier arrives. The smoke completely covers the road, requiring Ogier to employ his lightning fast reactions to avoid ploughing into the bank of spectators on the outside of the corner.

The man with the flare is gone but he was clearly either Scandanavian or maybe, like second placed driver Ott Tänak, Estonian. It seems that sometimes rally passion spills over and makes a mess.

The good news is that the incident occurs on the first pass of this road before the second and more important ‘Power Stage’. It's an opportunity for extra championship points for those trailing Ogier. A one stage, on-the-limit test against the mountain.

We ride up the road in between the fans, observing the tyre marks on the road to judge where will be the best vantage point for the finale.

In a simple kilometre journey we go from cold damp shadows to dry tarmac basking in the sun. It’s a perfect example of the challenges of this rally. The drivers have to adapt car set-up and driving techniques that compromise between these perfect conditions and the snow and ice surrounding the Col.

From maximum attack to dancing on ice in a couple of turns.

The lure of the sun is too much and we pick our spot on the upper outside of a hairpin with a fast entry and exit. The roadside itself is a ‘non-place’ to us cyclists. A location best suited for quiet contemplation and enjoying the view has been turned into a makeshift stadium, of sorts.

Rallye Monte Carlo is not a quiet moment. Unless you’re the guy snoring behind the tarpolin that forms the door of the makeshift roadside tent. Pastis overload, at 11am.

This is what everyone came for. High octane, 380bhp, big downforce spoilers, red hot disc brakes and flat-shift gear boxes that pop like a hunter’s rifle. The aggression, the control, the mechanical force is all consuming and gone in an instant. The noise of the first car fades into the distance, the anticipation for the next one feeds the frenzy.

There are many barriers to entry to top flight motorsport. Apparently ten years ago a young driver had to bring three million in sponsorship funds to get a drive in WRC. And with paid subscriptions taking over, watching on TV is not easy.

Maybe that's why the fans remain so committed to going roadside. Because it’s not a stadium. If you want to get up and get out, it’s not behind a pay wall. It’s mother nature hosting man and machine in their arrogant attempt to prove they know better. Just like cycling.