You can hear the riders coming over the pavé much earlier than you can see them, the thunder of the approaching convoy a giveaway sign that the peloton is about to pass at Paris-Roubaix Femmes.
The sound of two score bikes on cobbles, the thud of the rubber on stone, the jangle of the drive chain, the whoosh from the speed. Then there's the dust, which somehow gets everywhere, and mostly in your mouth. It's not an experience for the faint-hearted.
