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ysobelleMonster stage today. A Category Two climb, four Category One climbs, then, just for the heck of it, a Beyond Category climb to finish the day. I’m vaguely horrified just to think of it. Shudder.
So first thing this morning, at 27 km, a fourteen-man breakaway. None of the serious contenders to the crown are there, so Lance is hanging back in the peloton, being quite the chatty thing with a reporter on a motorcycle. The OLN guys are remarking that he’s probably the only one who can actually talk whilst cycling. Now, up in that breakaway, we have George Hincapie, Lance’s teammate. I don’t pretend to understand how he could slow these men down, but what I know he CAN do is fall back if need be later on to help Lance catch up.
The field has, through attrition, been whittled down to 160 riders left in the Tour, total. We started with 189. One of the riders yesterday said something about coming up through the gap to a breakaway and seeing “all the bodies” littering the road. (They’re still pedaling, but they are, as commentator Bob Roll says, “Suffering like an animal,” and being passed by everyone.) Phil Liggett—perhaps the most famous cycling commentator out there—calls it “cracking.” When your body’s just given up—you didn’t eat enough beforehand, or consume enough energy on the ride—they say you’ve “bonked.” And just today, the peloton is dropping riders left and right: some of them will live to ride again tomorrow, some of them are out for good.
Another breakaway has left the peloton—Ivan Basso, Jan Ullrich, and Lance Armstrong. On a climb, no less. These three are some of the greatest riders in the sport, and they’re going for it. They’re trying to catch the leading breakaway, which is now down to six riders. George Hincapie is sitting at the back of the sextet, not taking his turns at the front, just waiting.
23km to go. It’s awe-inspiring to watch these men in their brightly-coloured jerseys, eyes hidden behind wraparound shades, just working like machines in the insane heat, powering up the mountainside with their often blank, but often gasping, twisted faces. Lance has his game-face on—his closed, serious time-trial face. This is the tenth anniversary of the death of his teammate and friend Fabio Casartelli, who died on these mountains when a collision during the Tour sent him off his bike and headfirst into a concrete barrier. The stage passed the marble memorial to him today, and Lance wears an armband with his name on it. His wife and child were at the starting line to wish Lance luck, and his first stage-win. (Read more: http://www.bhsi.org/timesart.htm)
Lance’s group has been joined by a fourth rider; they’re a little over six minutes back, with just under ten miles to go. The front group is splintering—three riders have dropped away after one started an attack he couldn’t sustain. George is still there. Will Lance be able to come back and take the stage win? His 76th yellow jersey isn’t in danger, and he can win the race without ever winning a stage, but first over the line is what he said he wouldn’t mind today.
Oscar Pereiero, Michael Boogart, and George Hincapie are still out front alone.
Ivan Basso, approaching second place, has accelerated, leaving the group—now containing those dropped from the foremost group—behind. Wait a moment, and Lance answers. He’s still 2.40 ahead of Basso, but he will not let him go. The crowd is enormous, screaming and cheering, larger than anywhere on the Tour before.
And the three leaders have amazingly been rejoined by a fourth rider, Pietro Caucchiolli of Credeit Agricole. I have no idea where he came from—it’s incredibly rare for a rider to get dropped from a group, then be able to power back from the no-man’s land between one chase and the next. Wow. Not only has he come back, he’s attacked. Pierero and Hincapie have answered, and passed them to pull out ahead, now alone. George Hincapie is looking in great shape. Could he win the stage?
The noise is unbelieveable. The crowds are hysterical. A camera motorcycle’s just collided with an overzealous spectator. They’re right on the border with Spain, so the Basque flag is everywhere. These people are just plain nuts—much like most of my fList thinks I am.
It’s going to be Periero or Hincapie. Jan Ullrich is behind Lance and Ivan by several seconds—he’s picked up Sevilla—he just needs to go faster than Rasmussen—then he’ll be in second.
Oh, thank G-d—the leaders have reached the barrier area—how the hell did they get through that crowd?! Many Spaniards there, and they’d love to see Periero, a Spaniard, win. But I’m rooting for Hincapie now, by G-d. They say it’s not been one of Armstrong’s teammates winning a stage since 1999.
G-d! Hincapie’s gone! And Periero can’t answer! It’s Hincapie alone! WOOT! Stunned and elated and utterly exhausted, he crosses the line with the obligatory arms-in-the-air exultation, and carries the stage, swamped by sheering support staff as he comes to a stop. I don’t understand how he’s actually walking, but he is. The riders are still coming in, and the next thing to wait for is Lance and Ivan. There’s going to be a sprint, but overall, no change. Jan Ullrich is still with Sevilla, who’s his teammate.
Basso’s working for second place now, Lance hard on his wheel. There’s no need for Lance to power up, so he doesn't—and he stays in first place and in Yellow.
Where the hell Michael Rasmussen came from, I don’t know, but he’s come over the line a few seconds behind Jan Ullrich. That may keep him in a close third, and what a ride for it!
Wow. Ten years George has been Lance’s domestique. They say he’s gotten huge offers to go to another team and be his own man, but he’s stayed with his close friend. This is his first ever stage win, and he’s just in shock.
And Lance picks up another minute.
Holy cow. Well. Rest day tomorrow, and one more mountain stage. We’re getting close to the Champs Elysee and the finish!
So first thing this morning, at 27 km, a fourteen-man breakaway. None of the serious contenders to the crown are there, so Lance is hanging back in the peloton, being quite the chatty thing with a reporter on a motorcycle. The OLN guys are remarking that he’s probably the only one who can actually talk whilst cycling. Now, up in that breakaway, we have George Hincapie, Lance’s teammate. I don’t pretend to understand how he could slow these men down, but what I know he CAN do is fall back if need be later on to help Lance catch up.
The field has, through attrition, been whittled down to 160 riders left in the Tour, total. We started with 189. One of the riders yesterday said something about coming up through the gap to a breakaway and seeing “all the bodies” littering the road. (They’re still pedaling, but they are, as commentator Bob Roll says, “Suffering like an animal,” and being passed by everyone.) Phil Liggett—perhaps the most famous cycling commentator out there—calls it “cracking.” When your body’s just given up—you didn’t eat enough beforehand, or consume enough energy on the ride—they say you’ve “bonked.” And just today, the peloton is dropping riders left and right: some of them will live to ride again tomorrow, some of them are out for good.
Another breakaway has left the peloton—Ivan Basso, Jan Ullrich, and Lance Armstrong. On a climb, no less. These three are some of the greatest riders in the sport, and they’re going for it. They’re trying to catch the leading breakaway, which is now down to six riders. George Hincapie is sitting at the back of the sextet, not taking his turns at the front, just waiting.
23km to go. It’s awe-inspiring to watch these men in their brightly-coloured jerseys, eyes hidden behind wraparound shades, just working like machines in the insane heat, powering up the mountainside with their often blank, but often gasping, twisted faces. Lance has his game-face on—his closed, serious time-trial face. This is the tenth anniversary of the death of his teammate and friend Fabio Casartelli, who died on these mountains when a collision during the Tour sent him off his bike and headfirst into a concrete barrier. The stage passed the marble memorial to him today, and Lance wears an armband with his name on it. His wife and child were at the starting line to wish Lance luck, and his first stage-win. (Read more: http://www.bhsi.org/timesart.htm)
Lance’s group has been joined by a fourth rider; they’re a little over six minutes back, with just under ten miles to go. The front group is splintering—three riders have dropped away after one started an attack he couldn’t sustain. George is still there. Will Lance be able to come back and take the stage win? His 76th yellow jersey isn’t in danger, and he can win the race without ever winning a stage, but first over the line is what he said he wouldn’t mind today.
Oscar Pereiero, Michael Boogart, and George Hincapie are still out front alone.
Ivan Basso, approaching second place, has accelerated, leaving the group—now containing those dropped from the foremost group—behind. Wait a moment, and Lance answers. He’s still 2.40 ahead of Basso, but he will not let him go. The crowd is enormous, screaming and cheering, larger than anywhere on the Tour before.
And the three leaders have amazingly been rejoined by a fourth rider, Pietro Caucchiolli of Credeit Agricole. I have no idea where he came from—it’s incredibly rare for a rider to get dropped from a group, then be able to power back from the no-man’s land between one chase and the next. Wow. Not only has he come back, he’s attacked. Pierero and Hincapie have answered, and passed them to pull out ahead, now alone. George Hincapie is looking in great shape. Could he win the stage?
The noise is unbelieveable. The crowds are hysterical. A camera motorcycle’s just collided with an overzealous spectator. They’re right on the border with Spain, so the Basque flag is everywhere. These people are just plain nuts—much like most of my fList thinks I am.
It’s going to be Periero or Hincapie. Jan Ullrich is behind Lance and Ivan by several seconds—he’s picked up Sevilla—he just needs to go faster than Rasmussen—then he’ll be in second.
Oh, thank G-d—the leaders have reached the barrier area—how the hell did they get through that crowd?! Many Spaniards there, and they’d love to see Periero, a Spaniard, win. But I’m rooting for Hincapie now, by G-d. They say it’s not been one of Armstrong’s teammates winning a stage since 1999.
G-d! Hincapie’s gone! And Periero can’t answer! It’s Hincapie alone! WOOT! Stunned and elated and utterly exhausted, he crosses the line with the obligatory arms-in-the-air exultation, and carries the stage, swamped by sheering support staff as he comes to a stop. I don’t understand how he’s actually walking, but he is. The riders are still coming in, and the next thing to wait for is Lance and Ivan. There’s going to be a sprint, but overall, no change. Jan Ullrich is still with Sevilla, who’s his teammate.
Basso’s working for second place now, Lance hard on his wheel. There’s no need for Lance to power up, so he doesn't—and he stays in first place and in Yellow.
Where the hell Michael Rasmussen came from, I don’t know, but he’s come over the line a few seconds behind Jan Ullrich. That may keep him in a close third, and what a ride for it!
Wow. Ten years George has been Lance’s domestique. They say he’s gotten huge offers to go to another team and be his own man, but he’s stayed with his close friend. This is his first ever stage win, and he’s just in shock.
And Lance picks up another minute.
Holy cow. Well. Rest day tomorrow, and one more mountain stage. We’re getting close to the Champs Elysee and the finish!