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What the hell is this, Groundhog Day on the Tour?
Just like yesterday, we’re close on to the end of a long stage, and the peloton is fifteen minutes back from the frontrunners. And again, the front group—what was a ten-man breakaway—has begun to fracture.
Axel Merckx is driving hard for the win today: he’s Belgian, and it’s a national holiday back home for him. David Moncoutie won on Bastille Day, so perhaps nationalism will win out again. Not to mention he hasn’t won a stage yet. Cedric Vasseur, Thomas Voekler, and Marcos Serrano of Liberty Seguros are with him. They all look grim and dedicated, and I have to admit, if the guys in the booth say “Little Tommy Voekler” one more time, I’m going to throw something. Yeah, he’s short. Your point?
So we’re climbing now, and these four men are beating the hell out of each other. The grade is a fairly nauseating 15%, yet they keep attacking. Serrano, who’s perhaps driven by the fact that Liberty Seguros has yet to win a stage, has shot forward and it looks like he’ll get to the top first. It’s not a monster mountain—it’s a Cat 2-- but it’s long, and steep. And he’s determined.
Well, they won’t catch him now. Flying down the mountain, he’s outpaced the others. He’s swung into the velodrome where the finish line is, and is zooming down the straightaway, looking frantically behind him for chasers who unbelieveably aren’t there any more. He’s pedaling, racing, looking back and—he sits up, gasping, and it looks like he’s crying. Way to go! (I love how he made sure to zip his jersey allll the way up. Remember Georg Totschnig from Gerolsteiner crossing the line with his jersey open the other day in Stage 14? The sponsors must’ve indeed had fits.)
Merckx is coming, with Cedric Vasseur, who sat on his wheel the last stretch, and is now passing him. There are a few words going between them, and Phil Liggett is imagining they’re not pleasant. I’d guess they’re along the lines of, “I dragged your sorry ass up to the line, and NOW you’re gonna pass me, you freeloading bastard?”
There are about seven riders straggling in—including “Little Tommy.” Here comes what used to be the peloton, and it’s fractured again. What remains of it—well, the important part—is of course led out by the Discovery Team. Okay, no, now it’s CSC. Okay, now it’s…well, whoever’s leading, Lance is right up there in the front. Ullrich and Basso are there, but without any teammates to control the pace. Floyd Landis, a great American rider, has been dropped by the group. Vinokourov is struggling to get back in. But again and again, no matter who attacks, no matter who tries to break away, Lance is right there on his wheel, refusing to get dropped, refusing to let go. If Basso can get space between himself and Lance, he can gain time—but there’s no way Lance will let him. Ullrich just needs to drop Rasmussen to get into second, but that’s a pretty bitter battle, too. Cadel Evans,the Australian, is in there, also determined to shave some time and move up—he leaped up as soon as the leaders started to attack.
American rider Levi Leipheimer (Gerolsteiner), Vinokourov, and Michael Rasmussen have been left behind by Armstrong, Basso, Ullrich, and Evans.
For a moment, even Jan Ullrich is dropped, but then, astonishingly, there he is clawing his way back! He’s ahead of Rassmussen, who must be getting extremely nervous about keeping his place on the podium (in the top three) at the end of the race on Sunday.
Onto the track now, and Lance is up out of his saddle, pushing! The other three seems to be content to come with him—no, Cadel Evans swings out! I can’t see if he’s managed to get a wheel out front—yes, he has, but they all get the same time—11.18 back. And one more time, we have a chorus of “No change in the top standings.” Well, not yet, at least.
So. Michael Rasmussen has now, after nearly the last climb of the tour, secured the King of the Mountains jersey. Will he also manage to get onto the podium in Paris by hanging on to third place? Well, that depends on Jan Ullrich, who’s gained 37 seconds on him and is breathing down his neck.
Another presenting of the stage win trophy and bouquet. I love how European men—and those who ride with them—have no problems getting flowers in public. And another opbservation? Marco Serrano is cute. Hm.
Speaking of which, cute’s also the word I’ll use for Lance Armstrong describing himself as “an old man.” I’ll let you guess my tone of voice there. I did like his statement on life after cycling, though: “The yellow jersey doesn’t make you a great Dad. That’s the job I’ll have to work on the rest of my life.” He has little symbols of his kids all over his bike, done in silver icons by a very cool artist. The solid wheel of his time-trial bike is covered with them—icons for his wins, his family, his life, his career, and those kids. They’re on their way to Paris to see Daddy. Definitely time to break out the VCR.
But for now, it’s time for bed.
Just like yesterday, we’re close on to the end of a long stage, and the peloton is fifteen minutes back from the frontrunners. And again, the front group—what was a ten-man breakaway—has begun to fracture.
Axel Merckx is driving hard for the win today: he’s Belgian, and it’s a national holiday back home for him. David Moncoutie won on Bastille Day, so perhaps nationalism will win out again. Not to mention he hasn’t won a stage yet. Cedric Vasseur, Thomas Voekler, and Marcos Serrano of Liberty Seguros are with him. They all look grim and dedicated, and I have to admit, if the guys in the booth say “Little Tommy Voekler” one more time, I’m going to throw something. Yeah, he’s short. Your point?
So we’re climbing now, and these four men are beating the hell out of each other. The grade is a fairly nauseating 15%, yet they keep attacking. Serrano, who’s perhaps driven by the fact that Liberty Seguros has yet to win a stage, has shot forward and it looks like he’ll get to the top first. It’s not a monster mountain—it’s a Cat 2-- but it’s long, and steep. And he’s determined.
Well, they won’t catch him now. Flying down the mountain, he’s outpaced the others. He’s swung into the velodrome where the finish line is, and is zooming down the straightaway, looking frantically behind him for chasers who unbelieveably aren’t there any more. He’s pedaling, racing, looking back and—he sits up, gasping, and it looks like he’s crying. Way to go! (I love how he made sure to zip his jersey allll the way up. Remember Georg Totschnig from Gerolsteiner crossing the line with his jersey open the other day in Stage 14? The sponsors must’ve indeed had fits.)
Merckx is coming, with Cedric Vasseur, who sat on his wheel the last stretch, and is now passing him. There are a few words going between them, and Phil Liggett is imagining they’re not pleasant. I’d guess they’re along the lines of, “I dragged your sorry ass up to the line, and NOW you’re gonna pass me, you freeloading bastard?”
There are about seven riders straggling in—including “Little Tommy.” Here comes what used to be the peloton, and it’s fractured again. What remains of it—well, the important part—is of course led out by the Discovery Team. Okay, no, now it’s CSC. Okay, now it’s…well, whoever’s leading, Lance is right up there in the front. Ullrich and Basso are there, but without any teammates to control the pace. Floyd Landis, a great American rider, has been dropped by the group. Vinokourov is struggling to get back in. But again and again, no matter who attacks, no matter who tries to break away, Lance is right there on his wheel, refusing to get dropped, refusing to let go. If Basso can get space between himself and Lance, he can gain time—but there’s no way Lance will let him. Ullrich just needs to drop Rasmussen to get into second, but that’s a pretty bitter battle, too. Cadel Evans,the Australian, is in there, also determined to shave some time and move up—he leaped up as soon as the leaders started to attack.
American rider Levi Leipheimer (Gerolsteiner), Vinokourov, and Michael Rasmussen have been left behind by Armstrong, Basso, Ullrich, and Evans.
For a moment, even Jan Ullrich is dropped, but then, astonishingly, there he is clawing his way back! He’s ahead of Rassmussen, who must be getting extremely nervous about keeping his place on the podium (in the top three) at the end of the race on Sunday.
Onto the track now, and Lance is up out of his saddle, pushing! The other three seems to be content to come with him—no, Cadel Evans swings out! I can’t see if he’s managed to get a wheel out front—yes, he has, but they all get the same time—11.18 back. And one more time, we have a chorus of “No change in the top standings.” Well, not yet, at least.
So. Michael Rasmussen has now, after nearly the last climb of the tour, secured the King of the Mountains jersey. Will he also manage to get onto the podium in Paris by hanging on to third place? Well, that depends on Jan Ullrich, who’s gained 37 seconds on him and is breathing down his neck.
Another presenting of the stage win trophy and bouquet. I love how European men—and those who ride with them—have no problems getting flowers in public. And another opbservation? Marco Serrano is cute. Hm.
Speaking of which, cute’s also the word I’ll use for Lance Armstrong describing himself as “an old man.” I’ll let you guess my tone of voice there. I did like his statement on life after cycling, though: “The yellow jersey doesn’t make you a great Dad. That’s the job I’ll have to work on the rest of my life.” He has little symbols of his kids all over his bike, done in silver icons by a very cool artist. The solid wheel of his time-trial bike is covered with them—icons for his wins, his family, his life, his career, and those kids. They’re on their way to Paris to see Daddy. Definitely time to break out the VCR.
But for now, it’s time for bed.