Stage One, belated. (Yesterday)
Jul. 9th, 2007 10:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelleStage One
203km, from London to Canterbury.
The peloton certainly had its share of glory this morning, beginning against a backdrop of the Queen’s Royal Guards on Tower Bridge, with Lord Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone dropping the flag, and Tour Director Christian Prudhomme cutting the ribbon. A band played both La Marseillaise and “God Save the Queen.” And off they rolled, at 11am London time.
Various riders pushed a breakaway or two. Determined to make a good showing in his own UK, Scotsman David Millar launched one of the first lasting breakaways, leaving the peloton behind. He was soon joined by four other riders, and the five of them spent most of the day in a breakaway. As usually happens, though, and despite having, at one point, over five minutes on the peloton, the group splintered—at first down to three, then one rider: Stephane Auge, a French rider from Cofidis, who had himself led one of the very first breakaways.
Again, the countryside couldn’t possibly be more beautiful. The peloton rolled on and on for hours, with thousands of cycling fans and locals lining the road in an almost unbroken crowd the whole route. Unfortunately, it seems the English aren’t quite as up on their Tour-watching etiquette as the rest of Europe. They seem, perhaps, not to be familiar with just how damned fast the peloton comes up on you. Inevitably, an idiot spectator standing too far into the road caused a crash and subsequent mechanical problem that devastated Mark Cavendish, an English rider who had been favoured to possibly win if the finish came down to a sprint. Rule One, kids: stepping into the road in front of 189 riders going at roughly 40kmph doesn’t make you famous or cool; it makes you a speed bump.
The incredibly narrow country lanes posed an additional problem. It’s another inevitability that someone will have a flat, or something equally unpleasant, and in such close confines, that means the whole Tour comes to a screeching halt. Sadly, this resulted in Eduardo Gonzalo Ramirez of Agritubel being the Tour’s first abandoning rider. After the Caisse d’Epargne team car which he was following stopped suddenly in front of him, he whammed into the back of it, smashing its rear window, dislocating his shoulder, and being airlifted to hospital. Later, a simple traffic island, which in France would have had a Gendarme standing on it with a flag, leaped out of nowhere and attacked several riders who just couldn’t see it in the crush of bodies, giving them nasty spills. Thankfully, they all three regained their bikes and continued.
Perhaps the most significant crash, however, if not the most spectacular, came in the last hour of the stage, in the last 25km, in fact, when highly-favoured big-name Robbie McEwen. Rear-ended by a distracted rider while he himself was stopped, he went ass-over-teakettle over his handlebars, landing on his right leg and wrist. Too badly hurt to get back on his bike, he stood by the side of the road with his teammates around him. And then—go, Robbie!—he shook it off, got back on, and kept going.
Here’s where it gets strategic.
We’re 25k from the end. 40 minutes, maybe. Robbie and his Predictor-Lotto teammates are way, way back—minutes behind the peloton. They’re so far back, they’re behind the caravan of team cars that follows the race and which, in this case, is packing up the road. The team have an incredibly small window in which to get their potential stage winner back into a position where he can actually, you know, win. They could go all-out, of course, but doing so would pretty much use McEwen’s legs up. Making things even more interesting, the Quick-Step team of Tom Boonen, another top sprinter, is in front of the peloton, pushing the pace. While what they’re doing isn’t illegal, it’s highly frowned upon in professional cycling. By long tradition, when one of the top riders has fallen or had a flat or the like, race leaders will slow up, allowing him to rejoin the race, and thus keep the competition fair and even. It’s a matter of honour. Except Quick-Step seems to be feeling a little belligerent today, which isn’t going to win them any friends. It’s dumb: this early in the race, the last thing you need is to foster resentment by thumbing your nose at every other team in the race. It’s going to bite you in the ass. More immediately, it’s going to give someone else added incentive to kick said ass.
Case in point: we’re pounding towards the finish line. Phil Liggett is starting to sound like he’s calling the Kentucky Derby. Names are flashing past like bids at a country auction. The camera switches back and forth from an aerial shot to a head-on shot, and the jersey colours are blurring as the riders start their sprint, bikes rocking from side to side as they pick up speed. Who’s it going to be? Tom Boonen? Thor Hushovd? Robbie Hunter?
And by a full length in the clear—it’s Robbie McEwen!
I have to admit, by this time, I was standing in front of the TV, shouting—I am a geek after all—“Where did you come from? Where the &#W$*^% did you come from?!” Because he was completely invisible—nowhere to be seen in the melee and not even mentioned. And then he won. And not by a fraction of a wheel, but with two or three meters to the next guys—one of whom was, of course, Tom Boonen of Quick-Step.
Heh. Take that, boys.
203km, from London to Canterbury.
The peloton certainly had its share of glory this morning, beginning against a backdrop of the Queen’s Royal Guards on Tower Bridge, with Lord Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone dropping the flag, and Tour Director Christian Prudhomme cutting the ribbon. A band played both La Marseillaise and “God Save the Queen.” And off they rolled, at 11am London time.
Various riders pushed a breakaway or two. Determined to make a good showing in his own UK, Scotsman David Millar launched one of the first lasting breakaways, leaving the peloton behind. He was soon joined by four other riders, and the five of them spent most of the day in a breakaway. As usually happens, though, and despite having, at one point, over five minutes on the peloton, the group splintered—at first down to three, then one rider: Stephane Auge, a French rider from Cofidis, who had himself led one of the very first breakaways.
Again, the countryside couldn’t possibly be more beautiful. The peloton rolled on and on for hours, with thousands of cycling fans and locals lining the road in an almost unbroken crowd the whole route. Unfortunately, it seems the English aren’t quite as up on their Tour-watching etiquette as the rest of Europe. They seem, perhaps, not to be familiar with just how damned fast the peloton comes up on you. Inevitably, an idiot spectator standing too far into the road caused a crash and subsequent mechanical problem that devastated Mark Cavendish, an English rider who had been favoured to possibly win if the finish came down to a sprint. Rule One, kids: stepping into the road in front of 189 riders going at roughly 40kmph doesn’t make you famous or cool; it makes you a speed bump.
The incredibly narrow country lanes posed an additional problem. It’s another inevitability that someone will have a flat, or something equally unpleasant, and in such close confines, that means the whole Tour comes to a screeching halt. Sadly, this resulted in Eduardo Gonzalo Ramirez of Agritubel being the Tour’s first abandoning rider. After the Caisse d’Epargne team car which he was following stopped suddenly in front of him, he whammed into the back of it, smashing its rear window, dislocating his shoulder, and being airlifted to hospital. Later, a simple traffic island, which in France would have had a Gendarme standing on it with a flag, leaped out of nowhere and attacked several riders who just couldn’t see it in the crush of bodies, giving them nasty spills. Thankfully, they all three regained their bikes and continued.
Perhaps the most significant crash, however, if not the most spectacular, came in the last hour of the stage, in the last 25km, in fact, when highly-favoured big-name Robbie McEwen. Rear-ended by a distracted rider while he himself was stopped, he went ass-over-teakettle over his handlebars, landing on his right leg and wrist. Too badly hurt to get back on his bike, he stood by the side of the road with his teammates around him. And then—go, Robbie!—he shook it off, got back on, and kept going.
Here’s where it gets strategic.
We’re 25k from the end. 40 minutes, maybe. Robbie and his Predictor-Lotto teammates are way, way back—minutes behind the peloton. They’re so far back, they’re behind the caravan of team cars that follows the race and which, in this case, is packing up the road. The team have an incredibly small window in which to get their potential stage winner back into a position where he can actually, you know, win. They could go all-out, of course, but doing so would pretty much use McEwen’s legs up. Making things even more interesting, the Quick-Step team of Tom Boonen, another top sprinter, is in front of the peloton, pushing the pace. While what they’re doing isn’t illegal, it’s highly frowned upon in professional cycling. By long tradition, when one of the top riders has fallen or had a flat or the like, race leaders will slow up, allowing him to rejoin the race, and thus keep the competition fair and even. It’s a matter of honour. Except Quick-Step seems to be feeling a little belligerent today, which isn’t going to win them any friends. It’s dumb: this early in the race, the last thing you need is to foster resentment by thumbing your nose at every other team in the race. It’s going to bite you in the ass. More immediately, it’s going to give someone else added incentive to kick said ass.
Case in point: we’re pounding towards the finish line. Phil Liggett is starting to sound like he’s calling the Kentucky Derby. Names are flashing past like bids at a country auction. The camera switches back and forth from an aerial shot to a head-on shot, and the jersey colours are blurring as the riders start their sprint, bikes rocking from side to side as they pick up speed. Who’s it going to be? Tom Boonen? Thor Hushovd? Robbie Hunter?
And by a full length in the clear—it’s Robbie McEwen!
I have to admit, by this time, I was standing in front of the TV, shouting—I am a geek after all—“Where did you come from? Where the &#W$*^% did you come from?!” Because he was completely invisible—nowhere to be seen in the melee and not even mentioned. And then he won. And not by a fraction of a wheel, but with two or three meters to the next guys—one of whom was, of course, Tom Boonen of Quick-Step.
Heh. Take that, boys.