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ysobelleStage 18: Bourg-d'Oisans to Saint-Etienne (196.5km)
If it is possible to take a vacation while spending hours and hours climbing up a mountain on a bike in the French sun, then the race took a vacation today. Not to say everyone sat back and dozed off, working on their tans. No: there were the usual attacks, sprints, chases, and crashes. In fact, Lampre’s Damiano Cunego had a spectacular fall early in the day, hitting a wall at speed with his face. The camera came upon him crouched against the wall, his bike nowhere in sight. He had to have his chin stitched right there on the road by the Tour doctor. His nose was bloody and the front of his jersey—dangerously near his throat—utterly shredded. Four of his teammates came back for him, but for a long time the man nicknamed The Little Prince trailed the peloton by ten minutes. You want to see bravery and thankfully not-literal guts? You have to see these photos: http://www.stltoday.com/blogzone/10-speed/10-speed/2008/07/cunegos-long-and-courageous-day-in-the-saddle/ .
Leading the peloton by ten minutes were two men: German Marcus Burghart, riding for Columbia, and Spaniard Carlos Barredo, riding for Quick*Step. Both of them are far enough down on GC that no one’s bothering to chase them. The two of them have been working together, drafting each other, mile after mile. But now, we’re less than 9k to the finish line, and Barredo begins the first attack. Burghardt takes off after him without a moment’s hesitation, and they settle back down again. Moments later, Burghardt sits up to zip up his open jersey. Barredo glances back, sees his opponent without his hands on the bars, and attacks again. Once more, Burghardt jumps him. Lather, rinse, repeat. It’s fascinating to watch: they swerve back and forth, trying to shake the other man, or get him to come through and take the lead, cutting the wind and giving the other the slipstream advantage. 120k of teamsmanship is forgotten as they play each other in a cat-and-mouse game.
Three riders are following by five minutes. Mikel Astarloza of Euskatel Euskadi, Romain Feillu of Agritubel, and Christophe Le Mevel of Credit Agricole are trying to catch up, but have actually lost time to the leaders. 2.7k to go, and there are attacks in the peloton as well. CSC has maintained the pace all day, protecting Carlos Sastre, their teammate and Tour leader. But now they’ve awakened. Andy Schleck attacks, is caught quickly, but has pulled a small group of riders off the front with him.
The two leaders are still fighting tooth and nail, Barredo swerving nastily to shake off Burghardt. It doesn’t work. They are rapidly approaching the finish line. They can see it. 400 meters. 300. Burghardt all but stops, looking over his shoulder, watching. They are creeping, waiting to start the sprint, neither wanting to fire first. It’s the most bizarre thing I have ever seen in the Tour. Burghardt is actually coasting, watching, Barredo right on his wheel. Still closer they get—they know they’ll have one bullet, and one shot: they’ve been at this all day, and neither has a shred of energy to spare. 200. Closer, closer—who’ll break first…? 150 meters to the line….
And it’s Burghardt! Barredo responds instantly, but it’s like an eBay bidding war left one second too late. A sudden explosion, and Burghardt is over the line first, raising his arms and cheering, while Barredo punches the air in rage and frustration. I can almost hear him screaming from here.
Roman Feillu just tips Christophe Le Mevel and Mikel Astarloza on the line—they come in third through fifth, respectively. Frank Schleck brings in the beginning of the peloton, and amazingly, here’s a flurry from the big sprinters to wring the last few sprint points out of the stage. Erik Zabel steals them from Thor Hushovd and the rest.
Carlos Sastre retains the yellow jersey, looking considerably better after an “easy” day that would put most people in the hospital. He even smiles this time as he’s zipped into his prize on the podium. Burghardt, on the other hand, beams like a lighthouse. It’s also apparent as he stands there, three steps up from the leggy models who flank him to present his plaque and bouquet, that this man is—for a cyclist—bizarrely tall. Every other rider, it seems, barely tops the ladies. No wonder he’s such a powerful sprinter—his legs have to be a quarter-mile long.
Today’s Extras:
In slightly more grim news, however, it was announced yesterday that after the positive doping tests for one of its riders which caused Team Saunier Duval to withdraw from the race, said team has now also lost its sponsor. Saunier Duval is, essentially, dead. All the people who worked for the team, and the riders who rode for it, are now out of a job. Good going, you flaming bastard. Hope it was worth getting your entire crew sacked.
Marcus Burghardt…Marcus Burghardt…hm. Where have I heard that name before? Oh! I remember now! He was the poor bastard who came flying off his bike last year after colliding with a black lab in the middle of the road. He did finish the stage. More importantly, the dog was fine. Apparently, emailers to Versus TV were far more worried about the dog than the cyclist. I can’t say as I blame them—at least we SAW Burghardt get up.
Unsurprisingly, Damiano Cunego, facing potentially nasty injuries to his throat and face, has abandoned. He did, however, finish the stage today despite his early bloodbath. He came in 20 minutes after Burghardt, but he DID finish. That, to me, is as impressive as a stage win will ever be.
If it is possible to take a vacation while spending hours and hours climbing up a mountain on a bike in the French sun, then the race took a vacation today. Not to say everyone sat back and dozed off, working on their tans. No: there were the usual attacks, sprints, chases, and crashes. In fact, Lampre’s Damiano Cunego had a spectacular fall early in the day, hitting a wall at speed with his face. The camera came upon him crouched against the wall, his bike nowhere in sight. He had to have his chin stitched right there on the road by the Tour doctor. His nose was bloody and the front of his jersey—dangerously near his throat—utterly shredded. Four of his teammates came back for him, but for a long time the man nicknamed The Little Prince trailed the peloton by ten minutes. You want to see bravery and thankfully not-literal guts? You have to see these photos: http://www.stltoday.com/blogzone/10-speed/10-speed/2008/07/cunegos-long-and-courageous-day-in-the-saddle/ .
Leading the peloton by ten minutes were two men: German Marcus Burghart, riding for Columbia, and Spaniard Carlos Barredo, riding for Quick*Step. Both of them are far enough down on GC that no one’s bothering to chase them. The two of them have been working together, drafting each other, mile after mile. But now, we’re less than 9k to the finish line, and Barredo begins the first attack. Burghardt takes off after him without a moment’s hesitation, and they settle back down again. Moments later, Burghardt sits up to zip up his open jersey. Barredo glances back, sees his opponent without his hands on the bars, and attacks again. Once more, Burghardt jumps him. Lather, rinse, repeat. It’s fascinating to watch: they swerve back and forth, trying to shake the other man, or get him to come through and take the lead, cutting the wind and giving the other the slipstream advantage. 120k of teamsmanship is forgotten as they play each other in a cat-and-mouse game.
Three riders are following by five minutes. Mikel Astarloza of Euskatel Euskadi, Romain Feillu of Agritubel, and Christophe Le Mevel of Credit Agricole are trying to catch up, but have actually lost time to the leaders. 2.7k to go, and there are attacks in the peloton as well. CSC has maintained the pace all day, protecting Carlos Sastre, their teammate and Tour leader. But now they’ve awakened. Andy Schleck attacks, is caught quickly, but has pulled a small group of riders off the front with him.
The two leaders are still fighting tooth and nail, Barredo swerving nastily to shake off Burghardt. It doesn’t work. They are rapidly approaching the finish line. They can see it. 400 meters. 300. Burghardt all but stops, looking over his shoulder, watching. They are creeping, waiting to start the sprint, neither wanting to fire first. It’s the most bizarre thing I have ever seen in the Tour. Burghardt is actually coasting, watching, Barredo right on his wheel. Still closer they get—they know they’ll have one bullet, and one shot: they’ve been at this all day, and neither has a shred of energy to spare. 200. Closer, closer—who’ll break first…? 150 meters to the line….
And it’s Burghardt! Barredo responds instantly, but it’s like an eBay bidding war left one second too late. A sudden explosion, and Burghardt is over the line first, raising his arms and cheering, while Barredo punches the air in rage and frustration. I can almost hear him screaming from here.
Roman Feillu just tips Christophe Le Mevel and Mikel Astarloza on the line—they come in third through fifth, respectively. Frank Schleck brings in the beginning of the peloton, and amazingly, here’s a flurry from the big sprinters to wring the last few sprint points out of the stage. Erik Zabel steals them from Thor Hushovd and the rest.
Carlos Sastre retains the yellow jersey, looking considerably better after an “easy” day that would put most people in the hospital. He even smiles this time as he’s zipped into his prize on the podium. Burghardt, on the other hand, beams like a lighthouse. It’s also apparent as he stands there, three steps up from the leggy models who flank him to present his plaque and bouquet, that this man is—for a cyclist—bizarrely tall. Every other rider, it seems, barely tops the ladies. No wonder he’s such a powerful sprinter—his legs have to be a quarter-mile long.
Today’s Extras:
In slightly more grim news, however, it was announced yesterday that after the positive doping tests for one of its riders which caused Team Saunier Duval to withdraw from the race, said team has now also lost its sponsor. Saunier Duval is, essentially, dead. All the people who worked for the team, and the riders who rode for it, are now out of a job. Good going, you flaming bastard. Hope it was worth getting your entire crew sacked.
Marcus Burghardt…Marcus Burghardt…hm. Where have I heard that name before? Oh! I remember now! He was the poor bastard who came flying off his bike last year after colliding with a black lab in the middle of the road. He did finish the stage. More importantly, the dog was fine. Apparently, emailers to Versus TV were far more worried about the dog than the cyclist. I can’t say as I blame them—at least we SAW Burghardt get up.
Unsurprisingly, Damiano Cunego, facing potentially nasty injuries to his throat and face, has abandoned. He did, however, finish the stage today despite his early bloodbath. He came in 20 minutes after Burghardt, but he DID finish. That, to me, is as impressive as a stage win will ever be.