Stage 10: Limoges to Issoudun (194.5km)
Jul. 15th, 2009 03:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelleIt's Bastille Day! The French national holiday, akin to our July 4th, but with a little more blood and a few more beheadings. So how did the French celebrate? With a bit of a controversial twist to today's stage.
The past, oh, nearly two decades, every Tour rider has a small earpiece, and a radio connection back to the team car. It's good for all sorts of things: you can tell your coach you need water and are coming back to the car, you can ask your teammates where they are when you're bringing that water back up. If you're in a breakaway, you can tell your coach and team that there's been a crash, or there's a trick to the curve, or something in the road. Like, you know, a dog.
Your coach can also tell you exactly where everyone is, who's attacking, who's cracked, and when you have the best chance of pulling clear if you hit the afterburners.
This is just one of the many technical advances with which the tour is rife: new wheels, new frames, new fibers, new techniques-- like any other field, advancement is key. But of course, you know, this is the French we're dealing with, and they've never let an improved standard of work or living stand in the way of tradition. If tuberculosis was good enough for your great-grandmama, by G-d, it's good enough for you. So for two stages of the Tour de France, radios have been banned.
It's not as if I'm against tradition. If you read my entry yesterday, you know I'm gloriously in love with it. And it's also not as if I don't understand that some people think it's an unfair advantage. Unsporting, even. But really? Let's think about it a minute. Baseball? You have a coach at every base, right? Basketball, football, they're on the sidelines, screaming at you. So just because le Tour doesn't have that history doesn't mean it should run with that dog now. Way back when, they didn't have derailleurs, either, and changing gears meant you had to get off the bike and do it manually. Wanna go back to that? Sure. Let's do that right now! So let the record show that on this date, here and now, I actually disagree with ban-supporting Phil Liggett. I know, I know. Shocked me, too.
Early and persistent rumours flew that the peloton would stage some manner of protest today: a slowdown, or even a sit-down. And to be honest, I couldn't tell you if they didn't. Today was just that...languid.
Much was made of the fact that the Pyrenees days, which really should have cracked this race wide open, were, frankly, rather dull. When I watched, I wasn't sure why, but apparently, the way the course was set, with long descents and several comparatively flat miles after the climbs, it gave the field enough time to get back together, neutralising the effect of the monster climbs themselves. And then today, well, I think it was Bob Roll who said that Rinaldo Nocentini had the easiest defense of the yellow jersey ever. It's not that no one wants the thing, it's that no one's willing to kill themselves to get it while we still have the Alps to get to and over.
Nor is this to say it's still absolutely anyone's race. While mere minutes divided the men from the boys in the first days, the difference between first and last riders now is two hours. Which brings up another question, quite relevant to today: if you're two freakin' hours back, why are you even still in the race? You'd have to give the entire peloton food poisoning, saddle sores, and a few hundred flat tires at this point. Why kill yourself?
The answer lies in the fact that this isn't like any other sport. NOT everyone is in it to win it-- not for himself, at least. For some riders, all they want is a stage win. Or to support their captain. Or to get their sprinter to the line so HE can win the stage. Even if the sprinter himself is, for example, in 135th place, 1.14+ back. We'll get back to that.
A one-day race is something called a Classic. Classics are one-day races, and despite their comparative briefness, they're just as prestigious, and often feature the same riders as the big stage races. A rider who wins a single stage in the Tour de France gets just as much professional credit as if he'd won a Classic. He will forever list each stage of a stage race along with each single-day race as a victory on his CV. So even if you have no chance of winning the whole enchilada, you still go for stage wins. Every time.
Also, it's no small thing to get your kit over the line first. You get the glory, yes, but you also get your team's sponsors' logos in every paper and on every TV screen. And since those sponsors pay literally hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep your team going, you want to keep them happy. (This is why, no matter how hot the day or the competition, a rider about to win a stage will find a way to zip up his jersey.)
But to get back to that sprinter who's in 135th place, that would be Mark Cavendish of Columbia Highroad. Now, normally, when you're in 135th place, it's reasonable to expect that, perhaps, you might find yourself shipped off back home. And in past years, that's exactly what happened to Cavendish-- once the opening flat stages were done, he was sent back to England, his job-- winning the sprints-- admirably done. He wasn't a climber, and he'd just waste energy in the mountains when he could be more useful, say, training for the Olympics. But this year, he hung on through the mountains, and was carefully shepherded through today's stage by his determined teammates. Though four riders (three of them French, which must have pleased their countrymen immensely on today of all days) had made an early breakaway-- is this sounding like a broken record yet?-- the peloton had reeled them back in, resulting in a whole-field sprint to the end-- a rare beast, indeed.
Led out by teammate Mark Renshaw, Cavendish showed that once again, given the right opportunity, almost no one can beat him in a sprint. Though he lost the Green Jersey of the Points Winner several days ago to Thor Hushovd, Cavendish made sure to flourish his green Oakleys as he crossed the line. When pushed after the race, he at first demurred, saying that Oakley is a team sponsor, and has generously supplied the riders with excellent eyewear. But at last, he admitted that yes, he intends to soon regain the rest of the outfit to go with them. He also made a point today to address his own team dynamics: that he knows they turn themselves inside out for him, and he can't stand not winning the stage in return.
Speaking of team dynamics, much was apparently made in other venues of the fact that Lance and Alberto didn't sit near each other on the air transfer from Tarbes to Limoges. Armstrong, when interviewed, laughed and asked if somehow we'd all been transported back to high school. But I finally-- FINALLY-- heard him just come right out and say that he-- and Contador-- is out to win the race. Of course, he added the caveat that he's still a team rider, and that they way Astana is placed, it'd be tragic if tension between the two of them gave the ultimate win to someone else. But honestly, I think he's too smart to allow that to happen. I know where my money is.
The past, oh, nearly two decades, every Tour rider has a small earpiece, and a radio connection back to the team car. It's good for all sorts of things: you can tell your coach you need water and are coming back to the car, you can ask your teammates where they are when you're bringing that water back up. If you're in a breakaway, you can tell your coach and team that there's been a crash, or there's a trick to the curve, or something in the road. Like, you know, a dog.
Your coach can also tell you exactly where everyone is, who's attacking, who's cracked, and when you have the best chance of pulling clear if you hit the afterburners.
This is just one of the many technical advances with which the tour is rife: new wheels, new frames, new fibers, new techniques-- like any other field, advancement is key. But of course, you know, this is the French we're dealing with, and they've never let an improved standard of work or living stand in the way of tradition. If tuberculosis was good enough for your great-grandmama, by G-d, it's good enough for you. So for two stages of the Tour de France, radios have been banned.
It's not as if I'm against tradition. If you read my entry yesterday, you know I'm gloriously in love with it. And it's also not as if I don't understand that some people think it's an unfair advantage. Unsporting, even. But really? Let's think about it a minute. Baseball? You have a coach at every base, right? Basketball, football, they're on the sidelines, screaming at you. So just because le Tour doesn't have that history doesn't mean it should run with that dog now. Way back when, they didn't have derailleurs, either, and changing gears meant you had to get off the bike and do it manually. Wanna go back to that? Sure. Let's do that right now! So let the record show that on this date, here and now, I actually disagree with ban-supporting Phil Liggett. I know, I know. Shocked me, too.
Early and persistent rumours flew that the peloton would stage some manner of protest today: a slowdown, or even a sit-down. And to be honest, I couldn't tell you if they didn't. Today was just that...languid.
Much was made of the fact that the Pyrenees days, which really should have cracked this race wide open, were, frankly, rather dull. When I watched, I wasn't sure why, but apparently, the way the course was set, with long descents and several comparatively flat miles after the climbs, it gave the field enough time to get back together, neutralising the effect of the monster climbs themselves. And then today, well, I think it was Bob Roll who said that Rinaldo Nocentini had the easiest defense of the yellow jersey ever. It's not that no one wants the thing, it's that no one's willing to kill themselves to get it while we still have the Alps to get to and over.
Nor is this to say it's still absolutely anyone's race. While mere minutes divided the men from the boys in the first days, the difference between first and last riders now is two hours. Which brings up another question, quite relevant to today: if you're two freakin' hours back, why are you even still in the race? You'd have to give the entire peloton food poisoning, saddle sores, and a few hundred flat tires at this point. Why kill yourself?
The answer lies in the fact that this isn't like any other sport. NOT everyone is in it to win it-- not for himself, at least. For some riders, all they want is a stage win. Or to support their captain. Or to get their sprinter to the line so HE can win the stage. Even if the sprinter himself is, for example, in 135th place, 1.14+ back. We'll get back to that.
A one-day race is something called a Classic. Classics are one-day races, and despite their comparative briefness, they're just as prestigious, and often feature the same riders as the big stage races. A rider who wins a single stage in the Tour de France gets just as much professional credit as if he'd won a Classic. He will forever list each stage of a stage race along with each single-day race as a victory on his CV. So even if you have no chance of winning the whole enchilada, you still go for stage wins. Every time.
Also, it's no small thing to get your kit over the line first. You get the glory, yes, but you also get your team's sponsors' logos in every paper and on every TV screen. And since those sponsors pay literally hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep your team going, you want to keep them happy. (This is why, no matter how hot the day or the competition, a rider about to win a stage will find a way to zip up his jersey.)
But to get back to that sprinter who's in 135th place, that would be Mark Cavendish of Columbia Highroad. Now, normally, when you're in 135th place, it's reasonable to expect that, perhaps, you might find yourself shipped off back home. And in past years, that's exactly what happened to Cavendish-- once the opening flat stages were done, he was sent back to England, his job-- winning the sprints-- admirably done. He wasn't a climber, and he'd just waste energy in the mountains when he could be more useful, say, training for the Olympics. But this year, he hung on through the mountains, and was carefully shepherded through today's stage by his determined teammates. Though four riders (three of them French, which must have pleased their countrymen immensely on today of all days) had made an early breakaway-- is this sounding like a broken record yet?-- the peloton had reeled them back in, resulting in a whole-field sprint to the end-- a rare beast, indeed.
Led out by teammate Mark Renshaw, Cavendish showed that once again, given the right opportunity, almost no one can beat him in a sprint. Though he lost the Green Jersey of the Points Winner several days ago to Thor Hushovd, Cavendish made sure to flourish his green Oakleys as he crossed the line. When pushed after the race, he at first demurred, saying that Oakley is a team sponsor, and has generously supplied the riders with excellent eyewear. But at last, he admitted that yes, he intends to soon regain the rest of the outfit to go with them. He also made a point today to address his own team dynamics: that he knows they turn themselves inside out for him, and he can't stand not winning the stage in return.
Speaking of team dynamics, much was apparently made in other venues of the fact that Lance and Alberto didn't sit near each other on the air transfer from Tarbes to Limoges. Armstrong, when interviewed, laughed and asked if somehow we'd all been transported back to high school. But I finally-- FINALLY-- heard him just come right out and say that he-- and Contador-- is out to win the race. Of course, he added the caveat that he's still a team rider, and that they way Astana is placed, it'd be tragic if tension between the two of them gave the ultimate win to someone else. But honestly, I think he's too smart to allow that to happen. I know where my money is.