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ysobelleAs much as I'm very, very sad to see the race go, I do have to admit I love this Stage.
It's easy to forget, after watching three weeks of almost 200 men beat the living snot out of each other up and down the roads and mountains of Europe, that these guys spend months at a time riding together, eating together, travelling together, living together. A lot of them have been on the same teams before, and might be again. And while they're all top-flight competitors-- you don't get to this level in any sport without merciless drive-- they're all compatriots as well. As the peloton rolls leisurely through the fields and suburbs of Paris, the riders are all chatting with each other, laughing and joking, and goofing off for the cameras. Fabian Cancellara shows off his rider's tan for the cameras, even sitting up and flashing his chest with a quick flip of his zipper as he laughs.
As a matter of fact, they interviewed Andy Schleck bus-side before the start, and he said he's actually sad-- he's been with all these guys for three weeks, and after dinner tonight, everyone packs up and goes home. So I guess the Tour de France is kind of like being on Faire circuit: go through hell with a few hundred of your best friends, then go away until the next Faire. Race. You know what I mean. I think they get better accommodations, though. But then, we don't have to pee off the side of the road. And if you did whilst on circuit, please don't tell me.
Anyway. We've had the ceremonial champagne toast already, the footless plastic glasses being handed out from the Astana team car to celebrate their being the top team, and having the Maillot Jaune. It's weird to see Lance toasting victory while not himself wearing yellow, but he seems pretty sanguine. If you haven't heard already, he'll have his own damned team next year-- Team Radio Shack-- and a full year to prepare for July. And he's already in form. Bitch though his detractors might, TV viewership of the Tour is up 50 to 60% for this year's Tour, according to Phil Liggett. And you get three guesses why. And when viewership is up, cycling itself is up. America is starting to turn out some great cyclists. And that's incredibly exciting.
Ahh, Paris. A long shot of the city, and I'm staring longingly at Notre Dame. With the exception of last year's start in London, this is the only time I can look at these gorgeous pictures and say, "I've been there!" I'm staring, specifically, at the gardens behind the cathedral. Oh, I took such lovely pictures there.
Astana, as is traditional, gets the honour of leading the peloton onto The Avenue des Champs-Élysées. There's something deeply satisfying about the sight. They've made it. They're finally here. No matter who doesn't like what, they're here. And, with the exception of Levi Leipheimer, intact. Astana has won the team crown, and carried it to the end. All the teams, battered and bruised and exhausted though they may be, are finally at the end. There will be some serious partying tonight.
But soon enough, down to the business at hand. There are sprint points to be won, and the final stage itself. Agritubel tries a tentative attack, but the peloton shuts it down. Skil Shimano's Fumiyuki Beppu, one of only two Japanese riders in the Tour, and the only two to ever finish the race, starts another attack with a few riders, but again, it's pulled back. They all whip around the hairpin turn at the end: a complete 180.
The peloton begins to snake back, content for the moment to let the smaller breakaways get a hairsbreadth of space.
Around to the Place de la Concorde, back along the Seine. Seven riders now are away, at about 50kmph. The peloton is keeping an eye on them, with Columbia now on the front. They want Mark Cavendish in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Thor Hushovd is right behind them, though, with his Cervélo mates, all of them in a straight, single line. Again, at least one turn is plastered with Norwegian flags.
They all keep passing in front of landmarks which are almost unsettlingly familiar. Philadelphia's Benjamin Franklin Parkway was built specifically to mirror the Champs-Élysées, and I keep thinking I'm seeing our Free Library and Family Court buildings, as well as our gold-leafed statue of Joan d'Arc. But no, these are the originals. Ours are copies. Imposing copies, but copies nonetheless.
Down along the Tuilleries. The peloton begins to close the gap. Columbia has been Clark Kent up til now, but it's time to be Superman. 35 seconds has become 22, 19, and now 16. Two laps to go. The peloton is a long, long line-- most everyone content to stay out of the way of the fireworks which are about to erupt. Then they bunch up again, breathing down the breakaway's neck. Eleven. The breakaway riders begin to look back. Back up to thirteen.
And one rider is shooting up to the front of the pack, and it's Lance Armstrong. Hm. Is he riding to safeguard Contador in the crush?
Gah! Mick Rodgers of Columbia is off the back with a flat rear wheel. He'll never make it back in now. That's bad for the team.
Eleven seconds. The breakaway is down to three. Beppu, Fabian Wegmann of Milram, and Jussi Veikkanen of Francaise des Jeux are trying to hold on, but it's the final lap, and there's too much power in the peloton. They'll be eaten in a moment.
Bell lap! Nine seconds. Columbia is coming, and boy, are they inexorable. The catch! That's all over for them-- accepting the inevitable, they swing wide to get out of the way, spent. But now it's Columbia battling with Garmin Slipstream!
We're down to the final minutes of the Tour. 50mph-- no one seems to be sorted out now. Thor Hushovd is stuck like glue to Mark Cavendish's rear wheel. Contador is now within the final 3km, and all he has to do is stay out of everyone's way. Even if he should fall, it doesn't matter-- he's won.
Garmin is pounding out the pace, trying to get Tyler Farrar to the line. Cavendish isn't in the right place, and Columbia is scrambling to get him set up. They only have three riders up there for him now-- will it be enough? Garmin isn't giving an inch-- but George Hincapie wrenches the lead away, pulling his team around Garmin. It's an incredible battle.
Final turn, onto the straight-- Mark Renshaw takes off to lead out-- Go! GO! Mark pulls through like no one is even moving, like he's been shot from a gun! There is no one anywhere NEAR him! Mark Cavendish wins an incredible sixth stage victory, and the final stage of the 2009 Tour de France!
Alberto Contador bounds up the steps of the podium, his face alight. Andy Schleck will take second, and Lance third. Bradley Wiggins will take fourth-- the highest-placed Brit ever. Andreas Kloden has sixth. But the first three are receiving their trophies now, smiling and waving to the thousands upon thousands of fans lining the avenue. Franco Pellizotti has the Polka Dots, and Thor Hushovd retains the Green.
It's been an amazing Tour, full of tradition and glory and pain and honour and tactical maneuvering and speed, speed, speed. As ever, the scenery was spectacular, and the battles spectacular. Not everyone got what they wanted, I'm sure, but I'm certainly happy with what I got-- a top-notch Tour de France.
But just wait til next year.
It's easy to forget, after watching three weeks of almost 200 men beat the living snot out of each other up and down the roads and mountains of Europe, that these guys spend months at a time riding together, eating together, travelling together, living together. A lot of them have been on the same teams before, and might be again. And while they're all top-flight competitors-- you don't get to this level in any sport without merciless drive-- they're all compatriots as well. As the peloton rolls leisurely through the fields and suburbs of Paris, the riders are all chatting with each other, laughing and joking, and goofing off for the cameras. Fabian Cancellara shows off his rider's tan for the cameras, even sitting up and flashing his chest with a quick flip of his zipper as he laughs.
As a matter of fact, they interviewed Andy Schleck bus-side before the start, and he said he's actually sad-- he's been with all these guys for three weeks, and after dinner tonight, everyone packs up and goes home. So I guess the Tour de France is kind of like being on Faire circuit: go through hell with a few hundred of your best friends, then go away until the next Faire. Race. You know what I mean. I think they get better accommodations, though. But then, we don't have to pee off the side of the road. And if you did whilst on circuit, please don't tell me.
Anyway. We've had the ceremonial champagne toast already, the footless plastic glasses being handed out from the Astana team car to celebrate their being the top team, and having the Maillot Jaune. It's weird to see Lance toasting victory while not himself wearing yellow, but he seems pretty sanguine. If you haven't heard already, he'll have his own damned team next year-- Team Radio Shack-- and a full year to prepare for July. And he's already in form. Bitch though his detractors might, TV viewership of the Tour is up 50 to 60% for this year's Tour, according to Phil Liggett. And you get three guesses why. And when viewership is up, cycling itself is up. America is starting to turn out some great cyclists. And that's incredibly exciting.
Ahh, Paris. A long shot of the city, and I'm staring longingly at Notre Dame. With the exception of last year's start in London, this is the only time I can look at these gorgeous pictures and say, "I've been there!" I'm staring, specifically, at the gardens behind the cathedral. Oh, I took such lovely pictures there.
Astana, as is traditional, gets the honour of leading the peloton onto The Avenue des Champs-Élysées. There's something deeply satisfying about the sight. They've made it. They're finally here. No matter who doesn't like what, they're here. And, with the exception of Levi Leipheimer, intact. Astana has won the team crown, and carried it to the end. All the teams, battered and bruised and exhausted though they may be, are finally at the end. There will be some serious partying tonight.
But soon enough, down to the business at hand. There are sprint points to be won, and the final stage itself. Agritubel tries a tentative attack, but the peloton shuts it down. Skil Shimano's Fumiyuki Beppu, one of only two Japanese riders in the Tour, and the only two to ever finish the race, starts another attack with a few riders, but again, it's pulled back. They all whip around the hairpin turn at the end: a complete 180.
The peloton begins to snake back, content for the moment to let the smaller breakaways get a hairsbreadth of space.
Around to the Place de la Concorde, back along the Seine. Seven riders now are away, at about 50kmph. The peloton is keeping an eye on them, with Columbia now on the front. They want Mark Cavendish in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Thor Hushovd is right behind them, though, with his Cervélo mates, all of them in a straight, single line. Again, at least one turn is plastered with Norwegian flags.
They all keep passing in front of landmarks which are almost unsettlingly familiar. Philadelphia's Benjamin Franklin Parkway was built specifically to mirror the Champs-Élysées, and I keep thinking I'm seeing our Free Library and Family Court buildings, as well as our gold-leafed statue of Joan d'Arc. But no, these are the originals. Ours are copies. Imposing copies, but copies nonetheless.
Down along the Tuilleries. The peloton begins to close the gap. Columbia has been Clark Kent up til now, but it's time to be Superman. 35 seconds has become 22, 19, and now 16. Two laps to go. The peloton is a long, long line-- most everyone content to stay out of the way of the fireworks which are about to erupt. Then they bunch up again, breathing down the breakaway's neck. Eleven. The breakaway riders begin to look back. Back up to thirteen.
And one rider is shooting up to the front of the pack, and it's Lance Armstrong. Hm. Is he riding to safeguard Contador in the crush?
Gah! Mick Rodgers of Columbia is off the back with a flat rear wheel. He'll never make it back in now. That's bad for the team.
Eleven seconds. The breakaway is down to three. Beppu, Fabian Wegmann of Milram, and Jussi Veikkanen of Francaise des Jeux are trying to hold on, but it's the final lap, and there's too much power in the peloton. They'll be eaten in a moment.
Bell lap! Nine seconds. Columbia is coming, and boy, are they inexorable. The catch! That's all over for them-- accepting the inevitable, they swing wide to get out of the way, spent. But now it's Columbia battling with Garmin Slipstream!
We're down to the final minutes of the Tour. 50mph-- no one seems to be sorted out now. Thor Hushovd is stuck like glue to Mark Cavendish's rear wheel. Contador is now within the final 3km, and all he has to do is stay out of everyone's way. Even if he should fall, it doesn't matter-- he's won.
Garmin is pounding out the pace, trying to get Tyler Farrar to the line. Cavendish isn't in the right place, and Columbia is scrambling to get him set up. They only have three riders up there for him now-- will it be enough? Garmin isn't giving an inch-- but George Hincapie wrenches the lead away, pulling his team around Garmin. It's an incredible battle.
Final turn, onto the straight-- Mark Renshaw takes off to lead out-- Go! GO! Mark pulls through like no one is even moving, like he's been shot from a gun! There is no one anywhere NEAR him! Mark Cavendish wins an incredible sixth stage victory, and the final stage of the 2009 Tour de France!
Alberto Contador bounds up the steps of the podium, his face alight. Andy Schleck will take second, and Lance third. Bradley Wiggins will take fourth-- the highest-placed Brit ever. Andreas Kloden has sixth. But the first three are receiving their trophies now, smiling and waving to the thousands upon thousands of fans lining the avenue. Franco Pellizotti has the Polka Dots, and Thor Hushovd retains the Green.
It's been an amazing Tour, full of tradition and glory and pain and honour and tactical maneuvering and speed, speed, speed. As ever, the scenery was spectacular, and the battles spectacular. Not everyone got what they wanted, I'm sure, but I'm certainly happy with what I got-- a top-notch Tour de France.
But just wait til next year.
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no subject
Date: 2009-07-27 10:57 am (UTC)What amazes me more is that some riders will choose to avoid the cobbles by riding in that teeny tiny little strip of flat right next to the curb. So now it's 50ish mph, maintaining a line in a 5 inch strip of concrete, right next to a curb that if you move one millimeter to your right will take you and the riders behind out out. Way out.
It was a good Tour. If Lance can stay healthy - I think next year will be reeeeeeeeely interesting.