Stage 2: Bruxelles to Spa, 201km
Jul. 6th, 2010 12:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelleToday seems to have started well enough. Seriously. Eight riders in the first breakaway-- French Quickstep rider Sylvain Chavanel leading the attack, joined by seven men. The race cruised through the mostly-flat Belgian countryside that began the stage with enough ease that yesterday's winner and wearer of the green points jersey, Alessandro Petacchi, sat up, hands off the bike, and stripped to the waist to get rid of his under-jersey. Yes, I'll admit, I blinked. These guys are built. And they're only going to get fitter as the race progresses-- they eat like horses, yet lose many pounds over the course of these three weeks, paring themselves down to gaunt, wiry nothingness.
By 80km to the end, we're in the hills of the Ardennes: a cluster of category five and four climbs. The sky is darkening. As we get further along, the sky opens. And right on cue, crashes. We lose Mickael Delage of Omega Pharma-Lotto after one crash-- blood on his face, and team doctors in attendance. Two riders fade off the eight leaders, and their lead has dropped to 40 seconds. Soon enough, the breakaway's down to two.
But then it happens. As we come back from a commercial break, there's the sight of race leader Fabian Cancellara, riding all alone, looking behind him, looking worried. We catch up with footage, and see what's happened: in the wet woods coming down the col de Stockeu, there's been a horrible crash. As is much later revealed, a motorbike has crashed on the course, spilling oil. Though the bike is gone, the residue remains. Perhaps fifteen, twenty men are through: the rest are in pieces on the road. Alessandro Petacchi. David Millar. Both Schleck brothers-- Andy in particular is shown standing half bent on the side of the road, holding his left arm, looking to be in terrible pain-- yet a teammate gives up his bike while calling for help on his radio, and Andy mounts up and painfully soldiers on down the mountain. But behind him? It's carnage, and almost none of the big names have escaped it. Footage from inside the Garmin team car shows their directors telling their riders that all the big names are down, and out of the race. Hyperbole? No one knows.
This, of course, leaves Fabian Cancellara in an interesting position. We're roughly 25km from the end, and his two biggest supporters-- the Schlecks-- are somewhere who-knows-how-far back. As Maillot Jaune, he has some authority here. He can choose to slow down and not attack: essentially neutralising the race until everyone can get back together. And it looks like that's exactly what he's going to do.
This is not a new thing. Nor is it entirely self-serving. The Tour is nearly a century of history, of tradition, and of sportsmanship. No one wants to win any way but fair and square. There is a palpable sense of honour in the peloton, and one rule is that you don't attack when your opponents are unable to respond. I don't mean when they're exhausted. No, you WANT to run them into the ground and ride over their broken remains. But when there's a huge crash, when there's a feed- or bathroom-break, you wait. You play nice. You behave like a gentleman (or gentlewoman, in the women's races), and you wait until your opponent is on his feet, facing you, sword in hand.
So Cancellara waits. Sylvain Chavanel is now the only rider off ahead, but the field pays him no mind. The front riders pace ahead slowly, and miraculously, the peloton begins to re-form. Not everyone manages to regain the pack, but an heroic effort by Jens Voight and the Schlecks gets all three SaxoBank riders back. Armstrong is back. Contador is back. Cancellara drops back to the race official's car, and is seen having a spirited but apparently sympathetic conversation. The result of this is that the final sprints to the line will be officially neutralised. There will be no mad dash to the line. Sylvain Chavanel, after a hard-fought day of effective attacks, has already crossed the line alone, with a smile that could light up northern Europe. Everyone in this main group will receive the same time. The stage is, essentially, finished.
Christian VandeVelde comes in some fifteen minutes later, blood on his face, his kit torn, and his body covered in dirt and bruises. Further back yet, Tyler Farrar comes in bloodied and bandaged, and, once off his bike, hobbling. This is devastating to Garmin, both men's team. The two of them are immediately sent for x-rays, which means that much less time they have for recuperative therapy: massages, pressure boots, sleep.
And what's worse for everyone is tomorrow's stage: cobblestones. I can't imagine riding miles over cobbles when I'm in peak condition. (I can't imagine riding in Grand Tour, but that's another story.) The thought of coming back from hitting the pavement at 50kmph and sliding down a mountain, to get back on a bike and do it all again is just mind-boggling to me. But that's what these guys do. So I'll tune in tomorrow to see just how they manage it.
By 80km to the end, we're in the hills of the Ardennes: a cluster of category five and four climbs. The sky is darkening. As we get further along, the sky opens. And right on cue, crashes. We lose Mickael Delage of Omega Pharma-Lotto after one crash-- blood on his face, and team doctors in attendance. Two riders fade off the eight leaders, and their lead has dropped to 40 seconds. Soon enough, the breakaway's down to two.
But then it happens. As we come back from a commercial break, there's the sight of race leader Fabian Cancellara, riding all alone, looking behind him, looking worried. We catch up with footage, and see what's happened: in the wet woods coming down the col de Stockeu, there's been a horrible crash. As is much later revealed, a motorbike has crashed on the course, spilling oil. Though the bike is gone, the residue remains. Perhaps fifteen, twenty men are through: the rest are in pieces on the road. Alessandro Petacchi. David Millar. Both Schleck brothers-- Andy in particular is shown standing half bent on the side of the road, holding his left arm, looking to be in terrible pain-- yet a teammate gives up his bike while calling for help on his radio, and Andy mounts up and painfully soldiers on down the mountain. But behind him? It's carnage, and almost none of the big names have escaped it. Footage from inside the Garmin team car shows their directors telling their riders that all the big names are down, and out of the race. Hyperbole? No one knows.
This, of course, leaves Fabian Cancellara in an interesting position. We're roughly 25km from the end, and his two biggest supporters-- the Schlecks-- are somewhere who-knows-how-far back. As Maillot Jaune, he has some authority here. He can choose to slow down and not attack: essentially neutralising the race until everyone can get back together. And it looks like that's exactly what he's going to do.
This is not a new thing. Nor is it entirely self-serving. The Tour is nearly a century of history, of tradition, and of sportsmanship. No one wants to win any way but fair and square. There is a palpable sense of honour in the peloton, and one rule is that you don't attack when your opponents are unable to respond. I don't mean when they're exhausted. No, you WANT to run them into the ground and ride over their broken remains. But when there's a huge crash, when there's a feed- or bathroom-break, you wait. You play nice. You behave like a gentleman (or gentlewoman, in the women's races), and you wait until your opponent is on his feet, facing you, sword in hand.
So Cancellara waits. Sylvain Chavanel is now the only rider off ahead, but the field pays him no mind. The front riders pace ahead slowly, and miraculously, the peloton begins to re-form. Not everyone manages to regain the pack, but an heroic effort by Jens Voight and the Schlecks gets all three SaxoBank riders back. Armstrong is back. Contador is back. Cancellara drops back to the race official's car, and is seen having a spirited but apparently sympathetic conversation. The result of this is that the final sprints to the line will be officially neutralised. There will be no mad dash to the line. Sylvain Chavanel, after a hard-fought day of effective attacks, has already crossed the line alone, with a smile that could light up northern Europe. Everyone in this main group will receive the same time. The stage is, essentially, finished.
Christian VandeVelde comes in some fifteen minutes later, blood on his face, his kit torn, and his body covered in dirt and bruises. Further back yet, Tyler Farrar comes in bloodied and bandaged, and, once off his bike, hobbling. This is devastating to Garmin, both men's team. The two of them are immediately sent for x-rays, which means that much less time they have for recuperative therapy: massages, pressure boots, sleep.
And what's worse for everyone is tomorrow's stage: cobblestones. I can't imagine riding miles over cobbles when I'm in peak condition. (I can't imagine riding in Grand Tour, but that's another story.) The thought of coming back from hitting the pavement at 50kmph and sliding down a mountain, to get back on a bike and do it all again is just mind-boggling to me. But that's what these guys do. So I'll tune in tomorrow to see just how they manage it.
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no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 01:09 pm (UTC)