Look, so far this Vuelta's begun in chaos, and it's probably gonna !@#damn well *end* in chaos. But there's a whole lot to keep in mind as we head into what's sure to be a mind-boggling Week 2, so to set us up right, what'd we learn--and what were we forced to unlearn--so far? This!
1. Movistar is One Completely !@#$ed Up Squad. Carapaz crashes out on an easy-money crit before the race even begins. Quintana wins on a sprint stage. Valverde spends the next few stages attacking him. Nairo's the team leader. Valverde's the team leader. They're both the team leader. Soler makes one freakin' move on his own behalf looks set to win the stage Unzue dope-smacks him over the radio and everyone's pissed at Soler for being pissed when Nairo drags another team's guy up to him to screw him then takes second place and the red jersey. Nairo celebrates Unzue anointing him King of the Vuelta by formally announcing his three-year deal with Arkea-Samsic taking half the squad with him. They've got an entire full-time paid soigneur solely dedicated to make sure Nairo Alejandro and Soler don't (1) spike each other's drinks with easy-to-catch doping substances (2) pulverize each other's primary and backup bike frames with a sledgehammer when nobody's looking or (3) inflict the mother of all nut-crunching race-ending wedgies by swapping the other guy's bib shorts out with a toddler's extra-small diaper chamois. And somehow, this pack of infighting freaks is *still* atop the Best Team rankings. Kumbaya--now !@#$ you! No, !@#$ *you*! No...
2. EF Needs Divine Intervention. I dearly love EF for many reasons, not least because their team kit gives me all the happy Lampre Barbie Sparkle Rainbow Dream Unicorn Princess feels. Nonetheless, even I didn't, it'd take a stone cold killer not to feel any sympathy for these guys after they first almost lost Rigoberto Uran to a crash, then lost not just him but everybody else to an entirely different gigantic crash, *then* took poor remaining GC-savior Tejay Van Garderen out with a busted finger, and now, apparently, their team bus has been commandeered by Satan and is careening around Spain without even a visible driver at the wheel. So I'm not a religious person, but I implore me, you, and all people, plants, meme-friendly piano-playing housecats, and weird single-cell indeterminate life forms on this planet to invoke whatever gods, goddesses, spirits, ghosts, tree fairies, mermaids, selkies, gargoyles and garden gnomes you may worship to just *please*, *please* help the few remaining guys left upright on this squad to (1) make it outta here in one piece and (2) for just mercy's sake, somehow end up with a nice bonus stage win. By Grabthar's Hammer, by the suns of Worvan, you shall be avenged!
3. In the Annals of Fan !@#$wittery, This Guy's Got the Guinness World Record. Smoke bombs? Cry me a river. Flags in my face? Wah, wah. Knock my actual head off my body with a selfie stick? Yap, yap. But deciding that "hey, *right* as the team trial is going by on incredibly unstable bikes with incredibly nervous riders on an incredibly twisty course is the *exact* right time to flood my garden *and* the course dicking around filling some kiddie pool" is a *whole* 'nother level of assclown. Honesty, do you any of you dimwits even *know* there's a race on in your town?
4. By Comparison, a Race Moto Crashing Seems Pretty Tame, Right? Forget the riders staying upright: now we got the ground-level camera guys spinning out like some drunken dumb!@# inbred teenager with a rustbucket '67 Mustang doing donuts in a 7-11 parking lot. Or hey, why not decide to outright drive into the line of a GC contender on a tricky descent? Um, you do *know* it's not the *motos* trying to win the Vuelta a Espana, don't you?
5. Weather Protocol My !@#!: Sure, you can't *see* the race because a freakin' Sharknado has descended on the Basque Country and Jaws has taken out the race helicopter, but trust me, it's windy out there. And rainy. And would you enjoy the ride any *more* than you are if there's an entire Biblical plague's worth of hailstones dropped on six square meters of the course? Oh, hail no!
6. Geez, We've Barely Gotten Into the GC Discussion Yet! Yeah, that's because there isn't any, at least not any that makes any sense because half of them were wiped out in off-camera pileups, and the rest of 'em are so damn confused by what's going on we're lucky they're not riding the entire Vuelta course backwards at this point. Dumoulin Froomey whichever Yates that was and Carapaz are out before the start line. Rogla gets nicked by a moto. Lopez goes down on a gravel section. Roche gone. Uran--well, which mishap do you want me to start with? Chaves is forced to switch to a big-boy bike, *twice*, right as he's wrangling a massive climb, gets promptly sucked up into Grmay's humongous seatpost, and they *still* haven't been able to pry him out of it. Quintana's about to be crushed by his own ego, Valverde's still waiting for the key moment to implode, and hell, once the race organizers realize Pogacar's only six months old and can't even qualify for the Junior circuit, even the Vuelta honchos'll be honor-bound to take him outta the race. I'm telling you Landa sneak in here, they're so busy trying to figure out who's still on the start list they won't even question you when you try to sign in tomorrow!
7. I Can't Wait Until the Queen Stage on Day Twent--uh, on Day Nine! Y'know, it's entirely possible this entire Vuelta has already been decided, but to be absolutely sure, the race organizers are gonna make you sit through approximately 18 more sprints and 39 breakaway stages o' suffering before they let these body-bandaged, rain-soaked, sun-baked, road-rashed wraiths climb off the saddle for a much-deserved rest. What the--what fresh hell is *this*?! !@#dammit, I *told* you I wanted to ride the freakin' Tour de France!
8. The Gesticulating On This Vuelta Is Out of Control. Between Gilbert nearly taking Henao's eyeball out with his elbow for resisting taking a turn in the breakaway, to Soler's extravagant screw-you to the cameras when ordered to sit up for Quintana, to Nacer Bouhanni punching a spectator in the face when he's not even in the country, it's clear that a looooooong season has taken its emotional toll on our beloved peloton. Next thing you know, they'll be rolling on the floor like a pack of drama-queen cry-baby footballers because their shoelace has been air-swiped by a dung beetle. Boys in the break, do your share--or don't complain I didn't warn you!
Well, that's your Rest Day Part Uno in Review. Tomorrow, it's the ITT, which given how the race has played out so far, pretty much guarantees that Tony Martin's gonna be wearing the red jersey in Madrid. Congratulations Tony!--or is it still too soon to pop the champagne?
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