It's Yer 2021 New Year's Resolutions for the Peloton!

 All right, whoever you are, nut up: you're guilty. And you *know* it, deep in your depraved, scrimy little heart.  But this is the season of redemption, of fresh starts, of FFS-please-let-this-craphole-year-be-over, and it's not at all too late to wipe that filthy slate of yours clean and sparkle into 2021 clean as a whistle!  Ergo, here's Yer New Year's Resolutions for the Peloton:

1. Julian Alaphilippe: I will raise my arms in victory *only* after I have actually crossed the line.  Even if I'm on a solo breakaway with 10 kilometers of open road behind me.  Why? Because no one needs to see the reigning World Champion get punked!

2. Mikel Landa: I will ride the *Giro*. The beautiful, perfect, mountainous *Giro.* And because I have put that idiot time-trialfest Tour de France outta my head, I will *win.*

3. Bahrain-Victorious: We have *one* objective this season, and that is helping Mikel win the *Giro*. Forget that stupid "well-rounded squad" crapola!

4. Peter Sagan: Bora's new green ombre kit is boss. But I will win the green jersey at the Tour and bring it all the way to Paris.  Eat my dust, Sam Bennett!

5. Patrick Lefevere: I'll quit Twitter-bullying people who can't defend themselves against my petty, baseless attacks. Instead, I'll pick on people my own size, like toddlers, or grandparents!

6. Lucinda Brand: I will develop a new line of 'cross shoes with built-in portable stilts. Because next year, it would be nice to have my head above the mud when I win at Dendermonde!

7. Euskaltel: Every. Grand. Tour. Dammit. Or we're coming for you jack!@#es in the mountains anyway!

8. EF: I will turn down the volume on the team kit design.  To something subtle and classy, like one of Cipollini's naked-guy skinsuits.

9. Chloe Dygert: I will continue to rehab from my awful crash at the World Championships. And I will never, *ever*, say or do another thing on social media.  Nope, I mean it--stop right there!

10. Primoz Roglic: next clown who says "Didja know he used to be a ski jumper?" gets it right in the kisser.

11. Chris Froome: next clown who says "Didja know he used to be a pro cyclist?" gets it right in the kisser.

12. Jumbo-Visma: we're gonna *try* not to have all 8 riders pulling on the front for 6 consecutive hours a day for 21 days straight in every Grand Tour this year.  I mean, the narcs have gotta get concerned about optics *sometime*, right?

13. UCI: In the spirit of our continued efforts to ease away from the "podium babe" tradition, and to practice safe COVID protocol, riders will no longer receive kisses on the cheek when they get on the podium.  Instead, everyone will have to perform the "Humpty Dance."  

14. 'Cross races: We will assume that the delicate women's uteruses won't fall out if we ask them to ride a full 50-minute course.  And if they *do* fall out, we'll just collect 'em in the pits next to the extra bikes and everyone can claim hers when it's over.

15. Tour de France: we're gonna run a full, three-week women's TdF.  Because when Anna van der Breggen glues on a pornstache and sneaks in and rides it anyway, we'll all look like *complete* !@#holes.

16. Quick Step and Astana: heck knows, none of you ever should be subjected to us rapping again.  From now on, all promotional videos and team press conferences shall be done in iambic pentameter.

17. Richard Carapaz: from now on, *I'm* gonna be the undisputed team leader at the Grand Tours, right from the start.  Back off, G!

18. E-Racing.  No more need for us now. Hope to never see y'all again out on the fake road!

Well folks, them's mine, and I hope all our resolvers stick to their pledges and have a successful 2021.  In the meantime, pop that Champagne, spiffy up that new team kit, and let's all kick 2020 to the curb!

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 racejunkie Awards!

Normally, this highly anticipated annual awards show'd be full of Mosconian asshattery, Saganesque camera antics, and classic Valverdean bushwhackery.  And frankly, in this strange and tragic year, it's kinda amazing that anything cycling managed to happen at all.  But happen it did, and if *anyone* needs a party to usher out this year and prepare for the new, it's the hardworking cyclists, staff, organizers, and tifosi that made this year even quasi-bearable.   Prizes, for anyone so desperate for self-esteem as to stoop this low--and I swear, on my desire to seek Euskaltel kick Ineos' !@# in the mountains, I'm good for 'em: (1) a handsome custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap; (2) a fistful of dashing and shamelessly self-promoting racejunkie stickers to enliven yer bike, yer enemy's bike, but please for all that's holy not yer innocent kid's bike; (3) eternal infamy (thank you Internet!); and (4) a genuine, material statuary tchotchke with some sort of sports-related theme and your name and award extremely neatly written on it with genuine gold-ink paint pen (genuine ink, can't vouch for the genuine gold part).  So put on yer most festive togs--or at least, I beg you, some clean underwear--grab some Prosecco, fire up yer Zoom account, and let's get this party started!  

Totally !@#$in' Waste of Effort Award: wow, all that Everesting was fun! At least, in the "if I don't kit up and get my sponsor some YouTube hits they're gonna shred my contract in front of me like some pretentious poser Banksy auction-house stunt" and "man, this *sucks*" sense of the word.  But with road racing on ice, and 80 million stationary kilometers to a horrible Europop playlist looming like a whack to the nuts with a sledgehammer, everyone from Alberto Contador to Lachlan Morton to cookie guru Phil Gaimon to yer mamma was hammering to the very top of Mount Everest, or at least its precise height equivalent, in a desperate bid for glory and publicity.  Except you know what, champ?  You *didn't*, because in early December of this very year, China and Tibet joined forces to re-measure Mount Everest and determined it's actually 86 centimeters taller than previously thought.  D'oh--better bring along a tape measure next time, suckers!

Tiptoe Through the Tulips Award: in a year where everyone's race calendar went completely to !@#$, and more importantly, their meticulously-planned training regimens were blasted to bits, somehow, in the 10 weeks of racing crammed in with nary a day off from just September to Thanksgiving, records of every kind--time trial records, speed-up-the-mountains records, watts-per-come-on-even-Armstrong-couldn't-pull-off-that-!@#$ records--were shattered in nearly every kind of race there was, particularly the sport's most notorious climbs.  And the peloton's reaction--and from some riders with the most freakish performances, no less? Yep, scathing indictments from "I don't understand it" to "gee whillickers!" Oh for FFS, just spit it out already people--with so many narc-friendly targets, what're the odds they're gonna start to look at *your* performance, anyway?

Age of Innocence Prize: Remember those halcyon days of January, when a dog was taking out riders at the Tour of San Juan, the Dutch antidoping authorities were expressing mild discombobulation with Jumbo-Visma's whole-hog keg-party chugging of ketones, and the only whisper of the season's disaster yet to come was the cautionary cancellation of the Tour of Hainan?  Yeah, me neither, but this one's for nice guy and extremely fine cyclist Richie Porte, who took a wonderful overall victory at the Tour Down Under even after barely ceding personal playground Willunga Hill, which once and for all should've gotten everyone off his damn back about his Grand Tour performances and just given him credit for what he clearly does best.  Wishing you the same for 2021, Richie--and thanks for the shred of normalcy in 2020!

Paranoid Conspiracy Theory o' the Year: forget about a mere 'cross champion's recent stealth handoff of perfectly legal ketones to his soigneur--before anyone even knew if Remco Evenepoel would ride his bike again after his horrifying plunge off a bridge at the Tour of Poland, social media was alight with speculation over what exactly was in the white container that QuickStep DS Davide Bramati slipped from Evenepoel's jersey and into his own pocket.  Um, can we let him be loaded onto the litter and carried up to the ambulance before we upset his already traumatized family watching on live TV any further by instantly slagging the guy? UCI, to its sorta credit I suppose, did in fact call for an investigation into the incident--the container one, not "who the !@#$ thought this was a good idea for a descent *again*" one--and concluded, after QuickStep obliquely explained them as "supplements", there was no violation.  Upside: UCI *did* nail a Juniors rider (Age 3-5 Category) for a deliberate juice-box violation, and summarily banned him from recess for four years.  A job well done by all, and continued good healing wishes for Remco! 

Beelzebub Has a Devil Put Aside For Me/For Meee/For Meeeeeeeeeee! Prize: no, no, no, no, no, no! Wout Van Aert to Ineos?  Say it ain't so.  Shove off, Team Satan--we *like* this kid!

A Spoonful of Sugar Makes the Medicine Go Down Award: in a season where the peloton's emotions--and social media accounts--veered from cheerful anticipation to mild concern to massive frustration to abject terror to just plain constant confusion, one rider's Tweets remained obstinately optimistic--yes, potato-lovin' Toms Skujins, who, with remarkable and reassuring consistency, self-deprecatingly downplayed his own fine form, lavishly complimented the performances of everyone else, and generally provided a bright light in a dark maelstrom of suck.  From the bottom of our hearts, thank you Toms--the nicest Tour de France "combativity award" winner in history!

Domestique o' the Year: honestly, between Tao Geoghegan Hart becoming the impromptu king of Ineos--and victor of the Giro d'Italia--after Geraint Thomas' fractured-pelvis crashout, and Sepp Kuss' pull-over-for-an-espresso-and-pastry butt-saving performance for a suffering Primoz Roglic at the Vuelta,  there were some pretty amazing performances even in this truncated, bizarro year.  But no-one quite superdomestiques like Team Movistar, which, in lieu of eating its own like it usually does, ganged up--to the benefit of another team entirely--to actually help the Murder Hornets' Rogla hunt down a surging Richard Carapaz and secure, in perhaps the most nail-biting 20 seconds in recent Grand Tour history, his overall triumph on the penultimate day.  *Damn*, Movistar, your trademark self-destructiveness really pays off--for other squads, that is!

Fan !@#$wit Award: from pee-tossing moralists to garden-variety eejits-in-a-speedo to dimwits who think a bike race with a speeding peloton is a perfect place to bring your unleashed herding dog, there's usually no shortage of brutish contenders for this shameful award.  But with fans largely banned from the roadsides for COVID safety purposes and piles of races cancelled outright, competition is actually pretty slim this year, and for the life of me, I cannot remember where I saw a single, solitary dumb!@# wielding a single, solitary colored smoke flare in the riders' gasping faces.  Don't you people *know* that inhaling that toxic !@#$ can interfere with the good stuff sinking in?

Shock Transfer o' 2020: no, not alleged multiple Grand Tour victor/donkey-to-racehorse changeling Chris Froome being unceremoniously dumped by Skineos then joining we love Andre Greipel over at Israel Start-Up Nation--though that was diverting--but reigning Former or Current Everything Champion (including a 2018 Giro Rosa!) and overall bad-!@# Annemiek Van Vleuten, who turned down a lucrative and other-superstar-stuffed gig with Trek-Segafredo while out the door of longtime home Michelton-Scott to sign with Movistar, to "keep women's cycling interesting."  Well that it should be--Movistar, *don't* screw this rider up!

Corollary Bad-!@# Of the Peloton Award: speaking of whom, which rider was that who, having busted her wrist and had a metal plate surgically implanted mere days before the World Championships, managed to come in second in the road race to the incredible Anna van der Breggen's victories in both the road and time trial stripes?  Yep, Annemiek van Vleuten, whose feat stood out even in a sport where riders routinely get run over by motos, stomped by livestock, and generally bone-broken and road-rashed to hell.  Hard-men of the peloton, you've got competition--and you lost!

Transfer o' 2020 (Sorta Sweet but Sorta Sad Edition): record-blasting sprinter Mark Cavendish, home after a disappointing 2020 to his old stomping grounds at Quick Step for a farewell season.  I mean, not to underestimate Cav, but remember that scene in "Call of the Wild" where Buck opens up a can of serious dog whup-!@# on the reigning pack leader and the rest of 'em tear the poor sod to pieces?  Yeah, that!

Breakout Star o' the Year: yap, Van Aert Van der Poel Evenepoel, yap. For me, while everyone was changing their minds by the day about which of those boys was the year's anointed, another rider stood out--time trial World Champion, and winner of damn near any other kind of race he tried this year, Filippo Ganna.  I mean, we knew he was *good*--he was a record-breaking trackie, after all--but with bagging all three ITTs in the 2020 Giro d'Italia, cycling (thank you folks, I'll be here all week) through a passel of classification jerseys, and another stage to boot, he crossed the line (literally) to greatness.  Swap teams from Ineos, Pippo, and you'll be even *better* next year! 

Goodbye, Yellow Bri--Uh, Cobblestone Award: yes, it had to be done, but boy, this *bit*.  A year without Paris-Roubaix, the first, if I've got this right, since World War II.  Forget the eagerly-anticipated yet typically-elusive forecast for rain, rushing hope into the hearts of armchair warriors everywhere--the flowing tears and sorrow-drowning beer-slop of the tifosi alone could've made those cobbles a soaking-wet skating rink.  *Please*, everyone, let's try to get our !@#$ together for 2021!  

It Ain't Me, Babe Prize: as a monthslong doping inquiry into British Cycling and Team Sky threatened to implode the entire disgusting show, the testifying witnesses, rather than addressing the issues at hand, instead gave a Master Class on diversionary tactics as they attacked each others', well, manly potency, leading to a serious and much-needed doping reckoning devolving into a juvenile "American Pie" !@#$-joke slapstick. Just--ew, can we get back to nice wholesome discussions about IV lines testosterone patches and drug-stuffed Jiffy bags, already? 

Nothing Rhymes With 'Orange' (Except "!@#$ You, Grand Tour Organizers") Plaque: yes, this may be getting a bit tiresome to both my faithful readers, but it's even worse for our dear Carrots over at Euskaltel, who were cruelly left out of every single Grand Tour--even in their own home Basque mountains--this year.  Wah, pandemic logistics, wah--you folks *suck*.  Never do this to us, or them, again!

Heartbreak Hotel Prize: oh, Rogla.  *So* close to winning the gaudy brass ring of the road-race merry-go-round, the prestigious Tour de France.  But then, on the penultimate day of the Tour, upstart countryman Tadej Pogacar slaughtered poor Roglic in the individual time trial.  And yes, Rogla was gracious about it.  Quit cryin' everybody, and just hand me a Kleenex, willya?

And Last But Not Least, The That Just About Sums It Up Award of 2020: Mikel Landa, we felt for you when you were so bored on your indoor trainer that you gave us an accordion concert while you spun.  But we even felt *more* for you--and you captured the entire year for everybody, perfectly--when you actually took a hatchet to the damn thing after too many days stuck inside in front of your TV instead of climbing an actual Basque mountain where you belong.  Sing it, sister, and let's hope we're giving you a "Grand Tour Victory of the Year" prize in 2021--you know which one you should be riding--instead!

All right everybody (well, the two of you), no doubt there's more, but this already is more than my cycling-heartbroken soul can take covering.  So goodbye and good riddance to 2020, and please, bring on a more normal 2021, for all our sakes!

It's Yer Merry Festivus Gift List for the Peloton!

 Look, there's no sugar-coating it: 2020's been an absolute hellshow.  From the first case of COVID in the peloton, to the last-second cancellation of our beloved Classics, to the postponement of all three Grand Tours, to the total destruction of everyone's training plans, it's a !@#damn miracle anyone's making it outta here in one piece.  So if anyone deserves presents, it's these folks.  So whadda they get in their stockings? This!

The Entire Women's Peloton: La Course is bull!@#$. And yes, the Giro Rosa is lovely.  But give these athletes a real, 3-week Grand Tour already!

Mikel Landa: the Giro.  The !@#$in' *Giro*.  Not the relentlessly unsuitable, wholly pointless time trial-heavy Tour de France, you hear me?  And then, and *only* then if you've stayed upright, can you do the Vuelta, in which you will also do dandy.  And Bahrain-Victorious: if you wanna live up to yer new name, pony up for some more !@#$in' mountain support for the boy, and act like these are yer only races this season, all right?

EF Education First: screw the bug-eyed duck psychedelia--they were kind of stealth-magnificent this year, amirite? But as a result, they're marked next season.  Invisible cloaking kit for 2021!

Julian Alaphilippe: restraint, or however you do a reset on someone's internal clock.  *No* more celebrating before the finish line, you got that?

Movistar: *Now* you realize this "trident" strategy is bull!@#$, *after* you completely screw Mikel Landa?  !@#% you, Movistar, I'm not giving you anything!

Alejandro Valverde: an Olympic gold medal.  Just because it would make everyone *bonkers*.  Hey, me included!

Thibaut Pinot: goat therapy. Some serious, serious goat therapy. Come back Tibo, we know you're still in there!

Marianne Vos: I was gonna wish her her first cyclocross victory in (by her standards) quite a while, but she already did that this week, on her first 'cross race in ages no less.  Dang, I *hate* when the kids open their Festivus presents early!

Peter Sagan: oh, come on, I'm not his hugest fan either, but that stage 10 Giro win was pure panache.  But in his subtle Bora-Hansgrohe colors, we could barely even *see* him at the Tour.  Give 'im one last green jersey all the way to Paris, for the road!

Mikel Nieve: Yap, he's a great mentor for whippersnapper riders, yap (and he is).  But the sheer beauty of that 2018 mountain stage win on his birthday at the Giro *still* has me shaking in my boots.  One last Grand Tour stage for this ever-unsung, total class act of a rider!

Euskaltel: I DON'T CARE IF IT WAS A !@#$IN' PANDEMIC, YOU DON'T !@#$IN' EXCLUDE THE PLANET'S BEST CLIMBERS FROM THE GRAND TOURS! I mean, you went to the BASQUE MOUNTAINS without them.  Who the hell *are* you people, SATAN?

Police bikes and Race Motos: if it takes "no brakes" to keep 'em from stopping dead in a blind corner in front of an unsuspecting rider, particularly on a screaming descent, so be it.  You can have 'em back when you learn to stay outta the way!

Ineos Grenadiers: quit bitching and put away that fat stuffed wallet, you don't *deserve* Wout van Aert.  You'll only ruin 'im anyway!

Cherie Pridham: she's a continental-team DS with decades of experience, and some trailblazing women have long (ish) been guiding women's pro teams, and their incredible athletes, to smashing results.  But with her new gig as DS at Israel Start-Up Nation, she's the first woman to helm a men's World Tour team. I don't know what the hell town she was born in, but give that woman a 20-foot bronze statue in that town's square, pronto!

Master's Racers: it's beyond ridiculous that the only folks provably doping in the current peloton, which was smashing the records of known rightly-disgraced cyclists like hopped-up cheetahs this year, are a group of the very fine cyclists who, for reasons of age or having to have, y'know, paying day jobs, fill the Masters' ranks. And *yes*, I *do* know doping is wrong.  But this unequal enforcement is horse hockey--so heck, just give these guys the good stuff!

Andre Greipel: one more smashing win.  Bite me, he can so too either! What, like *you're* just asking Santa Claus for underpants?

Rally Cycling: new team kit.  Hell, pop a mushroom like EF's graphic designer clearly did and see what crazy !@#$ you come up with.  You're a dearly lovable squad, but how *dare* you wear Euskaltel orange?

Patrick Lefevere: I don't *what'd* piss off this guy most, but considering the innocent people he lammed into in the press and over Twitter like they were the second coming of Baby Lucifer, and the massive snit he's been in all year, let's give him that!

Annemiek van Vleuten: at 38, she's--well, lots younger than Valverde, and practically a millenium younger than Davide Rebellin.  And, after multiple kick-!@# seasons with Michelton-Scott (and every other team she's ever been on), she's still at the top of her game.  Movistar, this is the only decent move you've made in years--*don't* squander this incredible opportunity, and let her fly!

Euskaltel, II: a team time trial win.  !@#$, if those hulking pro-wrestler murder hornets over at Jumbo Visma can be featherweight Sastrean mountain goats, why not?

Jason Osborne: yeah, an Olympic *rower*, never previously known to have won squat on a bicycle, much less a World Tour race, kicked the peloton's absolute !@# and won the first-ever UCI cycling e-racing men's World Championships.  Jason, when you're snapped up by some enterprising DS with a last-minute infusion of sponsorship dough, may you never, *ever*, have to read "Didja know he used to be an Olympic rower?" for the rest of your cycling career.  Except here, of course!

E-Racing.  Last, but not least, let's give a completely heartfelt shout-out to the savior and bane of Spring and Summer 2020--e-racing, Everesting, and all that !@#$, for 2021, I wish you obsolescence.  Blessed, COVID-free, off-the-trainer-and-back-onto-the-cobbles obsolescence.  No wonder Landa snapped and took a hatchet to his setup!

All right, folks--despite the many, many deserving riders--and honestly, beleaguered fans too--left ungifted, this elf's got only so much bandwith, and frankly, anyone who's made it remotely this far's got only so much more tolerance.  Merry Festivus to all, and *please*, let's get on to next year!

It's Yer racejunkie's Cycling Things I'm Grateful for This Thanksgiving (And a Few I'm Damn Well Not)!

 Yes, it's nigh Thanksgiving in the US, that beloved celebration of family, food, and disastrous colonialism when we all gather together to have luxurious meals and--oh, right, if we're not complete superspreading tools, we're all stuck in our own homes, pretending that a 20-minute Zoom call that keeps getting interrupted by your partner shouting for you to come look at the turkey like *you just did thirty seconds ago*, and a glum, half-!@#ed dinner alone in our sweatpants in front of a football game with no fans in the stadium and a stationary, truncated Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade to start off the holiday season isn't completely !@#$ed.  Anyway, we're here, we've survived (I hope) so far a terrible year, and it's time to reflect on what we *do* have to be grateful for this bizarre Thanksgiving.  And surprisingly, there's fair near buckets!

1. On a serious note, no-one in the peloton died of COVID.  A bad handful of cyclists got sick, and we dearly hope they get 100% better with no lasting effects, but--whew.  And for those Grand Tour police escorts, team staff, hotel workers, and anyone else connected with the sport who got it--we wish you the same.

2. Holy crap we actually had three Grand Tours this year!

3. EF's crazy-!@# acid-trip Tour de France jerseys and terrified-duck-head time trial helmets.  Wasn't it nice to have *that* as cycling's biggest scandal for a while?

4. Julian Alaphilippe's premature celebration at the line at Liege-Waffle-Liege.  C'mon, that was funny!

5. Speaking of which, we've got World Champions! Alaphilippe, Ganna, van der Breggen, Dygert. May you fly the stripes in health and happiness next year!

6. Peeps into cyclist's home set-ups during those weird months of virtual racing.  Lovely terrace with incredible mountain views that make you question your own pathetic life choices? Check. Living room in front of the TV? Check. Grim cement basement gulag? Got it. Kids wandering in and out to pester Mommy or Daddy while they were full-gas towards the line and to show off for the cameras? Yup.  A fanboy/girl/person's dream!

7. On a related note, Mikel Landa taking a freakin' axe to his stationary trainer, a perfect metaphor for 2020.  And be honest, who *hasn't* wanted to do that?  Get this boy back to his home Basque *roads*, stat!

8. Fabio Jakobsen is back on his bike after his horrific crash at the Tour of Poland.  And forget scapegoating Groenewegen: race organizers, there is still *plenty* of time to fix this barrier bull!@#$ ahead of next year!

9. Tweeps. In a total !@#$show of a season, the couchpeloton helped keep us all sort of togetherish.  Grateful indeed!

10. I miss Kittel racing and all, but geez, doesn't he seem happier now?

And a Few I'm Damn Well Not: 

1. Okay, the Classics were !@#$ed. Come back, Paris-Roubaix!

2. Gianni Moscon.  How does *this* clown have a contract next year and *so* *many* incredible--and more importantly, not unforgivably assholian--cyclists do not?

3. CCC.  I'll miss 'em.  Oh well, at least my heart won't leap with misplaced joy every race 'til I realize they're not Euskaltel!

4. Evenepoel cheerfully touting losing 5 kg of nonexistent 'baby fat' after Lefevere bullied him for his weight earlier in the year.  Can we please lay off the pressure on these riders to develop full-blown eating disorders?

5. Last, but never, ever least: WHAT THE !@#$ NO EUSKALTEL IN ANY OF THE GRAND TOURS HALF THE SPRINTS WERE LEFT OUT THIS WAS PERFECT MOUNTAIN HELL TERRAIN FOR THEM YOU CLASSLESS INGRATE FREAKS!

Welp, on to nail-biting late-contract negotiations, brief respites, inevitable Masters doping busts, and body-crushing pre-season team camps.  Thanks to both my loyal readers, and thank !@#$ this year is almost done! 

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie Awards!

Still blissfully zoning out to beautiful Spanish landscapes, when you don't even live there? Waking up breathless from suspenseful dreams about a Carapaz-Roglic showdown? Confused, but still discombobulated, at mourning the end of the Vuelta a Espana and the entire cycling season in November? Well it ain't over quite yet, honey, because we've still got a few things to tie up before the cyclists hang up their cleats and head home for the offseason--namely, Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie awards!  Prizes--and I swear on my Holy Once-Eroski Cap o' Destiny I'm good for 'em--for anyone so freakishly attuned to random fan sites, or so desperate for attention that they'll take even the most embarrassing accolade they can get: (1) a stylin' custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap; (2) a passel of very spiffy racejunkie stickers to pop on your helmet, that crappy ancient bike you're about to leave on the sidewalk for the garbageman, or to cover up Froome's name on that offensive 2011 Vuelta trophy, and 3) a genuine sports-related statue thingy to memoralize your outstanding, or outstandingly horrible, achievement.  So without further ado, let's relive the glory of the 2020 Vuelta a Espana! 

Domestique o' the Vuelta: now, normally, this would be a clear and convincing win for the incredible Sepp Kuss, whose indefatigable work at the head of the Murder Hornets' bizarro-world Classics-riders mountain train was so relentless that, when Rogla finally struggled on the decisive last climb of the penultimate day, Kuss had to pull over to a virtual dead stop 3 different times to wait for his boss to stagger up to his wheel--reminiscent of Michele Scarponi, who once did the same thing for his team leader, Nibali, back in their Astana days.   But, this is 2020, and the award goes to Team Movistar, who helpfully dragged a grateful Rogla to the overall win ahead of Richard Carapaz, who absolutely slaughtered the climb to la Covatilla and would otherwise have gotten back all of his 40-odd-second deficit and the final red jersey in Madrid without Movistar's inscrutable tactics.  Sure, they managed to self-destruct their own squad--but boy, have they got contract offers from Jumbo-Visma for next year!

Total !@#$ing Bull!@#$ Award: WHAT THE !#$% DO YOU MEAN EUSKALTEL WASN'T INVITED TO THE VUELTA A ESPANA WHEN THEY'RE THE !#$DAMN GREATEST CLIMBERS ON THE PLANET?! Yes, 2020 was !#$%ed.  But *that* completely !#$%ed it worse--race organizers,  don't ever, ever let this happen again!

Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: oh, there was some argy-bargy in the sprint finishes this Vuelta--I mean, they're sprints. But it's a damn miracle that Sam Bennett, beloved by all for his incredible prowess this season, didn't smash anybody into the tarmac when he first bumped away Emils Liepens, then outright slammed directly into fair-playing Bora-Hansgrohe's Pascal Ackermann to take the win--then immediately lose it by relegation--on stage 9.  Well, that's all that good will evaporated in an instant--I'd still be a little careful at the start of next season in case anybody's holding a grudge there, Sam!

Corollary Smack Talk of the Vuelta Prize: geez, hell hath no fury like Deceuninck-QuickStep boss Patrick Lefevere scorned, who immediately took to Twitter to screech his outrage at the injustice of his protege being rightly relegated, only to extend the fight when Bora reasonably pointed out that Lefevere was, well, being a giant, petty, and epically wrong total jerk.  Wah, wah, wah--lucky this got settled with merely a keyboard war, you baby!

Like Hell You Saw That Coming Award: Hugh Carthy. And not just him, with his spectacular stage win and podium finish--all of EF was absolutely on fire, surging in every kind of terrain and grabbing 3 stage wins in total just when you'd most have expected them to be on their last legs, literally, after a largely disappointing Tour and Giro. Well done--looking forward to seeing what Carthy pulls off next year!

Go Gently Into That Good Night Award: No, he's not leaving the peloton just yet--he's merely been discarded like a spit-covered gel packet by the Ineos whose  entire fortune he made for the quieter Israel Cycling Academy next year.  And while it pains me to give a damn thing to Chris Froome, he did, to his credit, work his unimpressive butt off in the service of his teammates no matter how ignominiously far behind he schlepped in each day. More, he stuck it out without complaint and indeed with admirable humility to the bitter end.  Now give Cobo back his Vuelta dammit!

Corollary Weird-!@# News o' the Vuelta: speaking of whom, UCI once again struck a righteous blow for clean sport by, near the very end of this year's race, stripping Juan Jose Cobo of his 2011 Vuelta and awarding it to second-place finisher Chris Froome who, IIRC, both started and completed his amazing transformation from blase' donkey to Triple Crown racehorse that very year.  That oughta teach the next generation--that you're likely to be long retired before anyone punishes your !@# for being a cheat-weasel.  Fine, neither one of them deserved it--but I stand by my assessment that this was as bull!@#$ as handing Heras' final Vuelta win over to Denis Menchov!  

Class Act o' the Race: Rogla, man. Second at the Tour, and one imagines pretty darn tired to boot, all he had to do was take his podium lion and kick back for a long, relaxing break til spring.  So what does he do? That's right, heads right for the most mountainous Grand Tour this year when nobody's body is prepared for it, blitzes the time trials, stomps the stages, nearly loses the red jersey for good just two days from Madrid, then grinds back to take and keep the win--only to be scrupulous in noting Sepp Kuss' superior strength and obvious sacrifice on a very bad day, and to compliment Richard Carapaz on his terrifying near-victory with calm and class.  It's hard not to root for this kid, amirite?

Corollary Near-Catastrophe Award: okay, Dan Martin might reasonably have disagreed with me there, when a narrow bend before the line on Stage 5 caused Primoz Roglic to touch a wheel ahead of him, take down a dear Izagirre !@#dammit, and nearly take out GC threat Martin, who happily emerged unscathed, gorgeously captured a redemptive mountain stage, and grittily hung on for fourth overall.  Well done Dan--and lucky for you there Rogla!

Forever Young Prize: Sure, he didn't win a stage--this time.  But with 28 Grand Tour starts, 20 Grand Tour top 10s, and an actual Vuelta overall victory to his name, whether you love 'im or hate 'im, Alejandro Valverde's !@#$ performance at age 40 is most other riders' I-wish-to-hell-I-could-do-that at 25.  Hmmm....I'll have what he's having!

Fan !@#$wit Award: Amazingly, not a single rider got taken out by a wandering dog, face-smacked by a selfie-stick, crashed with an oblivious pedestrian, or smoke-flared by some eejit thinking that's just a great thing to do on the final climb of the queen stage.  Then again, people were largely forbidden from the roadside.  And where they weren't, they were pretty much all wearing masks.  For the first time ever in all the years of the racejunkie Awards: congrats to everybody, and shame on nobody!

Duck Season! Classics Season! Prize: Pity the poor delicate climbers of the 2020 Vuelta, who, rather than ascending happily on dry roads day after day under blistering sunshine as usual only to leave the hardier Classics boys in the dust, instead ended up getting slammed for a good half by the kind of freezing rain, impenetrably blinding fog, and sketchy as hell torrential descents that the couchpeloton only wishes happened every year at Paris Roubaix.  Notably chattering with cold after his victory at least: Jasper Philipsen on Stage 15.  Get that man a blanky and some animal slippers, stat!

Miracle o' 2020: Last but not least, let's take a moment to appreciate the good things (for once, I know, shut up!) The Tour was beset by fear over the prospect of running a GT during a rising pandemic.  The Giro was roundly criticized for endangering the riders, leading to positive Covid tests, team desertions, and threats of retribution on all sides.  But who got the job done without a single freakin' positive test or terrified rider flip-out?  That's right, the ever-underappreciated Vuelta!  Amazing. Whatever the hell the Spanish equivalent of "chapeau" to the race organizers is--that!

Okay, this was short but sweet--just like this year's 18-stage Vuelta, which I hope to heck never ever happens again.  Now unpack those suitcases, chill out at home, claim yer prizes--and if we're lucky, we'll see you summer of next year, withering heat and screaming Basque fans and Euskaltel orange among you and all!

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 Giro d'Italia racejunkie Awards!

 Strangely saddened in late October for heck's sake by the sudden cessation of Giro d'Italia coverage? Still mourning the magnificent vistas of the legendary Stelvio but not the fact you weren't the poor bastard who had to climb it?  Do you find yourself inexplicably screaming "Vai! Vai!" at the TV during Barca matches? Yep, !#$%ed up as this year has been, it's *still* been a year which included the bangin' Giro, which means it's time for Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 Giro d'Italia racejunkie Awards!  Prizes--I swear on my Marea Naranja history-of-Euskaltel book, so you know I'm dead-on serious--for any awardee so unlikely as to know about, much less read, this crap or so desperate as to claim 'em: (1) a dashing custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap; (2) a passel o' handsome racejunkie stickers to deface that !@#$er-who-made-you- crash's bike, helmet, or face; (3) eternal, or at least til blogger shuts down this farce, infamy; and (4) a genuine actual sportsy trophy either (a) crudely engraved with your name and the award you won with a nail scrounged outta the basement if I don't impale myself with it first then have to rush to the hospital to get myself a tetanus shot or (b) carefully written upon by Sharpie with your name and the award you won in very satisfactory penmanship.  So without further ado, let's get this show on the road--so at least you have something to read if the Vuelta gets cancelled tomorrow!

I Call Bull!@#$ Prize: fine, numerous people, a lot less blockheaded than I, knew all about baby talent Jai Hindley and his amazing powers of domestiquecity for surging leader teammate Wilco Kelderman (not to mention I'm a !@#$wit for not taking Wilco more seriously for GC in the first place, despite being ever-dazzled by the sheer coolness of his name). But if you started out this race--or hell, got to about Stage 16 of it--thinking that this quality young cyclist was about to dang near win the !@#damn Giro d'Italia in his very first ever Grand Tour, you are a bigger liar even than that assclown testifying in the British doping inquiry that he totally accidentally destroyed 14 individual laptops with incriminating information by totally accidentally assaulting 'em with a screwdriver, a *really* sticky spilled soda, a Sherman tank, a cap gun, and a flamethrower. Chapeau to the incredible Jai Hindley on an incredible achievement!

Wonder of Wonder, Miracle of Miracles Prize: c'mon, between the weird October start, the threat of bike-blocking blizzard conditions in the mountains, the relentless increase of positives as the route went along, *you* weren't convinced this show was gonna make it to Milan either.  And I still don't know how it did--and I hope it wasn't by taking unnecessary risks with the staff and riders just to get the job done--but it did.  To everyone who couldn't safely stick it out, we're all glad you did what was best.  To everyone else who managed to make it over the finish line--just wow!

Baby Shark, Baby Shark, Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo Statuette: honestly, I don't know *what* his nickname is, but the totally unexpected, and totally deserving, Joao Almeida in pink for one, much less for 13, stages was just one of the dearest surprises this unpredictable race had to offer.  And, he fought for it every day with grinta and let it go with dignity and class.  Beautiful work Joao and team!

Sharp Dressed (Well, Almost) Man Award: as anyone who's ever limped about in the blistering toe-crunching misery of high heels, or, I hear from still-grimacing sources, inadvertently zipped themselves up in the fly of their jeans, can tell you, fashion is *pain*, honey, and it damn well nearly was for newb Jai Hindley, who almost ran himself off the Stelvio and into the far valley below in a vicious fistfight with his own rainjacket trying to get the damn thing on before he froze to death. Hell, Kelderman had to give up entirely, tossing his aside right when he could've used the comfort most.  Um, maybe that new sponsor gear was just a little *too* aero, Sunweb?

I Love You, Spartacu--Um, Pippo! Prize: *Who* blazed outta the start gate to take all 3, alternating pan-flat and nasty-hilly alike, time trials *and* some time well spent in the maglia rosa as well?  That's right, Terror o' the Tarmac Fabian Cance--oops, that's newly-crowned reigning World Time Trial Champ, hometown hero, bearer of endless name puns, and owner of the bitchinest-painted bike this side of an orange Euskatel Orbea classic, Filippo Ganna. *And* he took kind effort in his post-stage interview to aver that he far treasured his teammate's unexpected GC triumph over any of his own. Nice work on all counts, Ganna!     

Smack Talk o' the Race: perhaps it was the pressures of team leadership makin' him feisty, but it wasn't enough for Jakob Fuglsang to slag glorious Italia itself in his purportedly lighthearted news commentary, but he went after adored two-time Giro vinctore Lo Squalo himself, bashing Nibali for, y'know, not waiting by the roadside to hand him a damn lemonade after Fuglsang flatted, had to wait for his team car, and Nibali obnoxiously continued on down a tricky descent without him.   Well clutch my pearls and dirty my white gloves--Nibs, you've got nothing to answer for there!

*I'm* Not Crying, *You're* Crying Stage Win o' the Giro: c'mon.  You're *still* slobbering into your Kleenex over Alex Dowsett's delightful Stage 8 breakaway-from-the-breakaway victory and tearfully happy post-race interview.  Now quit cryin' and hand me the tissue box, !@#dammit!  

Oh !@#$ Oh !@#$ Oh !@#$ News o' the Race: Simon Yates' dreaded COVID positive, upending the expected GC of the race and scaring the hell out of a peloton already spooked by willy-nilly mingling with tourists over the salad bars at the hotels, increasing positive tests in nearly every European country, and overenthusiastic fans who apparently still couldn't correlate "yelling an inch from his face" and "plague-spewing." Most crucially, of course, was the news that Yates' symptoms, as well as those of the other riders and staff who came up positive, appeared to be mercifully relatively mild.  Wishing a speedy, safe recovery, and a tranquil, healthy off-season, to all!

Crap Crash o' the Race: y'know, I'm *not* a giant fan, particularly because he announced his impending participation in the Giro with all the enthusiasm of a kid being forced to eat limp week-old boiled-to-death ice-cold broccoli, but what a suck thing to happen to poor Geraint Thomas, who was taken out early in the race by a ridiculous--and ridiculously heavy--race-ending crash in the start zone.  Worse, he reported he could barely stand to watch the Giro at all after that, even with his own teammate shockingly taking the overall win.  Get well soon Thomas, and next time, remember to be *enthusiastic* about being sent here!  

The Tao of...Well, Tao Award: he came in expecting to be a worker bee for a surprisingly vulnerable Grand Tour powerhouse, he knocked himself completely out for whoever on the squad ever needed it the whole three weeks, *and*, after a gorgeous time trial in the final few minutes of the race, he came out lofting the Trofeo Senza Fine over his brilliant, winning head.  It's not like me to root for a Skybot, but dang, Mr. Geoghegan Hart, that was pretty fine indeed! 

Back In the High Life Again Prize: after a miserable Tour in which even his near-inevitable green jersey ultimately eluded him, and a pretty major bummer of a Giro that saw the maglia ciclamino meet the same fate and his sprints come ever-second, a disconsolate fan- and sponsor- favorite Peter Sagan shocked and delighted everyone (and didn't shock, but did delight, himself) with a swashbucklingly redemptive performance on an utterly un-Saganlike loooong solo breakaway to Stage 10 victory.  Take that, Demare you whippersnapper--and watch out for me again next year!

Controversy o' Giro 2020: sure, it started off with shock and horror over EF's special acid-trip rave-gear team kit, proceeded with concern and confusion over their terrifying bug-eyed-cartoon-duck time trial helmets, escalated to Jakob Fuglsang's cheerfully insulting assessment of the host country and its residents, and hit a fever pitch over entire squads having to bail out due to rider and staff COVID positives and the concurrent expressed terror of every rider left as to whether they should all be even continuing to race.  But *nothing* beat the absolute hoo-ha of a bunch of tired, wet, cold, potentially-immuno-compromised riders starting a night-time revolution by Telegram then unilaterally refusing to start the 2000-k Stage 19 until a good half of it had been chopped off a day ahead of the decisive day to Sestriere. Too bad some of the riders didn't know about it until after everyone else had clambered into their nice warm team buses! Naturally, reaction swung wildly from smugly retired hard-man pros and fleece-swaddled Prosecco-swigging couchpeloton denizens screeching for the spindly crybabies to nut up and literally make themselves sick over a nothing stage, to current riders and less sadistic fans who conceded that *some* mercy might be in order after the stress, chaos, and bone-deep exhaustion of a surprise autumn Grand Tour.  Aw, Demare'd just've gotten it again anyway, let it go people!   

Corollary Empty Threat Award: Giro head honcho Mauro Vegni, who apopleptically swore that the riders were gonna *pay* when they made it to Milan after their outrageous stage 19 kilometer-slashing strike.  Apparently, that meant everyone was gonna "pay" with a series of adoring photographs and glowing social media media posts straight from the race itself.  Ouch!

Class Act o' the Race: Vincenzo Nibali, who reacted to Jakob Fuglsang's public slagging with polite disinterest, the controversial Stage 19 rider strike with a mildly disconsolate shrug, and, most importantly, his sturdy-but-undazzling riding and GC spot by calmly analyzing his training and in-race power data, finding it to his satisfaction, then figuring he just couldn't keep up with the speedier youngsters this time.  Still, I think there's something to be said for a nuts-to-the wall total lack of self-control in an unfiltered post-race-interview smackdown. Something rude, but something!

Moto !@#$wit Award: surprisingly, because you'd think a few catastrophic takedowns of potential stage winners and their post-stage bat-wielding DSes would be all it would take for this to sink in to the race motos, this is becoming a thing.  To the guy who completely ruined Elia Viviani's dearest dream of truncated-season redemption by a joyous sprint victory in front of his countrypeople, I don't know where you are now, but if Elia's mood is any indication, buddy, keep runnin'!

Fan !@#$wit Award: last, but never least, this coveted prize, which usually comes from some butt-nekkid eejit in a clown wig screaming into a rider's face, dipwad with a murderous selfie stick, or doofus who thinks a charging GC-frantic peloton is the ideal place to let his dog off the leash to teach how to play fetch, is an aggregate award for every clueless tifoso who never learned from playing recorder in second grade that the holes in any given object also correlate to *air being able to come out of them* unless you're in a freakin' vacuum for chrissakes, so, ergo, the mask you're using to protect the terrified riders from your pestilence-laden exhalations goes OVER YOUR DAMN NOSE, YOU CARELESS FREAKS!  Please, can we just get back to the space cadets who always decide to hop the barriers 250 meters from the line in a raging sprint finish next time?

All right, them's my awards, and congratulations--and sincerest apologies--to all the worthy winners.  Now grab yer prizes, pull on yer jackets in peace, and let's hope this unparalleled show goes forward in *May* of next year!

It's Yer Vuelta a Espana in Previe--Am I on Acid or Something?

 Not only is the Race of Attrition through the Scorching Mountains of Dehydration Death rescheduled from late August to tomorrow, it also starts on a Tuesday, so frankly, it's a miracle I've had the presence of mind to unearth my Euskaltel gear and practice yelling a few Basque words of encouragement at the TV, although, as I've just realized, *they're not freaking riding it*.  But it is indeed the Vuelta, baby--so in this year's super-abbreviated (by my standards) preview, let's check it out!

The Course: First, forget 21 stages--it's been pared back to just 18, and boy, will these guys be glad to make it to Madrid a little earlier!  Second, this ain't no endless-time-trial Tour de France crap--it's the Vuelta, and they're starting you right off the bat with mountains (literally) o' pain!  We start out with these freaks' idea of a merely 'hilly' stage, in fact three: Stage One, a just-over-the-top finish of the Cat 1, 5.3k Alto de Arrate; Stage 2, a peaceful start, a coupla Cat 3s, then the Cat 1 Alto de San Miguel de Aralar, with a dizzying 17k plunge to the finish line; and Stage 3, an apparently easy Cat 1 climb to the end at Laguna Negra and a mellow day for the breakaway. Awake yet? Well, no need, because they're throwin' you a bone on a flat (I mean, Vuelta flat) 191k sprint to Ejea de los Caballeros, after which the two sprinters who dared to show up here can go crying home to mama.  Stage 5: actually just hilly, though no joke, with two Cat 3s and a Cat 2 in the last 60k then a little upward finishing nip to the line. Stage 6: Abandon all hope, ye who sign in here: it's an absolute trident nutwhack of the Cat 1 Alto de Portalet, *then* the Holy Crap Col d'Aubisque, and finally--if you haven't crawled into the back of the team car and aren't huddled up whimpering on your soigneur's feet--the Hors Category, legendary Tourmalet.  Congrats on your win--and the rest of you, hopefully you make it in before the end of tomorrow's rest day!

Week 2 starts us off with another weak, 2 Cat-1s 'hilly' stage (two trips up the Puerto d' Ortuna), with a slightly uphill final k because *this is just the Vuelta*; Stage 8 takes us back to the mountains, honey! with a smooth start in Logrono, a Cat 2 climb at 113k to shake you out of your stupor, and a brutal Cat 1 finish to Alto de Moncalvillo, which starts you off at an easy 8-9% gradient then smirks as you conquer the 13-14% gradient final 3k.  Team car! Stage 9--relax, the only sprinter left at this point's got this one in the bag! Stage 10 is also flat, which means one Cat 3 climb and a 5% welcome to the finish line.  They don't pull this !@#$ at the Tour, no sirree! Stage 11, though, kills the flat-lovers' romance with an almost sadistically easy Cat 3 start, then 4--count 'em 4, or better yet come to think of it, don't--Cat 1 hikes finishing atop the Alto de la Farrapona!  Gee, I'm ready for a rest, aren't you? Well, too bad sucker--Stage 12 yanks you right up (you wish!) the fearsome Angliru, with two Cat 3s and a coupla Cat 1s to screw you out of GC before that. On the plus side, tomorrow's a rest day, if you can sleep with your legs screaming.  Pleeeeeeease let the Vuelta make it at least this far--though I can't imagine the riders would agree!

On to the final most-o-the-week! Stage 3 is just flat-out mocking you, an easy 31k time trial til it reminds you that you aren't in France, honey, and its 2k straight uphill to the finish line.  Gannaaaaa--yeah, he's glad he's not here for that!  Having now jacked yourself out of contention on the flat sections yesterday, Stage 14 brings you a lumpy tour of the Galician hills to take a breather on.  Stage 15: another lumper for the breakaway, with about 30 Cat 3 climbs. Stage 16: we're getting close! Another day of middling Vuelta climbs, with just one Cat 2 and 1 Cat 1 climb up Puerto El Robledo before one more hill and a reasonably doable final kilometer.  Are there *any* more sprints in this thing? Uh, not yet, as your last chance for GC redemption lies on the slopes of the HC Alto de la Covatilla.  Did you enjoy the spankin' new Cat 2 Alto de la Garganta before that?  Hey, quit hitting me! Last, and barring catastrophe, pretty much least, you schlep mercifully into Madrid with the leader's jersey and probably some hulking Classics monster the only one left to contest a sprint.  Didn't think you'd miss those last 3 stages!

The GC: Right, Froome is riding, which tells you how great Ineos thinks his form is, not that he deserves to besmirch this beautiful race anyway, but all eyes (and efforts) on Carapaz!  Movistar's got not a trident this year, but a two-pronged assault by Enric Mas (on the podium) and Alejandro Valverde (on both the podium, and on Mas), and former Giro champ and gigantic climber extraordinaire Dumo is hopefully rested up enough from the Tour not to be too pissed he's gonna be made to help Roglic.  Also in the hunt: Israel Start-up Nation's Dan Martin, and, in case you just haven't been getting your daily dose of adorable goat memes, Thibaut Pinot.  Now get that race camera outta his face before he rips yours off, you vulturous jerk!  

Geez Louise.  Anyway, without the perfect climbers of Euskaltel to scream for--I mean, no offense, but NTT?--good luck to all you lesser squads!  Now, is it the Tour of Oman that's still left after this, or is the next UCI race the Superbowl?

It's Yer Giro d'Italia Rest Day Due/Seriously? It's Still the Spring Classics? Roundup!

 Yes, the catastrophic cluster!@#$ that is 2020 continues, but now, with even more cycling, so there's that! So what happened in that venerable October staple, the Giro d'Italia, and elsewhere in cycling since the riders last collapsed into their beds, and what's possibly maybe sorta to come?  This!

1. Nope, it sure wasn't just Yates--yep, the remaining peloton was decimated on a dime when both the Murder Hornets and Michelton-Scott bailed outta the race in their entireties the very next day, taking Jumbo's reigning 8th place GC contender Steven Kruijswijk with them, along with other corona positives like Michael Matthews and a pile o' staff for Skineos and AG2r.   Meantime, Jonathan Vaughters at EF, apparently still under the hallucinogenic effect of whatever crap they were taking when they came up with that team kit, wrote a letter to race honcho Mauro Vegni begging him to cut off the race, threatening to preemptively pull the team, then 'clarifying' they were staying in and he still hoped the race would make it to Milan. Not if you keeping pissing of Vegni it won't, for you anyway!

2. Peter Sagan redeemed himself after a loooooong year's losing streak with a splashy, smashing solo breakaway stage win, and, in lieu of his traditional crowd-pleasing celebratory "wheelie," celebrated by rolling over Arnaud Demare's head instead.  Ouch--but hey, you're adorable, everyone but Arnaud forgives you Peto!

3. Jakob Fuglsang, in hot competition for Most Hated Man in All Italy, and having apparently stuffed Astana's publicist into the luggage compartment of the team bus before opening his yap, proceeded to graciously thank his hosts in a daily write-up, commenting how pretty the South was despite the inbred barbarian residents, throwing in a gratuitous mafia reference for good (well, bad) measure, only to follow up with a sincere apology, after receiving considerable backlash, to "the inferior people who were somehow offended and the backwards crapholes they live in."  *Much* better, Jakob!

4. Elia Viviani.  *Just* when you thought the race could hold it together this year, and Elia was looking in improving body and spirits after a bummer year, a race moto seemingly missed the part of the training where they tell you "FOR !@#$'S SAKE DON'T HIT THE RIDERS" and, yes, ran him down.  Luckily, he wasn't as hurt as you might expect, though his hopes for the stage win were dashed.  You know, Elia's not a big guy, but I still wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of 'im--maybe reassign that moto driver to a safer job, say, buzzing through an angry hungry lion pack?

5. Speaking of packs, it's beyond me why the hell Deceuninck-Quick Step inexplicably changed its name to "Elegant" ahead of the down-and-dirty hunting grounds of Flanders, which they promptly lost, of course, after missing sign-in entirely because they were running late after being measured for waistcoats and spats.  Damn, maybe the whole annoying "Wolfpack" mentality really *does* serve us better, after all!

6. Alaphilippe. Yes, the Van Aert/Van der Poel showdown was fun, but cripes, this guy is either blazing in his new World Championships jersey or *completely* !@#$ed up in it.  So relieved he wasn't hurt worse in that moto crash than his still-horridly-sucks two broken fingers--wishing you a speedy recovery, Julian, and perhaps a little equilibrium in the off-season!

7. And as for the groundbreaking *women's* Flanders, they--what, we can't even see it live?  *That'll* increase awareness of these amazing athletes and their incredible sport, you weasels! Marianne Vos, now that you've a whole squad of Murder Hornets at your command for next season, I imagine that's going to be fixed but quick!

8. JAYSUS H. FECKIN' CHRIST, MASKS GO *OVER* YOUR FECKIN' NOSES WHEN YOU'RE RUNNING SCREAMING ALONGSIDE THE RIDERS, WHAT DO YOU THINK THOSE HOLES IN YOUR FACE ARE FOR, SPOUTING PYROTECHNICS AT A METAL SHOW YOU !@#$WITS?

9. I can't believe this bears repeating, but next nimrod lighting a green smoke flare for the gasping riders to suck in on an excruciating climb gets it rammed down their nimrod throat.  Do you *get* it now?

10.You did *not* see baby Giro debutant Joao Almeida in pink for the second rest day.  Liar!  And my, if he stuck his tongue out any farther yesterday he'd've been a frog catching flies with it. Grinta!

11. So far, the weather is holding, which bodes well for the Vuelta a Espana. That, and Yukon Cornelius and the Abominable Snowman have reportedly been called in to clear the climbs in the Basque Country.  Now don't forget the winter gear--those twee little climbers will turn into tiny icepicks!

12. Whaddya *mean* Mikel Landa's off happily riding his mountain bike while he's too injured to ride the Vuelta?!

13. Lest you think the Giro's letting the riders off easy this year, so far they've popped a *ton* of riders for--uh, grievous offenses like littering, drafting, and public urination.  Glad the sport's taken on its problems head-on!

14. Tao Geoghegan Hart.  Can people just cut him a little slack now?     

15. Hmm...maybe I *didn't* give Kelderman enough credit.  With a domestique like Jai Hindley performing like he did yesterday, it's honestly hard to see how this guy can lose!

16. Please don't hurt me for saying that, Nibali--we're still rooting for a major shark attack in the coming week!

All right folks, on to the truly decisive mountain stages and, of course, tomorrow's start of the Vuelta a Espana.  Wait, what the !@#$ ?!

It's Yer Giro d'Italia Rest Day Uno/Spring Classics/Isn't it Time for Hockey Already? Roundup!

 Okay, it's been an action-packed first week 'n' more of the Giro and start to the Classics seasons, about to be run concurrently with the Vuelta, because, well, it's 2020, and the entire cycling world's just been *turned* *on* *its* *head.* So what've we learned, and what's to come? So far, this!

1. Simon Yates. There's no *way* he's gonna be the only positive at this Giro.  He's certainly not the only one in cycling, as former racer-now-commentator Jan Bakelandts tests positive for coronavirus, Tiejs Benoot has to quarantine, whole teams have to drop out of the women's races, and hell, three race moto guys just came up positive yesterday. God, does anyone else long for the days when some weird ailment and a subsequent positive test meant something else in cycling entirely?

2. The edit function is *off*, people.  I don't know whether it's the !@#$ed up schedule, what would normally be post-season burnout, or a side effect of these super-tight covid team bubbles is just bitchiness, but damn, are riders all-in for the smack talk this year!  A frustrated Sagan--who's frustrated he hasn't *won* yet, so projecting, but whatever--invites Demare, who's kicking his !@#, to veer back and forth in the sprint like a drunken sailor, since he's already screwing Sagan anyway. Then, Fuglsang, who had a flat pretty early in a stage, bitterly slags Nibali for, basically, violating the unwritten and only-as-needed peloton etiquette rule of NOT SUCKING AT DESCENDING SO !@#$ YOU JAKOB EXACTLY WHAT SHOULD HE HAVE DONE, pulled over at the hotel at the top of the climb for a mid-stage espresso til you hauled your !@# back up?  *Then*, over in Classics land, Wout Van Aert goes off on Van der Poel for being a sabotaging wheel-sucking coward-tactic remora, when, y'know, Mads EARNED HIS WIN. Lest we fail to hear from those who've been there before, Tom Boonen's got a nice big editorial in the newspaper today telling Van Aert to nut up and quit being such a cry-baby.  I thought I deeply missed the Simoni smack-talk days, and I do, but it turns out I particularly just miss riders who don't whiningly blow at this invaluable skill.  Cripes, who *knows* what they'll start saying when there's one measly sprint left up for grabs and the GC *really* starts shaping up? 

3. HOLY CRAP IT'S FINALLY THE FIRST-EVER WOMEN'S PARIS-ROUBAIX, WE NEVER THOUGHT THIS DAY WOULD C--oh, !@#$ !

4. Who *wasn't* freaking out along with Alex Dowsett when he time-trialed himself to an uphill stage win?  *And* he had the presence of mind to plug (rightly) for a new contract, to boot!

5. Anna van der Breggen. She's now won 86 consecutive Fleche-Wallones, 14 world championships, the Giro, and 3 contests for Homecoming Queen in extremely competitive Texas high schools this year alone. Not bad for a 4-day season, amirite?

6. What the !@#$ do you mean Mikel Landa can't ride the Vuelta because he's still hurt from the freakin' Dauphine? This is all your fault, Movi--I mean, Bahrain-Maclaren!

7. EF's new flaming psychedelic cartoon duck kit, while a garish insult to innocent eyeballs everywhere, sure seems to be working this Giro.  Haven't they already got about 3 stages so far? Maybe trying to ride away from those graphics does the trick! More, you can have your own piece of vicious sartorial warfare for a mere 600 euros a pop on eBay. That's what they'll give you to buy that, right?

8. New World Champ Alaphilippe's premature celebrations.  Almost twice in one week, no less!  Oh, he's still punch-drunk from the rainbow stripes, tough to fault the boy *too* much...

9. Cav. Never a huge fan, primarily because he had that whole arrogant sprinter ass-face thing down for years, and no, I've never forgiven him for dismissing we love Andre Greipel as just winning "shit races," but can we forgive the guy a few tears already and admire his career before we start harping on how much he sucks as he naturally ages out of full power?  Let 'im at least see if he can score a gig for one more year!

10. Ineos.  First, ew.  Second, is *anyone* surprised at this sordid !@#$show, except for maybe how much testosterone you need to buy to perk up one set of nuts--because *that's* what your DS would be concerned about, if *their* livelihood depended on some cyclist's ability to win?

11. Sure, there's snow, but lookin' relatively good for the Stelvio, kids--assuming the race still manages to make it that far!

All right, aside from some additional verbal attacks between Nibs and Fuglsang this morning, I think I've covered the basics.  On to Stage 10 and its occasional, leg-lovin' 24% gradients--and Sagan, you can't blame Demare a *fourth* time! 

It's Yer 2020 Giro d'Italia in Previe--Wait, What the !#$% ?

 Look, this time last year I'd have been desperately posting some boring transfer news or weird cyclist rap video to tide us over til some nimrod tested positive for dope ahead of the holidays, and this time last *May*, I'd be posting about 4 different incredibly detailed guaranteed-to-be-unread previews by stage, overall course, GC contenders, puncheurs, sprinteurs, and every iota of sleazy gossip I could get ahold of.  But this is *2020* folks, the world is a bizarre, unfathomable hellscape, and frankly, between getting my head around the fact that nice Mads Pedersen barely got a chance to show off his world championship jersey and yesterday's racist sexist !@#$wit vomitous cyclist twitter explosion, it's a miracle I even realized it's time to preview even our adored Giro d'Italia at all.  So without further ado--and please, cycling, let me get this typed before things get even *more* screwed up--here's Yer Incredibly Abbreviated 2020 Giro d'Italia in Preview!

The Course: Who the !@#$ knows?  Half the guys are mistakenly gonna turn up at the Lombardia start, and for the rest of 'em, let's just say they're a liiiiiiiiittle up in the air, because all the roads that were meticulously paved in April have already crumbled into pave', and the Stelvio, to put it optimistically, already looks like Christmas, so the odds of it being actually passable are roughly the same as *not* finding Miguel Angel Lopez still frozen like a Popsicle to the inside of a snowplow in a deserted Alpine heavy-equipment parking lot sometime around next August.  Still, here's the plan, for now:

Week 1: We start off with a 15.1k individual time trial through Palermo with quite a dip after the first k or so then a pan-flat 2.7k finish. Stage 2: a 149k light roller with a 5%ish to 9%ish uphill finish the last few k.  Stage 3: screw you sprinters, we're in the mountains already--welcome to the always-thrilling Cat-1 Mount Etna finish! This should provide us the first check of whose Giro is already in spectacular disarray, subject, of course, to riding into form, wheel entanglements, ill-timed mechanicals, and unanticipated Earth-bound asteroids.  Stage 4: yep, it's mercifully flat, with the exception of a looooong if mild drag in the middle, and a rider-pleasing 800 meter straight finish.  Stage 5: We're rolling!  Bring your legs, and yer Dramamine, folks, as the unsung breakaway artists have a reasonable chance if they can make it past the occasionally 18% slopes of Valico di Montescuro without getting eaten alive by, hell, the 250-pound 6-foot natural climbers of Jumbo Visma.  Stage 6: less punchy, but a false-flat finish. Stage 7: Sure, the Giro itself cites "roundabouts, traffic dividers, pedestrian islands, stone pavers and speed bumps" as possible obstacles, but we know *those* never cause any problems--so get yer game on, Elia, we have faith!

Week 2:  Stage 8: snooze away til 90k, when Monte Sant'Angelo wakes you  up, then up-down til the final 2k.  This year, who the hell knows who'll take it? Stage 9: Snap out of it, climbers, we got 4,000 meters of climbing on our queen stage in the Apennines, including Passo Lanciano, Passo San Leonardo, and the final gasp up to Roccaraso with a 12% nipper of a last kilometer! Stage 10: Relax, GC, it's a rolling profile with a flat, fast 10k to the finish. Next up: a happy day on Stage 11 for the pure sprinters.  Enjoy! Stage 12: Get ready to cry again!  With the exception of the start and finish, it's constant climbing and descending, with some pretty sharp inclines to boot.  Oh, and two helpful speed bumps on the finishing straight. Are we there yet? Stage 13: 155k o' absolutely nothing, then two little climbs before flat again for the finale.  Isn't that a nice way to end the week?

Week 3: Welcome to the second time trial!  Not for the purists, this includes a lumpy 34.1k with gradients up to 19%, so bike selection will be key.  In the final k, you got three sharp turns, then 300 meters to steady yerself for the finish.  Bonne chance, suckers! Stage 15: back in the mountains, baby!  If you're choking on GC, now's a nice time to start making amends, particularly the last 15k uphill to Piancavallo.  Stage 16: Ciao, beautiful Udine! All the enjoyment of up and down circuits with a 20% gradient just before the final kilometer.  Ouch!  Stage 17: We are done screwing around, people: assuming they're not snowed in, we got Balbona, *then* Monte Bondone, *then* wee (ish) Passo Durone, and finally, the Climb of Truth up the Madonna di Campiglio.  Lookin' good for the final maglia rosa Nibs--at least we hope! Stage 18: cracked yesterday? Well, you ain't gonna like today: it's the mitico Stelvio stage, and yes, you're just *praying* that mother's snowed in and UCI, in a rare act of mercy, calls in the Extreme Weather Protocols to save you.  As if!  Stage 19: oh thank goodness: any sprinters left--and frankly, it's highly questionable Sagan made it past yesterday--have one final chance at glory.  Stage 20: it's last chance for the GC, assuming you haven't had any idiotic crashes, contracted any bizarre stomach ailments, or frozen off any useful appendages, and it is gonna *hurt*--the Colle dell'Agnello, the Col d'Izoard, a schelp to Montgenevre, and, if you weren't cursing the organizers hard enough, the gorgeous, lofty, and probably pretty darn icy hike to Sestriere.  Congrats, you just won the whole entire Giro!  Finally, we end the most beautiful race in the world with a third (!) ITT.  Now, ragazzi, you can rest! 

The GC: Who the !@#$ knows?  First, there's *three* ITTs, which, if history is any guide but the lumpy profile of the second is not, is !@#$ news for the climbers.  Plus, everyone, *everyone*, brought their absolute A-game to the Tour de France instead in the likely event it was gonna be the only Grand Tour to the start, much less finish, this year.  And aside from Nibali, who has been laser-targeting the Italian races this weird, abbreviated year and looks, honestly, as sharp as he's ever been, everyone's form is completely unpredictable as a result.  Defending champ Carapaz is no-show.  So in theory, and still at this moment, besides Lo Squalo: Miguel Angel Lopez. Fuglsang, except half of Astana's already been sent home--due to the pandemic, you cynics! Zakarin. Majka. Kruijswik, though particularly deep down, I don't really see it. Geraint Thomas--still pissed off being here at all, so he might as well stick it to his team boss for screwing him outta the Tour--and, last but not least, Simon Yates.  Aupa Mikeeee--what the !@#$ do mean he isn't here?!

The Other Stages: Sprints: still devastated by Peter Sagan's losses at the Tour?  Have no fear, he's out for vengeance, and redemption, at the Giro!  Unfortunately for him, so's Elia Viviani, with his impeccable home-race palmares.  Also on the hunt: Bling Matthews, Gaviria, who is looking awful fit, and Demare.  For stage hunters, we got a wide net, with guys like Warbasse to De Gendt to Ciccone to Craddock to ever-Carrot Pello Bilbao and, to everyone's joy, Giovanni Visconti. For the time trials--considering the terrain differentials, your guess is way, way better than mine!

Alright folks, in the off chance cycling's still actually on in *any* country after this week, I'm gonna call it here.  So let's pull out our fuzzy mascots, pink t-shirts, masks that go *over your nose while you're screaming at the riders !@#dammit*, and backwoods winter survivalist gear, pop the Prosecco for that late-season Spritz, and get this springtime show on the road! 

   

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 Tour de France racejunkie Awards!

Still waking up in the middle of the night scaring the crap out of your partner yelling "Allez! Allez!"? Bereft at the thought of a day without the maillot jaune? Obsessively checking French real estate listings for decaying medieval chateaux-for-sale? Yeah, well normally I'd say me neither, because it's freakin' *September*, but because this is also 2020, the Biggest Cycling %^&*show On Record, here we are.  Still, messed up as this year is, we haven't yet devolved into *total* animals, so tilt yer beret, wave yer croissant, and raise a Champagne toast to Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 Tour de France racejunkie Awards!  Prizes--I swear--for anyone desperate and/or craven enough to claim them: (1) a dashing custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap; (2) a passel o' handsome racejunkie stickers to defile yer laptop, yer refrigerator, or yer face; and (3) a custom-ordered random statuary tchotchke because frankly, it's still not safe enough here for me to spend hours rummaging through discarded boy-band action figures and 1000-piece puzzles with 2 pieces missing to find you something inappropriate at a local thrift store.  Oh right, and eternal infamy. So without further ado, let's get moving on our annual Tour de France adieu!

I'm Not Crying, You're Crying Award of 2020 (Oh Hell, I Am Too Crying): Sam Bennett's charmingly halting, weepy post-race inaugural Tour de France stage-win interview, Stage 10. Not only did he grab the sprint, but he took--and never gave back--the coveted Peter Sagan Green Jersey as well.  Close second, except I didn't want to pile on the poor guy any more: Rogla's stunned collapse at the end of the penultimate-day time trial, with his loyal teammates folding consolingly around him like scrawny-but-spiritually-fluffy fleece blankets. Waaaaaaaaaaah! 

Disaster Stage of 2020: of course, as a loyal Landa fan, it's when he lost 1:21 in a !@#$in' crosswind that everyone on Bahrain should've seen coming from a thousand kilometers away !@#dammit. But we officially reached peak 2020 right on Stage 1, where the wet roads turned into skating rinks and half the freakin' field crashed out, including key Landa assist Rafa Valls, reliable stage winner Degenstache, and ever-fighting Philippe Gilbert.  Add poor visibility, a bubble-spewing soap sponsor, and the white lines on the road apparently painted with axle grease, and it just doesn't get any better (or worse) than that.  2021, get a move on already, we're *done* with this !@#$ !

The Fast and The Furious Award: okay, let's get down to brass tacks (but, y'know, hopefully not the kind that assclown threw down on the actual road in front of poor Cadel Evans).   *Every* #$%damn climb, Pogacar or some schmuck is shattering mountain speed records previously achieved only by a team director personally hanging out the car helpfully holding up a drug-stuffed IV running right into some weasel's !@# 6 hours straight for the cameras.  I mean, when you've just smacked down 2003 Alexander Vinokourov, you *know* some !@#$'s going down.  Let's just hope it's merely, well, a nice hearty dinner and a relaxing massage every night!

Fan !@#%wit Award: in an ordinary year, I'd be awarding this to the guardians of a meandering dog or careening toddler, a selfie-stick wielder, or some urine-tossing psychopath.  And I was about to award this collectively to the maskless (or even more incomprehensibly, masked but only *under their mouths and noses*) eejits running screaming alongside terrified riders in the middle of a freakin' *pandemic.* But we actually had to wait til nearly the end this time, when some reckless nutwhack leapt out into the middle of the course past the barriers just meters from the line and seconds away from a charging peloton. Luckily, thanks to some dude who went all Bernard Hinault on his !@#, the eejit was safely dispatched and, miraculously, no spindly rider bodies were broken.  FFS, can we just go back to the eye-blinding camera-whores in their indiscreet neon speedos next year?

Not-A-Crash o' the Tour: fabulously impressive emerging breakaway artist/Tour de France newb EF's Neilson Powless, who, like countless others before him, slightly misjudged a corner on a switchback descent, but, instead of wiping out to near-certain catastrophic bodily injury, smoothly rolled over the grass into a roadside fan's tailgate party, kicked back with a beer and some charcuterie, and continued, unruffled, on his way. Panache!

Where's Peto? Award: c'mon--when he wasn't tattooed into the green jersey this year, and with his front wheel stuck disconsolately to the ground, *you* couldn't pick Sagan outta the peloton in his mere-mortal Bora kit either.  Nine years of total dominance quietly down the sink.  There's always 2021, Peto--if you can get by Bennett first!  Corollary Old Man of the Mountain Prize: the usually hyper-active Alejandro Valverde, adrift without a teammate to bushwhack this year, stealthily ticking his way into 12th place.  But guess who won the Team Classification *again*, beeyotches? 

Class Act o' the Tour: Yep, 2019 Vuelta champ (and did you know he used to be a ski jumper?) Primoz Roglic, unreservedly expressing both his personal devastation and complete happiness for his jailbait last-minute Tour de France-winning countryman, Tadej Pogacar, both immediately after the gut-wrenching decisive individual time trial, and warmly right in front of the cameras on the highest-profile stage in cycling, the Champs-Elysees.  Waaaaaaaaaah!

*That's* Who They !@#damn Busted? Award: So a pack of raging giant Murder Hornets the size of linebackers stomps up the climbs for 21 straight stages in hammering superhuman lockstep at a pace not remotely seen since the relentless Armstrong-era Discovery train, a 21-year old kid who was ordered off the bike for a week because he was training so well shatters the penultimate day's time trial by like a minute and takes the overall win on his first-ever Tour, and who do the crack UCI narcs finally bust?  That's right, this year's equivalent of popping a Master's rider for buying 1st-gen EPO off the internet, Nairo !#$%in' Quintana, who, by Grand Tour winner standards, *sucked* this year.  Yap, doping's bad, yap--but couldn't you have left the wee thing a *little* dignity?

Unsung Sea Change o' 2020: Sure, it was a little harder to tell behind the masks, but didja notice that podium babes now come in *two* genders, albeit one a little more scantily-clad than the other?  Equal opportunity T&A--now *that's* progress!

Nice Try But No Cigar Award: Bahrain's much-derided, if undeniably gutsy, tactics on Stage 17.  Sure, they maybe took off a col too early, and our brave Mikel Landa was left alone and nearly broken at day's end.  But he's an ex- (and ever-) Carrot, dammit, so if you've got a problem with it, even if you're actually correct, you can just !@#$ right off into the sunset.  Aupa (in 2021) Mikeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel! 

Stop! In the Name of Love! (Before You Break Your Face) Prize: Tony Martin's brave, if unsuccessful, arms-wide attempt to slow down the peloton on a dangerous descent, just before Astana went ahead anyway, and, in a related Karma's a !@#$, !@#$ ! Prize, skidding (which was NOT the dear Izagirres' fault) great GC hope Miguel Angel Lopez face-first into a road sign on Stage 1.  Luckily, naught was damaged but his dignity, and the race proceeded just as cautiously as Martin's ill-fated gesture had intended.  Oh Cancellara, where *are* you where the etiquette-disgracing peloton needs you?

Break-Out Star of 2020: look, Powless was amazing. But damned if Marc Hirschi didn't stick it out after a string of heroic near-misses til he finally bagged his win in dramatic solo-break fashion on stage 12.  Keep your eyes on this kid--there's sure to be more where that came from!  

Domestique o' the Race: by any other measure, team Skineos' Tour was a disaster.  With defending champ Egan Bernal going gently into that good night, and all that desperate work for nothing, Michal Kwiatkowski, who spent the entire Tour and then in particular all day Stage 18 diligently hauling backup-GC Richard Carapaz up mountains and down, was justly awarded a well-deserved, arm in arm stage win for his efforts.  Is it me, or is everyone who ever did a hard day's work for Lance Armstrong for barely a thank-you feeling pretty pissed off right now?

Punk-!@# Move o' the Race:  Last but not least: c'mon, a little argy-bargy in the sprints--hell, sometimes all-out fisticuffs--is to be expected. But with those damn barriers with the iron spikes sticking out of the basis increasingly the cause of massive bodily injury, what you *don't* need is some jackwagon veering way off his line at the last possible second, jamming his shoulder into yer bod, and nearly taking you down in a jumble of shattered bikes, bones, and dreams.  Peter Sagan, we *know* you were getting desperate by Stage 11--but for heck's sake, leave Wout van Aert out of it!   

Well fans, them's my picks for this year. Now riders, slap on your masks, start looking ahead to the...Giro?!, and try not to win again next year!

It's Yer Tour de France Rest Day Un Roundup!

 All right, the noses have been swabbed, the bikes've been x-rayed (or at least waved at impressively with an iPad), and the IVs've bee--bad racejunkie!--so what've we learned so far in the Weirdest !@#$in' Tour de France Ever?  In no particular order, this!

1. I don't know if it was the !@#$ weather, the soap-dispenser sponsor, the lack of race days in the legs, or just the general discombulatedness of the peloton as a whole, but that has *gotta* have been  the Crappiest First Day of the Tour ever.  Key Landa lieutenant Valls out? And Degenstache and Gilbert out? That's one !@#$ty Lotto ticket!

2. FFS, Bahrain, you had ONE job this Tour--keep Landa upright, and OUTTA THE !@#$IN' CROSSWINDS! Okay, that's two jobs.  But !@#dammit!

3. Ineos.  Frankly, I'm shocked--one good day by Egan Bernal aside, they haven't even had the energy to eat their own young. Trident my !@# !

4. Tony Martin. You're a great rider, but when it comes to unilateral power to stop the peloton, you ain't no Fabian Cancellara.  Nice try though!

5. Speaking of which, Miguel Angel Lopez faceplanting into that street sign after Astana just kept on goin' may or may not have been karma, but it was absolutely not our dear Izagirres' fault.  The buck stops with you, Vinokourov.

6. Oh Tibo!

7. The Jumbo Murder Hornets.  Anyone else getting, well, sorta Discovery flashbacks with those guys? Nope, nope, I'm sure it's just me--but I'm still keeping a spray-can of Raid around in case they get pissed off about it!

8. On a more serious note, look, Saronni, if you think Fabio Aru has "psychological challenges," you don't slag him in the !@#$in' media for it.  You'd treat his *physical* injury with the very best the sport has to offer--treat this one with the same dedication and sympathy, !@#hole!

9. About 50 years too late, the Tour de France finally made a great stride towards equality by having equal-opportunity eye candy, rather'n just the traditional podium babes, hit the stage (sans kisses). But that sure didn't stop one retrograde French newspaper from printing a disgustingly misogynistic cartoon involving a popular rider and a noted journalist who unequivocally deserves far, far better.  !@#$ you, you pigs!

10. Pogacar, man. Rarely has a Tour de France podium contender had his name so egregiously mispronounced by so many. Betcha Toms Skujins could sympathize with you there, kid!

11. Alaphilippe, man. Panache!

12. Powless, man. So he took a little detour into a tailgate party--he still managed to stay upright, and that kid's still got one hell of a future!

13. What the !@#$ is *wrong* with you fans?  I mean, I know you're not all in an American-level pandemic !@#$show at the moment, but MASKS GO OVER YOUR NOSE. I don't even wanna *think* of what you idiots aren't covering with your birth control!

14. Where the !@#$ are the gendarmes? You're there when we need you to humiliate Froome for our entertainment when he's riding back down to his hotel, you can't hightail it up a climb to control these clowns? Well now you're on notice!

15. Congrats to surprise winner and total bad-!@# Lizzie Deignan on a thrilling win at a thrilling La Course.  Now where the !@#$ is the FULL, 3-WEEK women's Tour de France?

16. What the--how the !@#$ is Movistar leading the team classification?

17. Last but not least--I love Euskaltel fans.  The team's not even there and they're still dressed in orange waving their flags and freakin' out.  Aupa Mikeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!

Well, by the time both of you have read this, I've probably already missed some new catastrophe.  So assuming the Tour even goes forward after this nutwhack of a mistimed circus, rest up, nurse those wounds, and we'll see you out on the roads again on Tuesday!

It's Yer What the !$%& Do You Mean It's the Tour de France in August?! Tour in Preview: The Course!

 Look, this year is a freakin' train wreck, and we haven't even made it past the team presentations before Lotto-Whatever came up with a coupla COVID "non-negatives" already.  And the chances this whole show will even it make to Paris before some entirely foreseeable and probably inevitable catastrophe strikes it down halfway through the Alps?  Bupkis.  But just in case it *does*, they've still planned the (revised, but we'll still take it) whole thing out, so let's act like it can happen because we love Mikel Landa and we want we love Andre Greipel to take one more win on the Champs-Elysees and everyone wants to see more pictures of Thibaut Pinot with his goats all over Twitter if he takes a stage so here's yer Course In Preview!

Week 1:  We start off with basically a frantic three-loop crit around Nice before hitting one last biggish climb and descent to a chaotic bunch sprint finale.  Can't be any more !@#$ed up than the rest of 2020, so why not? Stage 2: Mountains already, beeyotches! Though why the Cat 1 climbs are tucked in the first half is beyoooond me.  Cav's not riding, you don't have to blast him out the time cut on the second day, so what gives people?  Next: It's a mostly Cat-3 lumper, which guarantees that everyone on CCC who's looking for a job will be out on the hunt all day, but ends pretty flat so too bad, boys, at least you got 180k in front of the cameras til the sprint squads try to reel you in!  Dang, they're working hard to fluster these guys with these dizzying changes! Anyway, Stage 4's another bumpy ride, but with a 7.1k 1800 meter uphill finish to nip the legs and see how much wheel Quintana's gonna have to suck the next 3 weeks, *again*.  Stage 5? It'll feel like a Year in Provence til the false-flat finish, tailor-made for the Saganator.  Now's the time to pony up, Peter!  Stage 6: Just keep Mikel upright, willya Bahrain, til he can show his form a bit on the Cat-1 Col de la Lusette then chill out the rest of the way!  To cap off the week: kinda lumpy but then mostly flat, if, according to Prudhomme, the crosswinds don't screw over the sprinters.  Always kinda hoping they misjudge the breakaway by about 50 meters on these things for some shocked newcomer to still take it at the line, don't you?

Week 2: Rest da--nope, assuming the whole peloton's not been sent home yet, it's straight on to Stage 8 then! Our first real, true mountain day, with the HC Port de Bales then the fearsome Peyresourde, which *still* isn't gonna win you !@#$ unless you can descend off it to the finish line.  Too bad Nibs isn't riding this! And FFS you better have cleared the crap off the road, race organizers!  Stage 9: 2 Cat 1s and 2 Cat 3s, then mostly downhill with frequent little spikes-o'-pain to Laruns.  Ready for a rest day?  I sure am!  And assuming we make it back from *that*, Stage 10: flat as a pancake, trip through two islands, and *damn*, that's gonna be a lotta wind.  Don't screw this up, Bahrain!  Stage 11: another day, another bunch sprint, and for heck's *sake* everyone, willya hold yer lines for once?  Stage 12: looks like a nice breakaway to me.  Have fun out there, CCC!  As we wind down the second week, Stage 13 brings a fine day for the climbers, so if we haven't got a sense of where the podium contenders are yet, we darn well oughta today! On Stage 14, there's terrain to suit and soul-crush just about everyone til the last 5k in Lyons, if the sprinters haven't keeled over by then.  Bonne chance, big guys!  

Week 3: No rest for the weary just yet: you've got a yuge mountain day to get through, so you better not woof! The Cat 1 Montee' de la Selle de la !@#$ This Hurts, *then* the Cat 1 *dang* this Col's a de la Biche, and, to finish up (or to finish *you*, depending on yer form, the Hors Categories Grand Colombier.  "Grand" if you don't get your !@# dropped, I guess!  Next up: Rest Day 2! Any odds on what, if any, teams'll be left for Stage 16? Well, if there are, all the fun's early on on the Col de la Porte, so namesake, if you're riding, you'll charm us all by taking it!  Stage 17: you pretty much just get to sit there shaking in fear the first 88k, mountain goats, before you grit your teeth for the legendary Col de Madeleine, then some 20% pleasure cruisin' up the Col de la Loze.  !@#dammit, why isn't Euskaltel here again? Anyhoo, Stage 18 is another block o' steep-!@# suffering, with the added bonus that if you suck at going downhill, your entire day of agony's been a waste.  Aw!  Still, we're not done yet, as Stage 19 sorta throws a bone to the sprinters, if any of 'em (1) are left and (2) didn't already go home--totally justifiably, I might add--crying to momma.  And yes, though mercifully calm til the end, Stage 20's the Last Chance Cafe for the GC, either for a redeeming stage win, if you've already cracked like a walnut, or an actual shot at shuffling up the podium if you haven't.  Who doesn't love the Plateau des Belles Filles? We'll find out, I guess!  Finally, it's the reassuring normality of the victory lap around Paris, and my dearest hope for a win for Andre Greipel (shut up! still can too!) on the Champs Elysees.  Wait, *what* month is this?  So if you made it this far, there's been some sorta miracle--now give yourselves a well-earned, extremely socially-distanced rest, the lot of you!

Who's gonna take what?  Frankly, this crazy-!@# year, I got *no* idea, which given my usual prediction success rate, is probably not a bad thing for anyone anyhow.  Anyway, (1) fans, stay the !@#$ outta the way, (2) riders, stay safe out there, (3) you-know-what, stay the !@#$ away, and (4) aupa Mikeeeeeeeeeeeel!    

It's Yer What the !#$% Do You Mean It's the Tour de France In August?! Pre-Tour Roundup

Tour de Where the !@#$ Is My Vuelta Dammit!: Look, this cycling year's been such a colossal !@#show that I couldn't even muster the wherewithal to bitch about Alejandro Valverde the last 5 months.  And between COVID positives, truncated seasons, horrific life-threatening crashes, and hailstorm pummeling that made those poor fragile creatures look like the living embodiment of the red polka-dot jersey, I hardly know where to begin now.  But I *do* know one thing: the Tour de France starts next week, and it's time for us here at racejunkie to get our !@#$ together and get both our loyal readers up to speed.  So what's the deal, before we even get to the course?  This!

1. Froome's out.  To be fair, the guy *did* allegedly have a terrible career-altering crash last year, except of course it was a highly orchestrated Photoshopped Commie plot carried out in perfect harmony by highly trained secret-agent soigneurs, teammates, physicians, nurses, family members, and hospital-room cleaning staff to justify why he was gonna suck in the middle of a totally unforeseen global pandemic-screwed training season an entire year later.  Anyway, Sky's let him go to ICA and told him to !@#$ right off.  At least you know you'll get to go next year, Froomey!

2. Geraint Thomas is out.  How do we know? Why, he announced right on video he's going to the Giro instead, with all the excitement of an 8 year old being forced under threat of serious grounding by his mama to thank Great-Aunt Edna for the thrill-inducing gift of an 8-pack of discount tighty-whities at Christmastime.  Congrats to our early 2020 racejunkie Award winner of the Least Appreciated Tour de France Champ in History, and quit dissing the fabulous Giro, G!

3. Half of Bora's been quarantined for COVID watch after a teammate tested positive, though by this afternoon he's apparently tested negative, so they're hurting, and let's face it, even the mighty Saganator has seemingly had rather a rough time adjusting to his Former Adored Ingenue/Everyone's Still Adored But Perpetually Marked Man status this season.  So maybe his inevitable green jersey in Paris is actually in play for you, Cav!  Oh, wait...

4. Which brings us to Mikel Landa.  Shut up, he can too!  And with a freakin' strong team, including Pello Bilbao, Dylan Teuns, Sonny Colbrelli and Wout Poels who all better accept their support roles !@#dammit, he's in very good company.  At least Carapaz Valverde and Quintana can't all bushwhack you from within your own squad this year! Now riders, keep him upright, and management, don't psych him out by whining about your own GC contender to the press corps!

5. Arkea, which had Nairo cannily pulling out of the Dauphine early with a tweaked knee that totally coincidentally leaves his rivals with no clue whatsoever as to his current form, has a *bangin'* squad for the mountains.  Baby brother, and very fine climber in his own right, Dayer. Warren Barguil. Winner Anacona. If Nairo falters, he's not only got plenty of help to carry him, but the team has serious stage contenders to boot.  Shut up, Mikel can too!

6. Yes, on paper it's the team to beat.  But with Bernal, Carapaz, and Kwiato all viable top-of-the-podium contenders, Skineos, with any luck, is !@#$ed. If it doesn't decide which arm of the trident's in charge on the road in the first coupla stages, it's gonna eat its own young. Ask Landa how it went with his lieutenant the first second he showed any sign of weakness, Egan!

7. Lotto-Jumbo. *Damn*! Rogla--though he looks sadly unlikely with last-minute injuries. Time-trialist-inexplicably-turned-mountain-goat/former Giro champ Tom Dumoulin, who seems frankly much happier this season. Van Aert, Martin, Gesink, Kuss.  *Damn*--and watch out the rest of you!

8. Yap, that annoying Wolfpack crap, yap.  But come on--aside from Landa who I hope of course without any malice in my heart whatsoever crushes him, wouldn't you *love* to Alaphilippe win?  Hmmm...him, Tibo, Bardet...gosh, there's a lot of French guys to root for this year!

9. CCC is in tatters, with the team having given riders its blessing to search for other gigs and riders either having already bailed to safer ground for next season, or desperately trying to. At least the breakaways oughta be interesting!  And soigneurs, the unsung heroes of cycling--if ever you needed to showcase your stellar off-camera rider-caretaking and on-camera musette-passing skills to the two teams who are gonna be left after this miserable season, now's the time.  Honestly, good luck to the hardest-works folks in show biz!

10. Yeah, it's a pandemic and the season is truncated. Where the !@#$ is Euskaltel?! On the plus side, between Landa, Pello, the Izagirres, and powerhouse ever-underestimated stealth GT stage winner Mikel Nieve, our wee Carrots are otherwise well-represented.  Aupaaaaaaaaaaaa!

11. We love Andre Greipel's going.  Yay!  You still got one more Champs-Elysees in you, big guy!

12. What the hell do you mean Michael Woods isn't going to the Tour de France?

13. The fans.  There was *just* another incident in which an oblivious selfie-taking fanboy nearly damn killed a rider as the peloton passed.  Back the !@#$ up! And as long as you're all supposed to be covering up with masks anyway, could the more...free-form among you cameras hoes more completely tuck your flopping works into your neon banana-hammocks as you run alongside the riders this year?

14. La Course.  Yeah, it's a pandemic and the season is truncated, so women's cycling is even more !@#$ed than usual.  But FFS, can we give the most brilliant peloton in ages the accolades, and full Tour de France, they so obviously deserve?

15. Last but not least: COVID.  Everyone's completely justifiably afraid everyone's gonna give it, and/or get it. The carefully-constructed rider bubbles have proven, despite all parties' sincerest best efforts, penetrable.  The traveling circus that is the Tour passes through a million different towns with a million different staff, riders, journalists, and both local and traveling fans all cramming into the same limited hotels with the same limited restaurants, whose own staff are also at risk from the onslaught.  The fans, inconceivably, are *still* being observed reaching out to the touch the riders as they pass.  The rule: two team positives and you're out.  Please, please, please, be safe out there everyone, and here's hoping that whoever gets hit, doesn't get hit hard.  Does anyone really think the whole show can make it to Paris?

Welp, there's yer random roundup.  And yes, as usual, I've paid short shrift to the sprinters.  Next, we'll tackle the course.  Let's just hope the riders get to do it, too!

It's Yer 2020 Cycling Year in Preview (Yeah, You Read Right)!

Yes, 2020 is finally here, so it's time for the riders to preen in their dashing new team kits, the mechanics to swap out their old sponsors' superior components, and the crack electricians to get started wiring the mo--uh, spankin' new espresso machines into the team buses.  So what can we expect from Road Season 2020?  This!

January: Team camps begin! 4 Cofidis riders seriously injured in rap-video mishap; Ineos boys tour new plastic-baggie sponsor's factory; Alberto Contador announces new bike line SBNA (Shoulda Been Nicer, Armstrong); Qatar debuts "Holy !@#$ It's Hot Out Here 100," entire American gravel delegation welds permanently to tarmac. Hey, they needed an iconic cycling statue over there anyway!

February:Classics prep! John Degenkolb triple-dog-dares Greg Van Avermaet, Peter Sagan into facial-hair-growing contest, all three eliminated for season in training crashes when elaborately styled moustaches tangle into derailleurs; Movistar demands iconic Koppenberg cobbles be replaced with giant marshmallows. Still won't win on 'em, though!

March: Classics time! Entire Quick Step Wolfpack hunted down, eaten by UCI Team Jurassic Park's reconstituted alpha-predator Tyrannosaurus Rexpack; Milano-Sanremo's cancelled landslide-covered Poggio climb back on when Andre Greipel climbs off bike, uses pinkie finger to clear 840,000 metric tons of boulders, debris from road with one poke. Go go Gorillaaaaaaaaa!

April: Oh yeah, it's more cobbles, baby! Alaphilippe completes Fleche-Wallone hat trick when other riders figure "lay off him, it's not like he's gonna win the Tour de France anyway";  Sagan wins Paris-Roubaix while writing autobiography, scuba diving in the Bahamas, commentating Giro d'Italia and assisting fan in labor on roadside to deliver baby girl while popping wheelie across finish line.  Take *that*, van der Poel!

May: It's the Giro it's the Giro it's the Giro! No contenders for maglia ciclamino as confused sprinters all show up for defunct Amgen EPO Tour of California instead; Landa tricked into skipping Tour, riding Giro despite record number of time-trial kilometers as race organizers assure him "crono" really means "giant pile o' super-steep mountain stages;" Nibali takes GC after shocking selfie-stick-wielding nimrod out of way with cattle prod on brutal stage 20 climb to Sestriere. Ah, the sweet (tifoso) yelp of victory!

June: pre-Tour preparations! Flailing arachnid Froome to secluded barnyard to cheer up lonely pig with witty web messages, lays egg sac, 400 mini-Froomes emerge in time to swarm France, terrorizing arriving peloton; Alexander Kristoff out of Tour when gains 64 kilograms in one week due to UAE nutritionist's controversial "barrel-o'-pork lard" diet. Oh, well, who wants the Champs-Elysees anyway?

July: It's the Grand Boucle! Women's peloton dons wigs, pornstaches, completes 14 stages before someone figures out "hey, that's not Viviani in that sprint"; Egan Bernal fails to defend Tour de France title after new teammate Geraint Thomas generously offers to do his laundry, mistakenly uses itching powder instead of detergent for 21 consecutive days, causing extremely distracting irritation in sensitive areas; Olympic women's road race shortened to 50 yard loop around parking lot because "the hell with Mount Fuji, you delicate flowers can't possibly even handle *this*." !@#$ all y'all!

August: The fabulous Vuelta begins! Extreme Weather Protocol invoked, Stage 4 cancelled after Belgian UCI exec opines, "my, it's hot out here!" as Stage 6 Ice Age-inducing meteor strike wallops peloton; Fundacion Euskadi bags 13 consecutive high-mountain stage wins; Primoz Roglic stripped of second consecutive title for whanging journalist who asks him about his prior sporting career upside head with custom 10-foot jumping ski. Ouch!

September: It's the Worlds, baby! Toms Skujins 50 meters from historic World Championship road race win when distracted off-course by passing frites truck; UCI declines to broadcast "boring" women's race in favor of endless-loop 6-hour repeat of empty pre-race men's podium, Vos, van Vleuten commandeer camera moto, satellite feed, race entire thing again for swooning fans worldwide. !@#$ all y'all!

October: Late-season roundup! Operation Dumb!@# nabs 13 Austrian cyclists who all retired in 1989 anyway; Nibali takes Il Lombardia after declaring "FFS, we can't let that geezer Valverde back on the podium"; Landa announces 5 year contract with some ungrateful team that's going to screw him, *again*.

November: Vacation time! Ineos to unnamed doctor's house for three-week do--uh, dodgeball tournament; Vino sends Astana boys to "WHEREVER THE HELL I TELL YOU TO GO, !@#DAMMIT'; AG2R heads for fun in the sun at--aw, it's not gonna help 'em, wherever it is!

December: Team kits revealed! Quintana debuts--wait, is he still even *riding*?; EF infuses LSD into psychedelic fabric, entire squad on massive trip during promotional photo shoot; Jumbo-Visma team runs screaming when manufacturer delivers kit made from actual bees. I said "look like" them, numbnuts!

Well, there's your Year in Preview--onwards to 2020, and don't say I didn't warn you!