It's the 2013 Racejunkie Awards!

The Velo D'Or? Eh. The Paris-Roubaix cobblestone? Yawn. That big giant trophy you get for winning the Tour de France? Shrug. Yes, now it's time for the big awards show of the cycling season, the incredibly prestigious, highly anticipated (and universally ignored) 2013 Racejunkie Awards! Winners: if you claim it, enjoy a bitchin' custom racejunkie cap, as well as the eternal glory you've earned. Losers: well, you're probably better off not winning here anyway. Therefore, without further ado:

Cyclist o' 2013: Let's cut right to the chase: look, Nibali's bangin'. Froome's fab (okay, well Fabian's fab, but anyway). And Cav of course is awesome. But on road, mountain, cross, and trike, Marianne Vos is simply the best rider in the peloton today. Or yesterday. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Bow, bow before the Vos!

Kick In the Nuts/Punch In the Face/Wedgie of All Time Award: dear we love Euskaltel-Euskadi, really gone, brilliant wee climbers, unique Basque identity, smashing team kit, and fanatic Orange Army, and all. Waaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Good Deeds Never Go Unpunished Award: so impassioned (if ill-timed) Lance defender Chris Horner wins the Vuelta at age Moses, is immediately surrounded by doping suspicions, and what does he do? Yep, proudly releases his blood values. And what happens then? Nope, it sure wasn't pretty! Shoulda just hidden in your hotel room with a pile o' McNuggets 'til it all blew over, I guess...

Dope(r) of the Year: yep, Giro poz Mauro Santambrogio had this one in the bag, at least til Mick Rogers got taken out by a tainted Chinese cow not a week ago. Dammit, can't we at least keep it to riders I don't *like* for heck's sake?

Fan Antics o' 2013 Prize: yeah, there was that panda guy, and the usual contingent of screaming half-nekkid mankini banana-hammocks getting in the riders' way at the Tour, but this year, it was the rowdy beer-swillin'--and sharin'!--fans at the Dutch corner on the Alpe d'Huez. Here, Adam Hansen grabs a cold one:

TMI Award: Sure, dopers have pulled a lot of disgusting stunts in order to gain an edge. But what we *really* didn't need to hear was Michael "the Chicken" Rasmussen's claim that a then-Rabobank bus driver nestled a buncha EPO right up against his nuttal region to evade the narcs. Needless to say, successor squad Belkin quickly put the kibosh on to any further investigation into the matter. Thankfully!

Comeback o' the Year (Not) Award: Well, Wiggins was the 2012 Tour champ, so he didn't really have anything to come back from, which is good, because he didn't. But Andy Schleck? Oh, he was *so* taking the Tour! Or a stage. Or a one-day race. Or at least finishing one. Or maybe just getting to the start line sometime...

Over/Under, Over/Under Prize: oh, Orica-Greenedge. At the Tour de France, the team bus goes *under* the finish-line banner, not *over* it. D'oh!

Total Organizer !@#$up of 2013 Corollary Award: they're going to the original finish line. No, it's 2k back. No, it's the original finish again. The completely befoozled race organizers at the Tour. Make up your freakin' minds and convey it clearly to the teams already, so these boys even know if or when they're supposed to sprint!

Portrait of Dorian Grey Award: his dashing hipster facade belied the haggard, tortured trainwreck within. Brad Wiggins, this one's for you!

Icicle, Icicle, Icicle Race Award: Okay, we're used to the occasional freezefest in the Giro, even the Tour. But half the GC dropping out of the beautiful Vuelta coated in ice like grisly popsicles? I'm just glad any o' these guys survived!

PR Disaster of 2013: jeez, Lance, I didn't think it was *possible* for you to be more of an unctuous, self-serving tool than you already were. But then, you blabbed on Oprah. My bad!

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar: Women's cycling is *done* taking any !@#$, honey, and now, they demand the Tour de France, and every other race--from sponsorship to paychecks to organization to sheer kilometers--they deserve. Women's Cycling Association, this one's for you!

My Boss is a Bigger Nutwhack Than Your Boss Award: sure, Vino's crazy, which is why, among many other reasons, we still love him. But Oleg Tinkov, man--that's a whole 'nother level of wingnut. Am I the only one really psyched for 2014?

Crap Mechanical of All Time Award: Alejandro Valverde, absolutely blown outta the water on a crosswindy stage at the Tour. Still, he does get major class-act points for subsequently throwing his considerable power behind young untested Nairo Quintana. At least 'til he bushwhacked Purito Rodriguez at the Worlds!

Ride o' the Year (Thrill o' Victory Edition): yes, Fabian Cancellara's win at Paris-Roubaix was a beautiful--if almost inevitable--thing. But for sheer passion and love of the sport--even if he did have a huge crash near the line to partially thank for it--John Degenkolb's stage 5 win at the Giro, and subsequent collapse, was a jump-outta-yer-seater. Complimenti!

Ride o' the Year (Agony of Defeat Edition): a desperate Tony Martin, caught seconds before the line at stage 6 of the Vuelta. Valiant--but *so* agonizing to watch!

And, Last But Not Least, Lovable Legal Nitpick o' 2013 Prize: no, not that dissembling wanker Lance--it's our swoonworthy wreck-on-wheels Alexander Vinokourov, not so much taking issue with the allegations that he bribed himself his 2010 Liege-Bastogne-Liege win from Kolobnev, but pissed as hell that some thieving amoral jackwagon apparently hacked his personal e-mail to get the proof. Oh Vino--I don't know if you're best or worst thing to happen to cycling in this generation, but dang, you are by far the most fun!

Well, them's mine, and if I missed anything that ought've been include, feel free to write it in. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to the hijinks of 2014--the new season's sure got a lot to aspire to!

Welcome to the Mountains (With Apologies to Guns'n'Roses) #lavuelta

Welcome to the mountains
We've got fun'n'games
We'll climb each one of the Pyrenees
Before we know the names
We are the teammates that will chase
Down any one you need
But if you treat us badly, captain
We'll screw you for GC

In the mountains, welcome to the mountains
Won't you be my, my, my domestique?
Oooh, I'm gonna make you scream!

Welcome to the mountains
We take it day by day
Some asshat running next to me
smacked his camera in my face
And you've got a really great team doc
Very hard to beat
You can have the stage win if you want
But you better not take the GC

In the mountains, welcome to the mountains
That crash is gonna make you bleed, bleed
Ooooooh, now you're gonna lose speed!

Welcome to the mountains
It gets worse here every day
If the weather turns your nuts to ice
It's just the price you pay
And you're a very tough DS
Very hard to please
But if I blow it, Vino, we know
You're gonna break my knees

in the mountains, welcome to the mountains
I better get the, the, the red jersey
Oooh, I'm gonna watch you freeze!

And when you're high you always...gotta safely come down...so down...I'm down....aiiiiggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

You know where you are?
You're in the mountains baby,
You're gonna diiiieeeeeeeeeeee
In the mountains, welcome to the mountains
Hope the soigneur's got what you need, need
In the mountains, welcome to the mountains
The pain'll make you plead, plead
In the mountains, welcome to the mountains
Shoulda taken that feed, feed
In the mountains, welcome to the mountains
They're gonna bring you down....Huuuaaahhhhhhh!

Oh, Like You Don't Miss Him Too: The Grimy, Thrilling Pleasure of Jan Ullrich

Look, before I get a ton of crap from, well, both my faithful readers, let me reiterate--*again*--that doping is bad. Really, really bad. It was bad when early-1900s Tour riders were smoking cigarettes to "clear their lungs," it was midcentury bad when guys were popping amphetamines like tic-tacs, it was wicked bad--and deeply disgusting to boot--when boys like Tyler Hamilton and Riccardo Ricco' were whizzing black and damn near exploding their livers with botched transfusions, and it still ain't sporting today. But if you can still say with a pure heart that Jan Ullrich on a bike wasn't the most just plain fun to see on a bike since, well, that unctuous filthy mastermind Alexandre Vinokourov, honey, you are either so noble that a caffeinated energy gel is the food of the devil or you are Pat "Dick" McQuaid on an implausible-deniability post-Lance-sycophant faux-ingratiating total-bull!@#$-artist last-ditch-o'-glory-desperate-UCI-presidency-seeking-shameless-power-whoring-campaignfest. Yes, after breaking years of post-downward-spiral silence--on freakin' Lance's doping, for heck's sake--the gun-shy Jan has finally spoken out on his own. Sure, it's that same cheap level-playing-field just-business-ma'am self-congratulatory rationalization that's egregiously failed everyone else and screwed generations of riders unwilling to put their health or integrity at risk--but let's review Jan on a bike, shall we?

He was erratic. He was uncontrolled. He insisted in grinding away in some ridiculous gear on the most inappropriate terrain because he could. He was a bratwurst-snarfing self-hosing bon vivant in the offseason, padding his gut outta contention til way later in the season than he should've been. He was a killer-instinct in motion without remotely the self-discipline he needed to actually back it up. He was a screeching brakeless train on a half-!@#ed bridge just waiting for a derailment. And he was way, waaaay, waaaaay more entertaining than that damn joyless robot and his perfectly-pharmaceutically-tuned tick-tock domestiques who beat his !@# every year like clockwork.

So what's he doing now, after what must have surely been an agonizing--if hardly sympathetic--Floydian several years watching equally-drugged-up compatriots complete--hell, even evade entirely--some penny-ante wrist-slap ban and return to loving accolades lucrative careers and a completely whitewashed place in history while he almost alone freakishly bore the blame for an entire generation's destruction of his sport? He's teaching little kids cycling, without a single carnival-quack Millaresque self-serving camera-slut wah-wah that's so bizarrely succeeded in rehabbing other guys just as stupid to get caught to save himself. Mr. Ullrich, you were a very bad boy indeed, and there's no justifying how you cheated the good intentions and honest regimens of--hell, certainly *somebody*. And yep, having opened the door on the obvious years after the party's broke up and gone home, it's probably better--and clearly more comfortable--for everyone, except of course the still-wildly-adored-but-more-promptly-shameful dopers that still make a handsome living off of DSing the clean new stars, if you just chill back into obscurity after this. But having so loved it back then, it'd be even more hypocritical to rewrite our own complicit history now. !@#$, Jan, you were fun to watch!

Holy moly, is this a dirty dirty parade of crooks in this clip: Enjoy--even if you won't admit it!

UCI, Opposing Doping "Since the Dark Period of Lance Armstrong"--Because It Sure Didn't Police It for !@#$ Back Then

Right On, UCI!: so in response to a cool $2 million lawsuit by a disgruntled cycling sponsor, UCI's come out swinging: sure, it was useless *then*, but boy oh boy, are they on the warpath against doping *now*! The proof? Yep, UCI's...uh, investigating Alexandre Vinokourov for allegedly buying the 2010 Liege-Bastogne-Liege from Kolobnev. Take that, dopers! Y'know, leaving aside that UCI's got more important things to do at the moment--like, dissolve--I think you gotta *admire* Vino for his open-minded ability to change with the times. You can dope? You dope. You get accused of doping? You tell 'em to !@#$ off *and* threaten to rat 'em out. You can't dope anymore? You *buy* yourself a damn Monument! Look, not to get all political here, but isn't this the very essence of the free market we all know and love? So Kolobnev decides it's more in his economic self-interest to take a giant pile o' cash from Vinokourov than to wait and see if his Liege win pays off with a better contract next seas--um, notices that he's actually got a wicked leg cramp 6 centimeters from the line, big whoop! Oh, Vino, skeezebag of my heart, the peloton is gonna be *so* dull without you--Cav sending his goons up to bushwhack the competition just *can't* compare! Here, the fateful "win":

The Dumbest Freakin' Anti-Doping Idea *Ever*: and that's sayin' a *lot*, as Rabobank rider Juan Manuel Garate suggests that the peloton police itself, mainly by the deeply chastened elder riders thoroughly teaching the innocent younger tots what not to do. Like what, how not to safely store a bag o' yer own blood in the hotel-room mini-bar or how not to apply a drug patch to your nuts? Damn, between Indurain and Contador and Valverde and (sob!) Samu supporting Armstrong, and now Garate weighing in, the Spaniards are just *begging* to be brought down by the narcs nowadays...

Michele, My Belle: meantime, congrats to presumptive Giro champ Michele Scarponi, finally 'fessing up to taking two "training tests" with notorious doping doc Ferrari back in 2010 (and we all know the peloton had already stopped doping by then), but asking for some slack on the grounds that he didn't know Ferrari was on the banned list just because, oh, skywriters traced it in smoke over every !@#$in' race since like 2002, you idiot! I gotta say though, this mighta been plausible if (1) the authorities hadn't audiotaped Ferrari tellin' you you coulda won the Giro "with a bag" and (2)the Italian cycling fed were completely lobotomized...geez, just shut the hell up while you're ahead whydontcha?

You Suck, UCI!: finally, thanks again to UCI for wrecking the career of another hardworking domestique, this time the fine Joost Posthuma, with your dumb-!@# points system that's already destroyed my darling Euskaltel. Well, Froomey, at least with Wiggo's WorldTour points you've still got some backup left for the Tour de France next year--now can UCI fix this outrageous UCImess before it's just them and Contador for the grand tours?

Oh My God, It's a Sleazemeister's Dream Come True!: Vino Takes the Gold

Diggin' It Diggin' It Diggin' It!: yes folks, we may simultaneously have our first cycling gold medal *and* positive test of the Games: after a hideously annoying Tour in which everyone was yappin' how clean they are and how clean cycling is and how clean their underpants are and how years of irritating public sobbing redeem you from being a selfish doping jackwagon, none other'n wily son of a gun Alexandre "I Will Take All You Other Lying Mother!@#$ers *Down*!" Vinokourov has just taken the gold not only from a group of sprinter squads that just wouldn't lend each other some legs, but an incredibly exciting but completely miscalculating breakaway that utterly underestimated Vinokourov's faultless if almost impossibly gutsy tactical sense. And sure, it would've been great if Rigoberto Uran had taken it--but where the hell was he looking when Vino took off? Anyway, sincere congrats to Wiggo and the rest of the Brits for an essentially solo job nobly done, holy moly did Greipel and the other Germans look pissed, I hope Cancellara didn't bust his collarbone again, really sad for Boonen's crap mechanical, I *do* hate to see the Americans looking so dejected, but right on Vinokourov for taking it for the geezers--and man, I hope you're clean! I mean, I'm sure you're enough to pass. But I truly hope you haven't dishonored the gold--so let's err on the side of honor, and give credit where it's due!

It's a Very Merry Festivus Wish List for the Peloton!

Yes, as we ponder the deeper spiritual meaning of the holidays by waiting in line outside stores for 36 consecutive hours for a 6am crack at a 684-inch flat-screen, gorging ourselves to excess on marshmallow Santas, and shoving little old ladies outta the way in a toy-store death-match to grab the latest Teach-Me-To-Curse Elmo, it seems to me our beloved cyclists deserve a treat this year, so I hereby bring you my Merry Everything Gift List for the Peloton:

Tom Boonen: Paris-Roubaix, the great Hell of the North. 'Cause not only will it prove he's still got it, he can whack all his foolish naysayers upside the head with that bad-!@# cobblestone. Better quit pickin' on him, Lefevere!

Juan Jose Cobo: a contract. A freakin' contract. How can the freakin' winner of the freakin' Vuelta a Espana not have a freakin' contract!

Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen: a network. A freakin' network. How can they stick you guys on the butt-end of 3am on the schedule after bass-fishing on their crappy network!

Johnny Hoogerland: a teflon coating for his entire bod. Try scorchin' me with razor wire through *this* !@#$, suckers!

Jens Voigt: a gilt-and-marble statue so huge it can easily be seen from outer space; immortality; and the title, duties, and aggregate powers of Supreme Ruler of the Universe. A bonus lifetime supply of coffee if you bail on your contract with RadioSkank, Jens!

Andy Schleck: May the Time Trial Fairy descend in a flutter of glitter as you peacefully sleep on your pillow and, with a flick of her golden wand, give you wings for that most troublesome of disciplines. That, or the Giro, 'cause even *she* don't have the power to grant you the Tour!

Alberto Contador: a year-long membership to the Organic Meat of the Month Club. Oh sure, mock it now--but can you say "paper trail"?

Bjarne Riis: a career. 'Cause if Alberto goes down, he ain't gonna have one. See, I can be nice!

Thor Hushovd: a shining suit of armor. Why? Between Gilbert and Cadel, your !@# is gonna get beat on this season, and you're gonna need all the protection you can get!

Jeannie Longo: honey, after that doping scam you pulled on the cowardly enabler French, just be glad it ain't still the French Revolution--you remember what happened to those clowns, right?

Floyd Landis: a cloak of invisibility. Come to think of it, that's actually more a present for *us*. Can't hurt next time you're anywhere near Lance Armstrong though, I guess!

Ivan Basso: what do you give a guy who's already the patriarch of the Cutest Family on the Face of the Planet, the winner of two Giros, and looking forward to a wholesome retirement to the family blueberry farm? I'm gonna go big here, and wish him the Tour. Redeem yourself once and for all, Ivan--it's your last chance to prove it shoulda always been yours anyway!

Riccardo Ricco': lucky for you, Santa don't do beat-downs. You wanna be a bartender, have at--a Mixmaster's Guide, and be grateful for it!

Alexandre Vinokourov: whatever he wants. Or he'll sink your !@@damn feet in concrete and toss you to the bottom of the harbor, you peon!

Mark Cavendish: this semi-civilized diplomacy !@#$ you've adopted of late is, to be frank, dull as dirt. You got one free day to bushwhack your rivals, insult yer leadout train, and dope-smack everyone who's ever dared to do you a kindness. Have at, Cav--and don't forget to shove yer best buddy into the barriers!

Last But Not Least, My Dear Reader(s): may your favorite rider score a blazing and wholly unexpected victory against the best of the best at their dream race, and do so entirely, genuinely, and unimpeachably clean. Allez allez, you studpuppy!

Alexander Vinokourov: One Wily, Dirty Mother!@#$er

I Love You, Vino!: y'know, I was actually planning to post today about Vinokourov bitching how someone, probably that techno-geek mastermind Floyd Landis, hacked into his email accounts and apparently uncovered his plot to buy out the Tour de France turn the Tour into a results-guaranteed fascist fiefdom take over Kazakhstan when he gets elected to office and throw any dissenters into some rock-breaking commie gulag, when Vino actually outdoes even himself: yes, the boy is accused of paying off Alexander Kolobnev a handsome $134,000 to throw Liege-Bastogne-Liege, which, Vinokourov quite reasonably explains in his own defense, was merely a "loan" which he totally coincidentally happened to offer Kolobnev on the run to the LBL finish line. Folks, if nothing else proves those wanker fans who hissed Vino as he won weren't a bunch of unfair doubting bitter meanie miscreants, this does. !@#$, Vino, it wasn't enough you pumped all that !@#$ into your veins, you had to buy out Kolobnev--Kolobnev?--at least show some !@#damn dignity and buy a race from Gilbert or Boonen! Oh look, here's the "win":

Just Because He's a Lying, Cheating Dirtball Doesn't Mean He's Not Right: meantime, hilarity no doubt ensues at UCI this very moment as Floyd Landis' allegation that the lab monkeys, dope testers, and entire "anti"-doping community are a bunch of favorites-playing hypocrite scum-weasels is backed up as "probable" by none other than the WADA head honcho himself, which has been a big 10-outta-10 on the "No !@#$, Sherlock"-o-meter to most of us, but still hasn't been publicly acknowledged by someone who wasn't a sore-loser whiner just pissed everyone else didn't go down with the ship besides him. Pat "Dick" McQuaid, lookin' forward to the standard denials!

Backtrack Alert!: finally, it's good luck to Andy Schleck for 2012 as he avers he might too in fact ride the Giro this coming year, which, one presumes, is not only a statement to Cadel Evans that he's not either a wuss, but also a convenient excuse for a massive meltdown choke at the 2012 Tour de France (should he need it). Well played, baby Schleck--but don't you feel kinda funny taking a page from Contador's 2011 playbook?

Your General Roundup o' the Week; and, Watch Out, Alberto!

Thooooooor!: so, nouveaux climbing freak Thor Hushovd's lookin' mighty bitchin' ahead of the Worlds, bagging a victory at the Thor of Britain as reluctant Belgian leader Philippe Gilbert predictably whomps the field in his own latest race: Yer clearly getting past those sniffles you had that were a direct result of Jonathan Vaughters horribly screwing you out of your Worlds prep at the Vuelta--Thooooooooooooooooooooor!

So Longo, See Ya, Wouldn't Want to Be Ya: meanwhile, in the latest la-la-la-I-can't-hear-you news, perpetual French champ/inspiring ageless national icon Jeannie Longo's husband is getting busted for allegedly procuring EPO from tireless drug pimp Joe Papp, and Jeannie, of late in hot water herself for evading doping controls (like that stopped UCI from, say, letting Michael Rasmussen nearly take the Tour de France before they decided to get upset over it), has reluctantly withdrawn from the Worlds to avoid getting blood-tes--um, to stand by her man. Aw, I'm not worried--I'm sure that !@#$ was her grandmother's/her dog's/mislabeled baking soda/just a little something to give the neighborhood school kids an early-morning energy boost in their juice boxes!

That's Rich: since you just can't get enough of disgusting bottom-dweller Riccardo Ricco', I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear that our hero has now sworn under oath to the Italian narcs that he never, never, never, never blood doped from his fridge, because, in fact, he did it from a bag stored in his coole--wait, am I reading this right? Anyhoo, lest you're tired of watching people actually summit *after* the rest of the peloton's had time to sign in at the start line on race day, Riccardo is promising that, like a season-ending saddlesore or an unpleasantly itchy reaction to that new chamois creme, he'll be back. Lookin' forward to it--especially since your compatriots you ripped off so many victories from must loooooooooove you so much!

Yep, I *Still* Feel Dirty: finally, it's with that warm and fuzzy feeling only truly oleaginous hypocrisy can produce that I report that Alexandre Vinokourov is back on the bike, training for Lombardy and, I presume, ready to bushwhack Alberto Contador with a buncha steel-toe-booted goons should this rumored marriage between Saxo Bank and Astana come to pass by the end of the season. If they go mano-a-mano, I know who I'm betting on--and it ain't the little twerp with the 65 Grand Tours to his name!

The Gentle Persuasions of Alexandre Vinokourov

Retire Or I'll Break Your !@#$ing Kneecaps!: yes, the Astana saga just gets curiouser and curiouser, with Astana managing to keep within the UCI rules and, totally coincidentally, retain their ProTour status with the wholly unsurprising completely voluntary retirement--not a team switch, a retirement--of jailbait quitter Roman Kiriyev, because for my money, a 24-year-old who's just recently achieved his dream career, has been riding actual races within the preceding fortnight, already grabbed a spot on a Grand Tour squad, and despite reports of serious injury has, accordingly to reliable medical reports, a "boo-boo", is just the kind of grizzled veteran whose jaded, arthritic burnout and approximately 63 road miles ridden finally caught up with and whacked 'im when he decided on his retirement "months ago." Well, nice to know ya, Roman--hope Vino didn't cry too hard when you gave him the news!

Crashes and the Dumb!@# Parents Who Cause Them: and, in the sort of crack parenting advice only someone who has personally inadvertently frozen three innocent young cactii to death during a blizzard is qualified to give, I generously offer this suggestion to tifosi everywhere: DON'T LET YOUR FREAKIN' KID RUN OUT ONTO THE COURSE AT A GRAND TOUR. Now, I understand the entirely faultless tot's impulse in dashing out on a 70kph Vuelta downhill to grab a discarded water bottle--if Jens Voigt so much as phtoofed the spit-covered nub of an empty energy gel into the gutter in front of me I'd dive for that thing mount it in platinum and parade it around my office like the Hope Diamond. But I'm old enough to *choose* to be that stupid, and certainly to wait til the peloton goes by. Thankfully, both child and the very worried Kurt Asle Arvesen escaped with mere bumps and bruises, and will be just fine. But *think*, dear parents--we wouldn't allow Junior to skip out onto the fifty-yard line during the last damn play of the Superbowl, would we? Riiigghhhtt!

Punk-!@# Move of the Week: fine, David Moreno wasn't thrilled Chris Anker Sorensen attacked, but to my eyes, it was an *extremely* punk-!@# move on Tuesday for him to wheel-suck Sorenson for 3k then, nicely rested, blitz around him for the stage win. Meantime, I remain in deep denial about we love Igor Anton's disastrous two-day bonk and meekly confessed lack of form, because (1) of course Igor'll ride right back into it in a day or two (shut up! will too! go to hell!) and (2) while GC contenders like Rodriguez and Nibali are foolishly crossing him off their list, Euskaltel revelation Mikel Nieve will smack the smirk off their faces with a coupla smashingly time-gaining stage wins (shut up! will too! go to hell!). Keeeeep dreamin' there Vincenzo--the boys in orange are comin' up!

Oldies But Goodies: finally, it's just darn great the last two days to watch the usually slow-n-steady Levi Leipheimer accelerate like a beast to take a stage and big George Hincapie crush the break today while certain European riders, hampered, as Cadel Evans noted, by a distinct lack of that pesky "oxygen", cracked after a few brave, if futile, efforts of their own. Yes, yes, I know who George and Levi used to ride for, you paranoid, mean-minded haters--lalalalalalalalala, I can't hear you, lalalalalalala!

The Answer to My Dirty, Dirty Little Prayers

Look Who's Back!: oh, yeah, watch out, mother!@#$ers. It's Alexandre Vinokourov, and whatever his reasons, he's not done with you yet. A snapped femur is nothing to a man who'd rip it out and beat you over the head with it rather than retire from the peloton in ignominy. He's coming back for a final showdown at Lombardy, and this time, he's not landing in a !@#damn ditch until he's stood on the top of his final podium and he's pedaling home to his hotel at 60kph in a power-drunk haze. I know you want it too, Gilbert. So come and take it from him. If. You. Dare. See you in October, baby!

BMC Ya In Hell, Gilbert!: geez, from Cadel's sharp slap at Thor to know and keep his place, to Hushovd's very warm welcome of his good friend Gilbert to the squad on the condition that he sticks to the Ardennes classics and doesn't start dreaming of sugarplums and Paris-Roubaix til Thor's long been rockin' on the porch reminiscing about yesteryear, the fireworks just keep coming at now-superteam BMC, with Classics aspirant Greg Van Avermaet feeling just a tiiiiiiiiny bit suspicious of BMC's professed commitment to his own personal development with the addition of Philippe to his happy home. Oh, I'd not worry, Greg--between Thor, Cadel, and Philippe marking each other like dead enemies at every race, they won't even *notice* if you escape up the road for a win!

And We're Off!: yes, the fabulous Vuelta is on the road, and with the usual twitchy freak assortment of crashes, mechanicals, and disastrous bonks for the prologue in the rear-view, it's time to coddle the flatlanders before Tyler, Cav, and co. seriously start reconsidering bike-doping when the race starts hitting even its more modest hills. In the meantime, they're off to a surprisingly fine start, with Tommeke charging just a bit too early (but still looking great--come on Tom!) as that nasty little uphill bit in, and Chris Sutton capping a smashingly strong finish with a detailed individual shout-out to his teammates for the set-up as Benna-Jet of all folks bags the red jersey. Here's hot-off-the-presses spectator footage: Anyway, I'd just like to point out that Euskaltel-Euskadi did *not* lose as much time in the TTT as might've been well expected, and Menchov, you can just start shining Anton's bike shoes for him right now. He likes 'em nice and bright, so get started already, punk!