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 Incredibly Prestigious 2019 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie Awards!

Seeing red--but traumatized because it's not the leader's jersey?  Bereft with the final Grand Tour done and dusted and only the Worlds and Il Lombardia left before the bleak slow descent into winter?  Well, cheer up, Debbie Downer, because it ain't over yet--yep, it's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2019 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie Awards!  The schwag, should anyone burst through the impenetrable fog of my meaningless obscurity to claim it--I swear, I'm good for it!--(1) eternal internet shame (or glory!) for some future cyber-archaeologist to unearth 5,000 years from now; (2) a stunning custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap to show off yer notoriety and adorn yer noggin; (3) a passel o' handsome racejunkie stickers to thwap on the bike of some loathed rival; and (4) a genuine indeterminate-metal-and-rocklike-base-material statute thingamajig foraged from a local second-hand shop, BUT WITH YOUR NAME AND PRIZE WRITTEN ON IT.  Suck on *that*, cheapskate Oscars goody bags!

Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Individual Edition): Valverde against his own teammate and co-captain Nairo on stage--wait, was that 3? No, 6? No, 19? No, all of 'em!  And I gotta say, I enjoyed every nasty, backstabbing pedal-stroke.  Alejandro Valverde, you wily s.o.b., you never, ever fail to disappoint!

Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Team Edition): Yeah, I *know*, Marc Soler is an upstart little snot and if far greater riders can cheerfully pull off to the side of the road to surrender a bike or wait for their team leader, then why couldn't *this* egomaniacal twerp?  Because he was right.  I don't care if Nairo managed to have the legs to win a mountain stage because he's spent the last 6 years saving energy glomming onto everybody else's wheels--it was a d#!k move to drag another team's leader up to Soler, *then* spin by just enough to take the stage but not even grab the red jersey as a consolation prize.  And no, Soler's scripted apology and his DS' public admonition of the naive wee thing doesn't fix it.  You *suck*, Movistar!

Listen All Y'all It's Sabotaaaaaage! Prize: And, in a spectacular three-fer, leave it to Movistar to only pull their !@#$ together as a cohesive squad to attack race leader Roglic when he was delayed by a giant crash that not only took out half the Vuelta field, but the Tour and Giro's just past to boot, as the entire peloton, gasping behind their hankies and pearls in horror at the unwritten etiquette breach, erupted in gestures and outrage, mostly after, of course, they went along and put down the hammer too to their benefit.   On the plus side, Valverde, who at age 346 certainly ain't stupid, totally coincidentally managed to screw over his chief teammate-rival as well.  Damn, these clowns really *did* deserve to win the Team Competition!

Ice Ice, Baby Prize: Hailstones on Stage 9, forcing these fragile stick figures to beg for cover from any team car, overhang, roadside bar, or thornbush they could find, with nary a peep from the weather narcs in charge of stopping the race.  What is this, the !@#$ing Classics? Drench 'em bake 'em or freeze 'em, sure--but *really* race organizers, letting the poor things get pummeled to death by Nature's evil golf balls?  *That's* too much to demand!

Crash o' the Race (Holy Crap!): Think the stage 1 team time trial was gonna be hard on the riders? Well, we haven't even gotten there yet, as the Euskadi-Murias team car overcooks a corner during the recon and goes screeching into a barrier then face-plants into an actual building.  Luckily, it being the recon, the crowd hadn't yet filtered in and no spectators were hurt, and the team car guys emerged with nothing worse than bruises. Whew!

Crash o' the Race (Near Miss): As if the Great Gardening Flood of 2019 didn't cause carnage enough, with Jumbo-Visma and UAE completely wiping out and throwing both their bodily integrity and race prospects into total chaos before the race even got to the Stage 1 finish line, the aftermath damn near took out a third squad too, as Jumbo Visma's team car, understandably caught up by mechanics frantically trying to get their riders and their wrecked bikes off the tarmac and replaced with rides that weren't in pieces, was still stuck on the road, unfortunately tucked invisibly at the corner right as the unknowing Quick Step boys came flying through.  Amazingly, they managed to dodge the enormous additional solid obstacle, and even further disaster was averted.  Oh, my--good reflexes, Wolfpack!

The Little Engine That Could (Until He Couldn't) Award: poor Fabio Aru.  Once hailed as Cycling's Next Great Grand Tour Winner, then ground down by the initially adoring, then ruthless, Italian press into a self-defeating insecure nub, then buoyed by the identification, treatment of, and actually quite impressive recovery from a power-sucking iliac problem, only to look on fine returning form for this year's Vuelta then ensuing exhaustion after initial hampering from Stage 1's surfin' safari.  Still, major points for grinta.  Wishing you a better 2020 Aru!

Dope-Smack o' the Vuelta (Metaphorical): Enraged Tour de France reject Philippe Gilbert's textbook breakaway win on the vicious, and pretty unsuitable for him frankly, Stage 14.  Oh, and he grabbed Stage 17 too.  Sure, Quick Step gets some of the glory--but take *that* for screwing me in July, you b*stards!

Dope-Smack o' the Vuelta (Literal): Tao Geoghagen Hart and Ruben Guerrero, so pissed at their jointly allowing Fuglsang to take the stage on a breakaway that spindly cyclist fisticuffs ensued after the finish line.  Note: the asshat who stole Tao's Garmin off his bike *during his podium ceremony* the other day is a complete and utter tool.  Repent, jerkface, and give it back before he finds you--you've been fairly warned he can go all Bouhanni on your !@# !

Doping Bust o' the Race: no, silly, it's not some game-changing multi-squad scandalpalooza PED ring, or a huge payoff for UCI's current strategy of vaguely waving an iPad someone's using to play "Fortnite" in the general direction of a bike shop in hopes of not discovering a well-hidden high-tech motor, or finally figuring out whatever-the-hell-they're-all-on-lately that makes 'em look like they've  been sucked dry by a 40-foot deer tick--it's because some dimwit who never heard of the word "tarpaulin" didn't think to cover his substantial roof-top weed farm from the indifferent eye of the race helicopter, which gave the local non-cycling narcs all the evidence they needed for a marijuana bust.  Wow, glad we've managed to bring integrity back to pro cycling again--great job, UCI!.

Domestique o' the Race: For a guy who doesn't owe Quick Step jack for leaving him outta the Tour de France this year, he sure knows how to give back anyway.  Double stage winner Philippe Gilbert, who tenderly shepherded young Vuelta newb James Knox the entirety of Stage 20 and right across the line after the poor kid suffered an excruciating crash the day before, in the helpful company of fellow bad-!@# big name Zdenek Stybar.  Gilbert, we can always count on you to go out in style!

Fan !@#$wit Award: aw, this one's almost *too* easy.  In a race where enthusiastic-but-polite fans are most likely to try for a selfie with a beloved hero *before* the stage, or at worst frantically fly a Basque flag a considerate two meters from a dangerous date with your wheel, one astonishingly clueless--if admirably diligent--landscaper surpassed even the most idiotic, vulgar, camera-whoring Tour de France speedo-screamer by unleashing a truly Biblical deluge right on a tricky corner of the opening Team Time Trial course that managed to turn an already-technical stage into something outta the final scene in "Point Break" where Patrick Swayze surfs himself to death in the HUGEST WAVE IN ALL OF HUMAN HISTORY. The casualties?  Oh, just a surplus of stage hunters, indispensable domestiques, road captains, and 6 or 8 valid GC contenders--nothing enough gauze to shroud Buckingham palace, a few dozen gallons of alcohol, 8400 tubes of antibiotic ointment, and 35,000 meters of surgical stitching couldn't cure!

Grim Reaper Prize: to be honest, this is a sport that relies on outsize personalities to jack up the crowd and attack valuable sponsor Euros, so to expect Cipollini-like stud-muffinry or Saganesque joie de vivre outta everybody seems a little, well, unfair to the introverts in our midst.  So let's cut overall champion Primoz Roglic a little slack if he's not going all Suzie Sunshine for every interview, podium, and red jersey donned. The sole exception--his rolling cheerful last-day chat with Valverde, who since he helped shut down every threat from Movistar for 3 weeks without Roglic's boys having to break a sweat, damn well deserved one.  Go back to grumping all you want Rogla--the trophy you bagged today shines brightly enough on its own!

And Last But Not Least, Breakout Star of Vuelta 2019: 3 stages. One Young Rider's jersey.  And a tactical sense far beyond his approximate age of a nursery-school newbie.  Tadej Pogacar, this final one's for you--and enjoy it while it lasts, because you're a marked man from now on!

Well folks, that's the Vuelta.  Now let's take a deep breath, kick back the rest of the Cava, and get ready for the World Championships!

It's Yer Vuelta a Espana Jaysus *Now* What the Hell's Going On Out There Rest Day Dos Roundup!

Whew, were *those* exhausting climbing days--to watch on our end, anyway!  Luckily, we've *all* earned a good day's rest.  So now that we're down to the final push, what's the state of this crazy-!@# race?  This!

1. I don't care *how* many stages they win or who they smack around on GC--Movistar is still one !@#$ed-up squad.  Valverde continues to attack Quintana like antibiotics on sinus infection.  Soler's washed his hands of the whole lot of you bastards, with a brief pause to do Bala a solid, after his public rebuke from his DS.  And your general strategy appears to be Every Man for Himself Because There's a Zombie Apocolypse, with a frisson of Chased By Screaming Human Steroids in Bondage Gear In A Mad Max Movie and a subtle whiff of Holy !@#$ How Many Times Are They Gonna Remake "Halloween" Before They Run Outta Bodies?  Geez, maybe it *is* better Unzue sent Landa over to the Tour of Britain to brush up on gardening tips! Still, with Valverde firmly in second on the podium, and claiming fatigue which you know means he's waiting to bushwhack anyone in his way by this weekend, you can hardly write Movistar's whatever-the-hell-they-call-it off as totally ineffective--and with the commentators uniformly confounded by every half kilometer, you sure can't say it isn't entertaining!

2. (Minor) Celebrity Deathmatch: Ineos' Tao Geoghegan Hart and Katusha's Ruben Guerrero. Okay, so they blew the break and Fuglsang took the day--but what was *that* nasty little slap-fight after the line about?

3. Wolfpack My !@#--yes, that dashing breakaway victory was textbook PhilGil, but as a giant "!@#$ you for screwing me in July!"

4. It's All a Giant Slovenian Conspiracy.  Didn't you see--gasp!--that wily fist-bump between Roglic and Pogacar?  And the only reason everyone's clutching their pearls in horror is because no one *they* want to win has actually gotten their !@#$ together first.  Just because our guys are busy eating their own young doesn't mean those two can't make some sense!

5. Anyone else a little weirded out that Jumbo-Visma is suddenly a GC squad?  'Cause I'm about to start betting on Euskadi-Murias for the sprints!

6. It's Deja-Vu All Over Again: Come on.  I can't be the *only* one who thought Jakob Fuglsang already bagged a bucket o' Grand Tour stage wins!

7. !@#$in' Hell, Froome! Yep, *another* hospital photo op, this one proving that peeling a potato is apparently a slaughterhouse compared to crashing down a descent at rocket speed.  Either go away or get popped once and for all, we can't stand this crap any more!

8. If You're Lookin' To Score...I think the race helicopter guys are gonna be doing a *lot* more random buzzing of rooftops from now on, whether they're on the race course or not!

9. Vinokourov Isn't Done With You Mother!@#$ers Yet.  He's just bagged the Ironman World Championships in France in his age group--you think he doesn't still have a few scores to settle with the *cyclists* who got in his way?

Well, that's yer quickie review.  Tomorrow, it's an officially-classified "flat" stage, which means the sprinters are gonna let the break dangle to the very last millimeter before they decide if they're gonna cause chaos right to the line.  Onwards and (sorry, sprinters) upwards!

It's Yer Vuelta a Espana What the !#$! Just Happened Out There Rest Day Uno Roundup!

Look, so far this Vuelta's begun in chaos, and it's probably gonna !@#damn well *end* in chaos.  But there's a whole lot to keep in mind as we head into what's sure to be a mind-boggling Week 2, so to set us up right, what'd we learn--and what were we forced to unlearn--so far?  This!

1. Movistar is One Completely !@#$ed Up Squad.  Carapaz crashes out on an easy-money crit before the race even begins. Quintana wins on a sprint stage.  Valverde spends the next few stages attacking him.  Nairo's the team leader. Valverde's the team leader. They're both the team leader. Soler makes one freakin' move on his own behalf looks set to win the stage Unzue dope-smacks him over the radio and everyone's pissed at Soler for being pissed when Nairo drags another team's guy up to him to screw him then takes second place and the red jersey.  Nairo celebrates Unzue anointing him King of the Vuelta by formally announcing his three-year deal with Arkea-Samsic taking half the squad with him.  They've got an entire full-time paid soigneur solely dedicated to make sure Nairo Alejandro and Soler don't (1) spike each other's drinks with easy-to-catch doping substances (2) pulverize each other's primary and backup bike frames with a sledgehammer when nobody's looking or (3) inflict the mother of all nut-crunching race-ending wedgies by swapping the other guy's bib shorts out with a toddler's extra-small diaper chamois. And somehow, this pack of infighting freaks is *still* atop the Best Team rankings.  Kumbaya--now !@#$ you! No, !@#$ *you*! No...

2. EF Needs Divine Intervention. I dearly love EF for many reasons, not least because their team kit gives me all the happy Lampre Barbie Sparkle Rainbow Dream Unicorn Princess feels.  Nonetheless, even I didn't, it'd take a stone cold killer not to feel any sympathy for these guys after they first almost lost Rigoberto Uran to a crash, then lost not just him but everybody else to an entirely different gigantic crash, *then* took poor remaining GC-savior Tejay Van Garderen out with a busted finger, and now, apparently, their team bus has been commandeered by Satan and is careening around Spain without even a visible driver at the wheel.  So I'm not a religious person, but I implore me, you, and all people, plants, meme-friendly piano-playing housecats, and weird single-cell indeterminate life forms on this planet to invoke whatever gods, goddesses, spirits, ghosts, tree fairies, mermaids, selkies, gargoyles and garden gnomes you may worship to just *please*, *please* help the few remaining guys left upright on this squad to (1) make it outta here in one piece and (2) for just mercy's sake, somehow end up with a nice bonus stage win.  By Grabthar's Hammer, by the suns of Worvan, you shall be avenged!

3. In the Annals of Fan !@#$wittery, This Guy's Got the Guinness World Record. Smoke bombs? Cry me a river. Flags in my face? Wah, wah. Knock my actual head off my body with a selfie stick? Yap, yap. But deciding that "hey, *right* as the team trial is going by on incredibly unstable bikes with incredibly nervous riders on an incredibly twisty course is the *exact* right time to flood my garden *and* the course dicking around filling some kiddie pool" is a *whole* 'nother level of assclown.  Honesty, do you any of you dimwits even *know* there's a race on in your town?

4. By Comparison, a Race Moto Crashing Seems Pretty Tame, Right? Forget the riders staying upright: now we got the ground-level camera guys spinning out like some drunken dumb!@# inbred teenager with a rustbucket '67 Mustang doing donuts in a 7-11 parking lot.  Or hey, why not decide to outright drive into the line of a GC contender on a tricky descent?  Um, you do *know* it's not the *motos* trying to win the Vuelta a Espana, don't you?

5. Weather Protocol My !@#!: Sure, you can't *see* the race because a freakin' Sharknado has descended on the Basque Country and Jaws has taken out the race helicopter, but trust me, it's windy out there.  And rainy.  And would you enjoy the ride any *more* than you are if there's an entire Biblical plague's worth of hailstones dropped on six square meters of the course? Oh, hail no!

6. Geez, We've Barely Gotten Into the GC Discussion Yet! Yeah, that's because there isn't any, at least not any that makes any sense because half of them were wiped out in off-camera pileups, and the rest of 'em are so damn confused by what's going on we're lucky they're not riding the entire Vuelta course backwards at this point. Dumoulin Froomey whichever Yates that was and Carapaz are out before the start line.  Rogla gets nicked by a moto.  Lopez goes down on a gravel section.  Roche gone. Uran--well, which mishap do you want me to start with? Chaves is forced to switch to a big-boy bike, *twice*, right as he's wrangling a massive climb, gets promptly sucked up into Grmay's humongous seatpost, and they *still* haven't been able to pry him out of it.  Quintana's about to be crushed by his own ego, Valverde's still waiting for the key moment to implode, and hell, once the race organizers realize Pogacar's only six months old and can't even qualify for the Junior circuit, even the Vuelta honchos'll be honor-bound to take him outta the race. I'm telling you Landa sneak in here, they're so busy trying to figure out who's still on the start list they won't even question you when you try to sign in tomorrow!

7. I Can't Wait Until the Queen Stage on Day Twent--uh, on Day Nine!  Y'know, it's entirely possible this entire Vuelta has already been decided, but to be absolutely sure, the race organizers are gonna make you sit through approximately 18 more sprints and 39 breakaway stages o' suffering before they let these body-bandaged, rain-soaked, sun-baked, road-rashed wraiths climb off the saddle for a much-deserved rest. What the--what fresh hell is *this*?!  !@#dammit, I *told* you I wanted to ride the freakin' Tour de France!

8. The Gesticulating On This Vuelta Is Out of Control.  Between Gilbert nearly taking Henao's eyeball out with his elbow for resisting taking a turn in the breakaway, to Soler's extravagant screw-you to the cameras when ordered to sit up for Quintana, to Nacer Bouhanni punching a spectator in the face when he's not even in the country, it's clear that a looooooong season has taken its emotional toll on our beloved peloton.  Next thing you know, they'll be rolling on the floor like a pack of drama-queen cry-baby footballers because their shoelace has been air-swiped by a dung beetle.   Boys in the break, do your share--or don't complain I didn't warn you!

Well, that's your Rest Day Part Uno in Review.  Tomorrow, it's the ITT, which given how the race has played out so far, pretty much guarantees that Tony Martin's gonna be wearing the red jersey in Madrid.  Congratulations Tony!--or is it still too soon to pop the champagne?

It's Yer Vuelta a Espana in Preview, Part Dos: the GC Contenders!

Frankly, I've had enough of teams and riders treating the fabulous Vuelta as the last choice on a filet-mignon-lobster-limp pile of yesterday's suspect shellfish buffet.  But lucky for us, enough bangin' climbers *do* consider this enough of a playground that we've actually got a real race here, so bite it, haters!  So who've we got (and not)?  These guys!

1. The absent: Let's get this outta the way: last year's reigning champ, whichever Yates that is, is not defending his title.  Ingrate!  Also absent: Chris Froome--either recovering from a grotesque injury or laughing his nuts off as he hides his millions in a nameless bank at an undisclosed Caribbean hideaway before he disappears entirely off the grid before the narcs can bust his !@#; Tom Dumoulin, still recovering both from an actual injury and a bad breakup with Team Sunweb (though already on the rebound with Jumbo Visma); Romain Bardet, nursing a crappy dispirited end to his season and hopefully refreshing for next year; and Mikel Landa, who as you all know should've set this as his season objective instead of the Tour de France.  Last year's podium finisher Enric Mas. Dan Martin, who surprised darn near everyone I imagine with his 2020 move to ICA.  Okay, enough space blown on the lazy no-shows--on, in no particular order, to the players!

2. Nairo Quintana.  Honestly--Arkea-Samsic?  WTF is*that*?  Anyway, since he threw the fans into a total redemption frenzy just by not passive-aggressively sucking wheels on 1 outta 21 stages at the Tour for chrissakes, he'll probably win it just to punish Unzue for COMPLETELY CODDLING HIM FOR YEARS WITH NO RETURN and to piss me off.  Argh!

3. Richard Carapaz: he won the Giro, most politely.  He's Ineos-bound, so he might as well enjoy his career while he can before it inevitably flames.  He did well at the Vuelta a Burgos.  And, he doesn't owe Quintana a !@#damn thing.  If Nairo doesn't sabotage him and Valverde feels like helping, he's got a fighting chance.  If not, you can certainly count on a stage win!

4. Alejandro Valverde: wait, now hear me out!  He's wearing number 1 with last year's top two staying home.  He's *won* this race before.  And lest anyone still around from the 13th century when he was born think his age is still a problem, we got PhilGil over there signing a new (well, re-new) gig with Lotto 'til *he's* older'n Moses, so who sez geezerhood is an obstacle?  Plus, he is one *wily* s.o.b.  Downside: his tendency towards catastrophic one-day meltdowns.  Just don't lose your !@#$ in the mountains, Bala!

5. Miguel Angel Lopez: yeah, I *know* Jakob Fuglsang is riding for Astana.  But this is Miguel's terrain, he's won stages at the Vuelta before, *and* he's got both Izagirres to stomp the field into submission in the high Basque passes.  Just don't forget to let one of those boys take a stage win Miguel!

6. Primoz Roglic: beats me how a freakin' ski jumper is suited to the brutal sun of the Vuelta climbs, but here he is, and I expect a decent--if not necessarily winning, because I can't fathom the certainty the rest of the internet seems to have on this point--show.  We'll see if he can hold on for three weeks--and if Kruijswijk's legs don't pose a threat from his teammate!

7. Esteban Chavez: He's been *tired* this season, no?  with occasional flashes of excellence, and a recent boost to his self-esteem from his Giro d'Italia stage win.  Let's hope he can keep up the excellence part, and end up with a *reason* for being so smiley!

8. Rigoberto Uran: Yeah, me neither.  But he can sure aim for the podium, and EF's backing him up with a bangin' squad.  And really, *wouldn't* you love it if he surprised us all?

Alrighty, them's my picks--and yes, UAE's Aru and Pogacar are riding, too.  So with just the stage hunters to round up, c'mon, let's get this show on the *road* already!

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2018 Vuelta a Espana Racejunkie Awards!

Wearing every red shirt you own in mourning for a Grand Tour just past? Still missing the cries of "Aupa!" and frantically waving Basque flags by the mountainside? Waking up from troubled sleep wondering what the !@!% is all the fuss about Porte? Yes, you've got Vuelta a Espana Withdrawal Syndrome, honey, and we've got the cure: it's yer incredibly prestigious 2018 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie awards! Prizes--I swear, for any desperate recipient who claims 'em--a custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap to decorate yer head; a whole wunk of dashing racejunkie stickers to deface yer stuff; and a random hideous trophy tchtochke to proclaim yer shame on yer mantelpiece. So with that promise, let's get to it--and hope none of these schmucks earn these same embarrassing awards next year!

1. Attack o' the Race: Nairo Quin...nah, just kidding! 23-year-old baby Carrot Oscar Rodriguez--out of contract, tho' presumably no more--of smashing startup Basque squad Euskadi-Murias, grabbing stage 13 in a daring--and almost certainly doomed--dash from a breakaway with such formidable competition as Rafal Majka and Dylan Teuns. Icing on the cake: Euskadi announced its continuation--and its inevitable invite--for 2019. Get used to it, peloton--you're gonna be seeing a whole lot more of these guys on top of the podium next year!

2. The Sky is Falling Prize: what? No blank-eyed drones drilling up every climb in a relentless annihilation of every hint of competition? No swept-under-the-rug bull!@#$ about totally accidental testosterone deliveries or surreptitious snarfs from a heretofore-unnecessary asthma inhaler? Yep, to the relief of cycling fans everywhere, the mighty Team Sky army had virtually nothing to say this Grand Tour--and I'll *double* their damn prize if they promise to sit out the next one!

3. Crash o' the Race (Fan !@#$wit Edition): Wait a minute...where's the !@#holes in neon banana-hammocks staggering into the climber's lines? where are the blinding smoky flares causing vertebrae-breaking season-destroying pileups? C'mon, not even some asshat with a wind-whipped camera strap aimed directly at a GC contender's handlebars? Ohhhhhhh, it's the *Vuelta*--and let's *keep* those race-wrecking camera whores at the Tour!

4. Crash o' the Race (Race Personnel !@#$wit Edition): okay, maybe not *everyone's* got the memo. The clueless doofus who thought an oncoming sprint finish was the perfect place to take his morning constitutional for no apparent race-related reason whatsoever. What the !@#$?!

5. Crash o' the Race (oh !@#$ oh !@#$ oh !@#$! Edition): Between the flyer just shy of a rock wall and right over a cliff, to the truly scary look of slight confusion on the man's face as he climbed out of the ravine--DiData's Louis Meintjes' stage 15 high-speed descending wipeout was absolutely terrifying. Luckily--aside from the typical cyclist bloodiness--he came out okay. Whew--let's hope nothing like that ever happens again!

6. Crash o' the Race (What the !@#$ing !@#$? Edition): Look, I love helicopter footage as much as the next fan, particularly as it applies to bucolic herds of cows or dynamic moving-tractor field art. But what we *don't* need is a low-flying helicopter crew pulling some ill-timed movie-chase stunt and spilling a pile of flyweight cyclists like dominoes across the tarmac. Damn, do you know how *fragile* those little things are? Not to mention all those expensive bikes, you eejits!

7. Exercise in Total Futility Award: Eventual winner Simon Yates, impatiently gesturing on the crucial stage 15 for perpetual leeching remora Nairo Quintana to unhitch from his damn back wheel and help. Are you *nuts*? It's *your* damn red jersey to defend--and even if it were Nairo's he *still* wouldn't budge off your wheel?

8. *I'm* Not Crying, *You're* Crying Moment o' the Vuelta: Let's leave aside that it was an incredible win by an incredibly unsung rider on an incredibly talent-packed breakaway. But EF's Michael Woods tearful post-stage interview describing his thoughts on the final approach and dedicating his victory to his stillborn son was just more than anyone on the same entire planet could take. Congratulations and condolences to this lovely rider and his family--now give me the damn Kleenex, *again*!

9. Redemption Song Prize: seriously, *Cofidis*? Like, they're still a *team*? First a stage win with A-list pugilist Nacer Bouhanni, then Jesus Herrada bags the leader's jersey? Where have these voracious Grand Tour conquerors *been* all these years? Aw, who *doesn't* love a comeback--or hell, even a come-from-nowhere-since-forever!

10. Smack Talk o' the Race (Pot Calling the Kettle Black Edition): Movistar bitching out Michelton-Scott for wheelsucking. Has Nairo been missing his last two years' worth of race replays or something?

11. Smack Talk o' the Race (On Yer Knees! Mechanical Edition): y'know, one can hardly blame poor, butt-nekkid Fabio Aru for swearing after his kit- and skin!-shredding crash on Stage 17. But when he vulgarly insulted his Colnago *bike*, man--whether his chain choked up or not--*that* was just a bridge too far. Yep, even worse than the bruising he took from the nasty fall was the groveling apologetic phone call Aru had to make to the venerable bicycle maker Ernesto Colnago in penance for his unforgivable verbal assault on Italian design. Some wounds heal faster'n others I guess!

12. Breakin' II: Electric Boogaloo Prize: entertaining as at least one of the other Grand Tours is, the Vuelta is really the only race where the breakaways are more'n a shameless opportunity for a 100-kilometer display of the sponsor logo on one's !@# before the perfectly-timed reel-in by the joyless chasing peloton--here, *every* break was a genuine, and more often than not actually successful, threat. Me, I think it's the crazy-!@# terrain and sheer befoozlement of sussing out the lumpy intricacies of even a flat stage at this Vuelta. Whyever--still made for rip-roaring suspense 'n' fun!

13. Don't Curse Him Don't Curse Him Don't Curse Him! Award: look, we all know that anytime you label anyone--particularly a wee climber with a vicious kick--the Next Lance/Basso/Alberto, they flame out like a gallon o' gas on a Kleenex. So here we've got jailbait revelation/2nd on the overall Enric Mas, in only his second Grand Tour ever, and now, even Contador is piling on the praise. Yeah, I know, I think so too--but can we all keep our yaps shut til we make sure the kid's not gonna flip out?

14. Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them Prize: hey, the whole reason we *love* the Vuelta is because it's a playground for climbers, not some simpy sprint-fest. But for the poor speedsters who neglected to read the road book before committing to this madness, the average profile of a "sprint" stage--which contained only slightly fewer climbing kilometers than the entire Himalayas--must've seemed like a cruel joke. We love you race organizers--flats specialists, probably not so much!

15. Lookit Our Little Izagirres Award!: Didja see? Well didja? Right on Ion gamely taking up the reins of unexpected leadership to an impressive result--and bro Gorka for helping to bring him there!

16. Domestique o' the Race: He entered and exited in excruciating pain, shocked everyone nudging into a breakaway, and, even more unusual for a Grand-Tour-winning team captain, gave his all unreservedly for his own domestique Ion when it became clear his multiple fractures actually did impact his shot at the win. Vincenzo Nibali--you are fuoriclasse!

17. Punk-!@# Move of the Race/Best Performance in a Team Drama Statuette: sure, he hogged everyone's energy and services long past the time it became painfully obvious that the only way he was gonna see the GC podium was to fly over on it on his airplane home, but ya gotta give it to Quintana--he *did* grudgingly concede, after Bala spent half the race herding him up the mountains and the other half bagging stage victories, that he'd help Valverde if he had to. Of course, that was approximately 38 seconds before Alejandro had his Annual Grand Tour Total Spectacular Freakin' Meltdown while (literally) within spitting distance of preserving third place, and having totally squandered any shot at the top of the podium that picking him as team leader in the first place and dedicating the team's energy's to that cause might've given him. Then, of course, the team announces it will still, inexplicably, back Nairo again for next year. !@#dammit Movistar, what does it take to prove to you that this !@#$ strategy doesn't work?!

18. Last But Not Least, the STF *Up* Already Award: we *get* it. A British rider has now won every single Grand Tour this year. And one of 'em was suspended for PEDs, the other was popped for a salbutamol level more commonly seen in asthmatic elephants, and another one had a wee bio-passport suspicion-index issue back in the day. But we concede, you won 'em all, fair and square. Now *please* shut the hell up til Mikel takes the Giro next year!

Well folks, it was a beautiful Vuelta. Now *please* Movistar, give this one to Mikel Landa next year!

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2017 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie Awards!

Yes, cycling fans, you yelled through the Giro, you swore through the Tour, you cried through the Vuelta--so what's left, beyond a drunken post-letdown blur til the season's last hurrah at the Worlds? That's right, it's Yer Incredibly Prestigious racejunkie Awards! Prizes--and I swear on my sainted ONCE cap, so you know this !@#$ is true--eternal notoriety (for good or ill), a passel of handsome racejunkie stickers, some kinda trophyish tchotchke engraved, if at all, with what's already on it when I find it at the thrift store, and--honest--a high-quality custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap. So honorees--and dishonorees--let's get this party started right!

Punk-!@# Move o' the Vuelta: bad enough that Chris Froome's obviously using a mo--motivational coach to keep his spirits high, but now this greedy hypocrite has to contest the sprint jersey on the final day--when he's constantly complaining that etiquette-ignoring unsportsmanlike GC contenders are daring to attack him on, y'know, *GC* when he inevitably has to switch wheels, take an extended graphic bathroom break, or hit the spa for a hot-stone massage, Dead Sea mud mask and organic moisturizing mani-pedi at the base of the every climb. Wah, wah, the written rules allow it--you *suck*, Froome!

Deja Vu All Over Again Award: !@#$, I didn't realize Lance, Christian, Dave, Floyd, & the rest of the boys were still riding! Oh wait, that's *not* US Postal with 8 robot guys hammering at the front of every mountain-high til every other chump in the race has cracked like a rotten walnut? Sky, PostalDiscovery--I imagine they'll go down in history the same way, anyhow!

This Team Will Self-Destruct in Five Seconds/Argy-Barguil Prize: have stage dreams of yer own backed by yer obvious form, but fail to adequately support yer team leader? If you're Team Sky at the Tour, you...well, boy, do you give Landa a stern talking-to back at the bus! If you're Team Sunweb at the Vuelta, and you're dealing with pampered princess/recent Tour King of the Mountains Warren Barguil, we're sending your disobedient !@# home! And to the next clown, give Wilco yer damn wheel when he needs it, or else!

Absolutely !@#$in' Useless Award: Before UCI makes it official, I'd like to congratulate them *and* the pro peloton on another 100% totally-honestly doping-free Grand Tour. Now come get yer cap before I whack you impotent protectionist !@#$shit artists upside the head with it!

If At First You Don't Succeed, Try, Try Again Award: let's face it: current Grand Tour tactics suck. No-one attacks, everyone treats the race leader as if he's their own team captain they can't ride against, and guys are aiming for second or third on the podium like first place has been eliminated entirely. But Alberto Contador--love 'im or hate 'im, think he's clean or a career-long cheat--you can't deny he goes all-in in *every* *freakin'* *race* he's ever ridden, to particularly spectacular effect on his second career victory on the Angliru. Gracias gracias gracias, fuoriclasse Alberto--we're gonna miss you, little guy!

Totally Normal (If You're Duct-Taped to a Rocket Being Launched Into Actual Space) Prize: okay, maybe he's just spinning a granny gear--who wouldn't? On the sharpest possible gradient on the sharpest possible climb on the sharpest possible day. But y'know kid, legit or no, it looks a *whole* lot better if you even *appear* to be breathing while you're doing it. Loyal Sky defender Wout Poels, this prize is all for you--but somehow I doubt you'll be claiming it!

Grinta Award: yes, Alberto fought his way through a !@#$ (no pun intended) day of stomach troubles, and still managed to attack every other day despite a team that, even with its bestest efforts, was completely outmatched by the androids at Sky. But y'know, this one's for the few--very few!--brave boys at Team Dimension Data, who were decimated nearly right off the bat by disgusting illness and injury and *still* schlepped on with only 3 boys standing, all the way to Madrid. Lachlan Morton, ex-Carrot Igor Anton, and Janse van Rensburg--step on up, if you remotely have the legs left to do it!

Crash o' the Race (Aw, Crap!): it was his first-ever solo stage in his first-ever Grand Tour. And with some crap luck, emerging talent UAE Team Emirates' Anass Ait El Abdia hit the deck, crashing out on stage two. The look on his face was particularly heartbreaking--but you earned your way to your first Grand Tour, there'll surely be more in your future!

Crash o' the Race (No !@#damn Impact At All): let's be honest--you could have Nacer Bouhanni riding next to Froome punching him in the face *all day* *every day*, and Chris Froome still couldn't crash long enough or hard enough to matter. I crashed and got a boo-boo? Big deal. I'm *still* gonna finish three minutes ahead of your !@#!

Passive-Aggressive Paranoid Conspiracy Theorist o' the Race: it's the biggest baddest climbing day yet, and Astana's incredibly detail-oriented professional mechanics "accidentally" left a rather crucial chainring off faded team captain Fabio Aru's bicycle. "!@#$ you" from Vino--or innocent mistake? Fabio--at least in the heat of disappointment, and before Vino beats it outta him--thinks the former. I'm sure it didn't *feel* innocent on that 28% gradient, anyhow!

Still Not a Grand Tour Award: oh, my darling Vuelta. So close--but 20 stages *not* too far. Thanks for the day race, but can we *please* give the women's peloton a little more road time?

Cult of Personality Prize: The howling, sobbing, shrieking mob of Alberto Contador fans, every single minute of every single day, before, up to, including, and far beyond his exhausted retreat into the team bus every evening. And who could blame them--well, us? Jaysus, I've seen Justin Bieber concerts with less bloodshed!

Field Art o' the Vuelta: now, we're all familiar with the standard aerial shots of hay-bale "WELCOME" signs, corn-field bicycle cutouts, and tractors slowly chasing each other with giant hood-mounted syringes--but what *really* stood out this year in both looks and ingenuity was the farmer who got his/her sheep into a humongous moving-bicycle display by spreading feed on the ground in the appropriate shape and releasing the herd to stampede for their dinners in perfect formation. A nice meal *and* a nice bike race--what's not to like?

Pointless Distraction Prize: HOLY CRAP WE'RE ABOUT TO FOLD THE TEAM FOR LACK OF A SPONSOR GIG! CROWDFUND US OR IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT YOU WORTHLESS FANS! Oh, wait--it's cool. We got it. Jonathan Vaughters, scare the !@#$ outta every single Uran Uran fan on Earth, whydontcha?--especially since it ultimately worked!

And Finally, Yer Dumb-!@# Move o' the 2017 Vuelta: for three freakin' weeks, you haul your saddle-sore !@# 200 miles across some of the most brutal terrain in Spain. And the very night before your chill slo-mo ceremonial parade into Madrid as a finisher of one of the greatest races in cycling's pantheon, whaddya do? Well, no-one's quite saying, but clearly something so beyond the bounds of normal pro-cyclist stupid--and that's saying a lot--that your own team pulls you outta the race the final morning. Drugs? Alcohol? A sex scandal beyond the usual Dekkerian-hooker hijinks? Only Odd Christian Eikhorn can tell--and he ain't, but kid, you can pick up yer prize anyway!

Well, that's our beloved Vuelta, done and dusted--in 2018, may the best robo--man win!

It's Yer 2017 Vuelta a Espana in Preview, Part Dos: The GC Contenders! #LV2017

First, of we still love so !@#$ the !@#$ off ex-Euskaltel rider Samuel Sanchez, to whom I was going to give a podium spot as well as a stage win (shut up! could so either! even without that peptide !@#$!), let me just say: Aiiigggggghhhhhhhhhhh! Second, give me that !@#damn whiskey bottle before I snatch it outta your !@#damn hand!

Okay, with that out of the way, time to get down to business (or pleasure): it's high time for the fabulous Vuelta, baby, so let's talk yer General Classification Contenders! Sure, there's only like 4--but this is the unpredictable and vicious Vuelta, and anything could still happen. My picks (and they're always wrong, so pro tip to place yer bets accordingly, especially if you'll share the proceeds):

Alberto Contador: It is unbe!@#damnlievable to me that, in the Sky/USPostal-reboot era, you would pony up for a rider like Alberto Contador and not spend the rest of your entire generous budget building an impenetrable and entirely single-minded mountains behemoth around him for the Grand Tours. But Trek, ya didn't. In his favor: it's his last race (waaaaaaah!), it's his home race (yay!), the course is perfect for a guy who lives to attack, and right now, his health is g--forget it, *I'm* not gonna be the freakin' eejit that jinxes 'im!

Chris Froome: It's just like the Tour de France, Chris, but without Mikel Landa being embarrassingly stronger than you and telling you to screw off! To his credit, the only rider in the entire peloton who could turn the most exciting mountain stages in all of cycling into a seven-hour death march of watching static on a TV screen. Now, that takes talent! Still and all, he's got humble--and incredibly talented--superdomestique Mikel Nieve (for the rest of this year, anyway!), as well as the usual raft of robot suspects, who seem to differ from the rest of their kind in their phenomenally lifelike ability to sweat, ingest food and water, and get tir--nope, they sure don't ever do that! A highly likely, if deeply vomitous, candidate for victory. But if you're gonna do that, can you at least show the *slightest* bit of panache and initiative and at least nominally try for a stage win? Nope, didn't think so, drone-boy!

Nairo Quintana: Just kidding! But Movistar's actually got a bangin' young lineup that can really do some damage, including Carlos Betancur. Oh come on! so long as he doesn't 'damage' the buffet too much he'll be fine. Maybe see you next year Nairo--if Landa doesn't crush you first!

Fabio Aru: Yes, he had a disappointing Tour. But he's bagged this hallowed race before, and now, he's had time to reflect, recharge, and most of all, get the crap beaten outta him by charming killer team boss Vinokourov. He's also got the incredibly versatile (and former Liberty Seguros Contador teammate!) Luis Leon Sanchez, and while LL Cool Sanchez never shies away from his own stage win, he's a good--and hardworking--guy to have at your side. Forza Fabio--just not quite enough to pass Alberto!

Vincenzo Nibali: He was 'only' third in the Giro this year, though he showed some serious signs of life late on. And when he's in health and on form, he's a formidable force. But our dear little Izagirre is out after his !@#$ crash at the !@#$ Tour, so he's gonna have to rely on other teams for both wheels and tactics. I'm rooting for you, Squalo--but yer even more hamstrung than Alberto, for heck's sake!

The Dark Horses: yeah, yeah, Yateses, but with Esteban Chaves to either support or contend with, there's a significant chance we love Orica will have to divvy up potential stage wins, or eat their own in pursuit of GC. And even Bardet isn't copping to anything more than some stage-hunting. But there's also Majka, and Tejay (oh BMC! I'm sure this is all your fault!), Kruijswijk, and Kelderman. Me, I look forward to their stage wins. Good luck guys--by the time the second week sinks in, you're sure as hell all gonna need it!

Well, there's yer quicky Vuelta a Espana GC In Preview--let's hope that stupid 40k flat tt doesn't kill the race, because in the Vuelta, that's what the mountains are for!

It's Yer 2017 Vuelta a Espana in Preview, Part Uno: The Course!

All right, you crybabies, this ain't no stinkin' Tour de France: it's the !@#damn Vuelta, baby, and not only does that mean mountains, most importantly, it also means more mountaintop *finishes.* Add to that, blistering mountain heat that could bring a frozen wooly mammoth back to life before you even get a chance to spit out yer gel packet out on the road like a pig, and you've got a three-week recipe for misery, glory, and a damn good show. Stuff that in yer power meter and watch it weep, Froomey! Anyway, here's what the poor bastids are in for:

The Opener: 13.7 k of flat but twisty and technical team time trial that, all the guys being roughly equally exhausted from the long season, shouldn't put *too* much damage into the GC, but then again, one touch of the wheels or ill-timed mechanical and some sap is a minute down before they even get to swat away the delirious press corps. Welcome to the Vuelta, boys (even if it is in France today)--it only goes upwards from here!

The 'Nother Time Trial: What the !@#--is the Vuelta taking some !@#$ty page from the Tour this year and *trying* to !@#$ the pure climbers outta GC? For reasons I can't fathom and also don't give a rat's !@# about because they're presumptively invalid, there's a 40 k paper-flat individual time trial on Stage 16. Wait, there's a little hi--nope, that's just a speed bump. Hope you enjoyed yer rest day--if you weren't wide awake all freakin' night panicking about the imminent disappearance of your podium spot!

The Rollers: Puncheurs and breakaway artists, domestiques with a day off for freedom and those still without a contract lookin' for work, here's yer chance: 8 medium mountain stages for yer delectation and general destruction! Stage 3 smacks you with a couple of Cat 1s, the first right off the bat then the second about 3/4 through, then a Cat-2 nipper with a downhill run off Alto de la Comella. Stage 5: a pile o' Cat 2s with a right sharp climb to the end. Next up, Stage 6--a moderate yet relentless Cat 3, 3, 3, 3, 2, then flat. Whew! Stage 7--are you hurting yet? Well you will be tonight, 'cause it's the longest stage of the entire race at a chill 205 k, with pave' and a bitchin' castle to boot! Boy, this is quite a run of "mid-mountains", isn't it? Stage 8 is some sadist freak's idea of "moderate," with a Cat-1 finale with gradients up to 20%, then a bit of a decline to the finish--though maybe that's just you falling over from exhaustion! Stage 11 is another "anyone else's real mountain stage", with 2 Cat 1s including a beautiful, and brutal, finale to Observatorio Astronomico de Calar Alto. Stage 12--wait, aren't we done with our alleged rollers yet?--is a bit of a toughie from the halfway point at 80k, but a downhill-then-flat finish oughtn't coax the real mountain goats out just yet. Then, we give the others some time to play til Stage 18, which gives a punchy last 65k and an uphill kick to the line. Stage 19--it's got a downhill finish, and they're calling it "medium" again, tho it seems to me these rollers are gonna kick the hell outta the GC at *some* point.

The Flats: who cares, no one except decent climbers are gonna be able to struggle through the later ones anyway, but we're stuck with 'em--but only 5, compared to the crappy Tour's unbearable eleven. Stage 2 gives the specialists a day to enjoy, if they don't get whacked by crosswinds--watch out, GC!--then a hearty 198k Stage 4 tucks in a wee Cat 3 and heads a bit bumpily down to the finish. Stage 9 hands a rare day of mercy to the fast men again--if you don't mind an uphill finish with a 21 percent gradient section, that is! Stage 10: sure, they *say* it's flat--if yer legs don't notice that lil' Cat 1 before you thankfully head down the valley, if a break don't beat you. God, I love what the Vuelta calls a sprint stage! Still alive in this race? You get the 198 k Stage 13 from Coin to Tomares all to yourself, honey--now if you ain't looking for a new gig this late, dear sprinty ones, you maybe wanna take yerself home!

The Rest Days: You get a day off the bike--and if you're pissy little Sky, a day to skip any uncomfortable questions at the traditional rest-day press conference, too--after Stages 9 and 15. On one, you get to ponder how long you've got to go. On the other, you get to ponder how you *better* get your !@#$ together *right freakin' now*, buddy. Ahhhhh, the sweet smell o' relaxation--and fear!

And Best of All, The Mountains: Woot woot woot--it takes til the imperious Stage 14 before the Vuelta concedes it's finally in the high passes, but it's worth the wait, a long slow meander ever-upwards then an HC climb to La Pandera! Next, a short'n'sweet--but surely painful--Stage 15 129 k romp up the Cat 1 Alto de Hazallanas, a dip before Cat 1 Alto del Purche, then no rest whatsoever before the relentless finale to Sierra Nevada. Aren't you glad it's a rest day? Then, after the suck ITT wrecks the GC, Stage 17 brings us a good 9,000 feet of climbing, with a nasty spike to finish you off. Now dammit, I'm missing a "high mountain" day--which of those ludicrous breakaway pretenders are they calling the 4th one, Stage 11? Stage 20--it's the grand GC finale, with the truly legendary Angliru. Alberto, I hope to see you there--first, where you belong!


Well folks, them's the quickie version. The long version takes three weeks of pain, pain, pain, and pain--oh Vuelta, even before we get to the GC contenders, how we love you!

It's Yer 2016 Racejunkie 10 Cycling Things I'm Thankful For This Year (And a Few I Ain't)

Yes, Thanksgiving in America is upon us, that heartwarming time of year when long-lost relatives from far and wide gather to spout their offensive political views, try to refrain from stabbing each other with forks, reach harmony over universal condemnation of the gravy, soothe still-wounded spirits in a slap-fight over the last piece of chocolate-cream pie, then retire to watch the football game where some lazy oaf falls asleep and completely hogs the sofa before everyone else shifts uncomfortably for three hours on ottomans and folding chairs, only to sob on the way out the door how the family oughta get together more often--uh, to enjoy a perfect Norman Rockwell holiday where the turkey is moist, the mashed potatoes are slathered with butter, and not a spot ever falls on Grandma's crisply ruffled apron. And for we cycling fans, what better opportunity to ruminate on our beloved sport and consider the Ten Cycling Things I'm Thankful For This Thanksgiving (And a Few I Ain't)? Ergo:

1. Alberto Contador is free. Whatever happens at the Tour, this boy's finally got his wings back at a team that'll really appreciate him!

2. The 100th Giro d'Italia. Truly, have more beautiful words *ever* been uttered? A toast to il grande Giro!

3. The Vuelta a Espana. Look, forget that gaudy showdown in July. Here's where the real GT hardmen have at it!

4. Nacer Bouhanni. Who *else* has single-handedly decided the prestigious Tour de France green jersey by TKO of a rowdy hotel guest the night before the Grand Depart? That is *class*, baby!

5. Didja see Tom Boonen is coming back to try for his 5th fabulous Paris-Roubaix? Didja didja didja? Allez Tommekeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

6. 2016 UCI Road Race Champ Denmark's Amelie Dideriksen. C'mon, did you even *remotely* see that coming? You did not either!

7. Esteban Chaves. Like you don't either, you cynics, I see you melting--*and* he can kick your !@#!

8. Alexander Vinokourov. Oh, go to hell, with that revolting oligarch outta the game next year we gotta have *some* guilty-pleasure arch-villain to root for!

9. UCI Doping Controls. Just kidding! Unless you're a Masters rider, or a kid racing yer tricycle around the schoolyard still hopped up on leftover Halloween candy, in which case you're guaranteed to (1) get popped and (2) earn a lifetime ban, they're useless. Dope on, kids--throw in a few hookers, and in 10 years you can have a lucrative new autobio on the bestseller list, too!

10. My dear Tweeps. So much raging bias and unsubstantiated gossip, *so* little time for me to spend on stupid "work." At least that's what I hope my boss don't find out!

And a Few I'm Not:

1. Team Sky. Official Motto: Screwing Ex-Euskaltel Riders Since 2010. Just go *away* already!

2. Speaking of whom, Brad Wiggins. Just *retire* already ffs, while your legacy's still halfway intact!

3. Where the hell is we love ex-Carrot Amets' Txurruka's new World Tour contract? Team camps are starting, give the boy a day to pack his gear whydontcha?

Well, them's mine, and if I missed anything, have at. In the meantime, enjoy yer dinner, and back away from that last slice of pie, pal!

It's Yer 2016 Ultra-Coveted Vuelta a Espana Racejunkie Awards! #LV2016

Still reeling from the official end of Grand Tour season? Unrelentingly morose since that !@#$wit King of the Freakshow Froome shot a poison dart right into our darling Vuelta? Well morose around no more, dear reader(s), 'cause it's time for the incredibly prestigeless 2016 Vuelta a Espana Racejunkie Awards! Prizes for our mortified (and thankfully oblivious) winners: eternal Internets glory, a custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap, a hideous trophy-like tchotchke, and, in lieu of a magnum of champagne, you come on over thisaway and I'll treat you to a regular at Dunkin' Donuts. So roll out the red carpet, don your finest cycling socks, and let's get this awards show on the road!

Guy I Want to Smack Every Time He Opens His Lying Doping Weasel Mouth Award: "Nairo did a nice job today." "Boy, was that climb tough." "Merry Christmas!" Yep, no matter how outwardly polite he is--and despite the fact that I was raised to be a delicate lady--I swear I want to slap Chris Froome upside the head with a lead bidon every !@#damn time he speaks from today til his inevitable Armstrongian downfall, which, to go by previous UCI track records, will probably occur about the time the Big Bang reverses and the universe collapses back in on itself. Dammit! Chris Froome, accept your prize--if you dare!

What the !@##king !@#$! GC-Screwing Dumbass Award: all right, race organizers--normally I'd give you a pass on anything because you're the noble Vuelta a Espana, but what the *hell* were you thinking starting off with a remotely-longer-'n-5-kilometer team time trial that decimated the !@#damn GC on the FIRST DAY and left Alberto Contador almost a minute back before he even had time to get his chamois on straight? Take your award, and shove it!

Crash o' the Race (Oh, for !@#$'s *Sake*! Edition): Lotto-Numbnut, whoever you were, come on up in tearful quivering misery and accept your life o' notoriety, because after taking down the luckless Alberto Contador in an excruciating crash that left him fully held together with gauze pads and tape for reasons no mechanical, road surface, or basic familiarity with a bicycle could explain, this is frankly the last award you're ever gonna get. Save the daydreaming for the off-season, you eejit, or get the hell off the road and let the GC contenders alone!

Crash o' the Race (*What* Did I Just Tell You Not to Do? Edition): yep, *another* steel bollard thoughtfully placed smack in the middle of the road by some unaccountably embittered urban planner, *another* utter failure by the race bosses to place the smallest shred of marking upon it, *another* innocent rider down and Taaramae'd home in an ambulance. Bollocks, uh, I mean, bollard!

Crash o' the Race (The Entire Planet Sucks! Edition): after battling through the mountains at darn near double the age of some of his competitors, with a hot shower and a cold beer in Madrid virtually within view, our dear Samuel Sanchez caught a bad corner and dislocated his shoulder in a horrid--and horridly demoralizing--time-trial take-out. And he *still* came in 12th on GC after he winced across the line--get well Samu you bad-!@#!

Get Your Motor Runnin'/Heavy Metal Thunder Prize: Chris Froome. La Covadonga. As the bone-crushing fatigue of supremacy in the Tour de France, a bronze medal in the Olympics, and an 8-month performance peak finally hammers home--as if!--Froome's 'energy reserves,' led by a really zippy lemon-poppy scone at breakfast, kick in right on cue, and he tick-tocks up the mountain and onto the podium with the perfect regularity of a Postal Service drone. Damn, that "marginal gains" hocus-pocus really *does* work!

Oh, Snap! Rest Day Press Conference Excellence in Insults Award: he's been soooo nice to his miserable !@#$ team, and so typically complimentary of his usual opponents, that you'd scarce believe it. But even our doe-eyed hero Contador couldn't resist confirming to an inquiring wiseacre that no, he *didn't* want to ride like Froome does making out with his power meter for 2,000 kilometers. Take that, you horrid Sky spider-metronome!

Bestest Bestest Sprinter Award: what the !@#$ are you people talking about, this is the freakin' Vuelta a Espana fer chrissakes! Any of you poor bastards who made it over the Aubisque without having to be airlifted by helicopter gets a prize. Step on up--if you've got any legs left!

Punk-!@# Move of the Race: yes, this is indeed a shocker: for approximately the 96th consecutive Racejunkie Awards (jeez, I've been writing this drivel a long time), it's everybody's best bud Alejandro Valverde, saved from picking up the prize for nutwhacking his own team leader by this time actually bothering to hose someone else, to wit, apparently reassuring fellow countryman (and we all saw how much *that* mattered with Purito Rodriguez) Alberto Contador that they'd kick in a few wholly unneeded calories to chase down no-threat-to-Nairo cheerful stealth-weapon Esteban Chaves when he took off on a daring--and thanks to Movistar, unanswerable--late-Vuelta move to seal the podium *and* yet another reason for that tool Oleg Tinkov to bitch about him. Jaysus, Valverde, you're like a slavering spandex pit bull, throw yer budsd a *bone* whydontcha when you say you will!

Attack o' the Race: and, correspondingly, this is for wee adorable Esteban Chaves, cannily taking advantage of Alberto's still-healing body--and a peloton full of ennui--to attack from way out with Madrid in view and bag third place on the final podium. Aw, it's like being piranha'd on the ankle by a snarling Bichon Frise--it's just so cute you *can't* be mad at it!

Domestique o' the Vuelta: wah, Valverde for Nairo, wah. We all know if that if the Green Bullet hadn't choked so spectacularly on GC he'd've 'helped' Quintana by accidentally feeding his main--and all his replacement--bikes into a woodchipper. But who *could* be relied on, no matter what the challenge, terrain, or wincing blow to his own chances for stage victory? *That's* it, dog-loyal Tinkoff's (I know, right?) Daniele Bennati, working diligently for Contador from the first pedalstroke of the disastrous team time trial to the last depressing ceremonial schlep to the finish line in Madrid. Class, thy name is Benna-Jet!

Sleeping Beauty Award (And Lazy-!@# Prince Award, to Boot): *who* decided to catch up on their beauty sleep with a silent screw-you by meandering in a cool 60 minutes past the time cut, and *who* collapsed like a hurricane-swept house o'cards rather'n anger the whinging toddlers and kick out, well, the equivalent of the entire women's peloton, to avoid cringing embarrassment the next day when like 2 guys'd be left to show up to race? Uh-huh, like 90 clowns who smugly sought safety in numbers (and totally coincidentally, saved a ton of energy for the remaining mountains ahead), and the completely whipped race organizers. Congratulations--you oughta be ashamed of yourselves!

Grace Under Pressure Award: your team is nowhere to be found, except that one assclown who sent a congratulatory tweet out to one of your opponents. Your lackadaisical emperor team boss is still chasing Peter Sagan's holy shadow. And how do you respond to this total !@#$shit? Yeah, you sweetly thank the engineer of your complete miserable crap season and depressing 2016 fruitless downfall for their unending warmth and continued support. Oleg Tinkov, you owe Alberto Contador a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuge reward for not completely losing it and going all Vinokourov on your sorry !@#!

Finally, the Corollary "You Suck, Oleg!" Award: it's one thing to be a bit short on reserves after you've targeted the Tour, to unfortunate effect. It's a whole 'nother animal to set 'em snarling on each other carcasses while they're desperately camera-whoring for new contracts at the gaudiest show on the calendar and merely send their wraith-remnants to halfheartedly schlep around at a Grand Tour you clearly don't care about. Forget Contador, the whole damn Vuelta deserves better than the likes of you buddy!

Well, now that the hair gel has melted, the trophies are handed out, and the few who've bothered to remain this long have collapsed into the warm remnants of their gourmet meals, it's time to pack it up on this edition of the Vuelta a Espana and head for home. Next stop, Lombardia--and Contador'll be there, beeyotches!

It's Yer Holy Crap What Just Happened Out There Vuelta a Espana Roundup! #LV2016

Yes, we're fully two weeks into what is usually the least ridiculous of the Grand Tours, the smashing Vuelta a Espana, and what've we picked up so far, scholars? Damn chaos, I say! Anyway, the current hoo-ha:

1. Today, where like 90 guys deliberately finished about an hour outside the time cut by pulling over for a cool drink, a massage, and a dip in the local hotel pool, is presumably a friendly "!@#$ you!" to the sadistic organizers of the last two stages, which ironclad rule, as the peloton correctly predicted, UCI would be too spineless to enforce. S!@#$w off, UCI, or next time we're going on a 4-hour guided walking tour of the nice village we're passing by, too!

2. Usually, Grand Tour riders are strong in their youth, but gain tactical sense and lose, well, stupid as they age. Froome, of course, is in total reverse. What the heck was he thinking today? I mean, I get--maybe--condescending to Contador and covering your own implausibly miraculous performance by letting him take a little time back today. But Quintana? Jaysus, *how* can this amateur have won three Tours? Oh, wait, I know...

3. It's perfectly normal to peak, as, say, Valverde and Froome have, for 8 straight months of the season including all of the GTs, most of the Classics, the Olympics, and all the short "training" stage races in between, as long as you have one bad day. Must be that no-one in cycling--save, perhaps, Postal/Discovery--ever knew how to train, eat, sleep, or ride until this year. Whew, bullet dodged on the doping front UCI, you can go off and scan another top pro's ride for a motor you're never gonna find there!

4. Contador. If you were Froome, you'd've made up some bull!@#$ excuse to drop out 6 stages ago. Chapeau!

5. Tomorrow is a sprint stage. Given that giant Dutch riders have lately been known to take 86% gradient mountain stages the last season, anyone else banking on Esteban Chaves for the win?

6. Surprised to see Oleg Tinkov there shaking his fist for Contador--or was that giving him the finger? Sagan finally lose patience and kick you out of his entourage now that he's got a shiny new contract, did he?

7. What the hell, LL Cool Sanchez, you couldn't have told Vino to stuff his bizarro pointless orders to put the hammer down in the chase and let your ol' we-still-miss-shut-up-I-don't-care-what-they-were-forcefed-Liberty Seguros buddy snag back a few extra seconds on the Pasty Spawn of Satan's Soulless Beancounter? You *trying* for the Alejandro Valverde Hosing Your Teammate Lifetime Shameful Achievement Award? Send that unholy Astana/Sky alliance back to the flaming underworld from which it came!

8. DO NOT !@#$ UP THIS TIME TRIAL NAIRO. DO NOT !@#$ IT UP!

9. Didja see Greipel took a win today? Look out World Championships, he's comin' right at you!

Well, that's my solid analysis--and if you're thinking that Sky'll figure out a marginal gain for Froome between now and the next mountain stage that'll completely blow the race back apart, well, wouldn't that be an un-surprise. Til then, hang in there Alberto, you got essentially a rest day coming up tomorrow--just stay outta the sprinters' way, and don't let that petty asshat Valverde pip you for seconds while you're the only sensible one avoiding the 3k-to-go feeding frenzy!

And here, the sweet replay:

It's Yer Vuelta a Espana Rest-Day Week-or-So In Preview (Yeah, You Read Right)!

Look, we all know what happened so far: some Lotto dumb-!@# brought down the completely luckless Alberto Contador and screwed his whole race after his own team botched it already in the team time trial, Quintana found his second wind up the mountains yesterday as he was pursued by his own teammate Valverde, and Froome--well, his unseemly mating with his bike computer continues to play out disturbingly on live TV. So what've we got in store the next handful o' stages? Here, Yer Vuelta a Espana Next Little Wunk o' Stages in Preview:

Stage 11 (Wednesday): yep, in the words of the immortal Spinal Tap, this one goes to eleven as we hit the deal-breaking stage of the Pena Cabarga. Contador run over by herd of crazed stampeding cattle, breaks both femurs, 3 ribs, one occipital bone, and a pinky, takes second on stage behind Chris "the Living Dead" Froome. Don't sweat it Nairo, you've got plenty of time to grab an extra minute back before he slaughters you in the time trial!

Stage 12 (Thursday): We're in the Basque country with the smashing hordes of Euskaltel fans, who gives a !@#$ about the race? Contador and his bike completed smothered by rampaging swarm of killer bees, beats Chaves to the line by three minutes. Aupa Alberto!

Stage 13 (Friday): Longest stage of the Vuelta! Contador whacks into 50-foot bronze statue right in the middle of the road unmarked by apologetic race organizers, overtakes breakaway and inevitable winner Philippe Gilbert within 50 meters of the line, admits that with his entire body in giant plaster cast that winning the Vuelta in a week will be "complicated." What, your loyal domestiques won't just carry you to Madrid?

Stage 14 (Saturday): It's the Queen stage, and the GC-destroying haul up the legendary Aubisque! Contador beset by plague of locusts, gains 54 seconds on Froome as Sky captain mistakenly calls up Google Maps instead of his power meter, misdirected back to start of Stage 1. Eyes on the road, you joyless android!

Stage 16 (Sunday): Countdown! It's a Cat 3, 2, 1 to the finale up Los Sarrios. Contador caught up in draft from TV helicopter, flung back 30 kilometers, sets record time to finish line to just pip Valverde. Nice try Alejandro!

All right, that gets us to week 3, just in time for a flat stage in which some GC assclown fighting for 2 bonus seconds causes a 90-man pileup just outside the 3k mark. Good luck Alberto--if you can even make it that far with this stupid curse you've been fighting!

Let's Play Dodgeball: It's Yer Vuelta a Espana Week 1 In Review! #LV2016

Yes folks, it's high time to play that humiliating playground-game-o'-goonish-bullies everywhere--dodgeball, where some over-Red Bull'd bastard pitches a hard piece of sports equipment squarely at your defenseless 98-pound-weakling nerd-noggin, with the clear intent to hurt as much as possible, to the sadistic cheers of your 'roid-raged peaked-in-high-school 9th-grade coach, Vuelta edition! So what've you missed, cowering beneath the collapsible bleachers while praying nobody noticed you? This!

1. It's fine to exhaust your captain and set him back almost a minute on GC on the opening day making 'im domestique his domestiques on the opening day team time trial. !@#$, why not just have 'im hand his bike over next time one of his lesser teammates gets a flat on the final climb of the queen stage, can't screw him over any worse!

2. Not only did some thoughtless asshat neglect to put a big orange barrier and a person frantically waving a flag around a huge pointless steel "bollard" in the middle of the road, completely taking the very nice Steven Kruijswijk--and hat tip to organizers, noticing this !@#$ *afterwards* is not a particularly helpful response to someone who's just been whacked with a heavy pole in the "lumbar-sacral vertebrae"--but *now* poor we love Rein Taaramae's been knocked out of the Vuelta (and his very fine bike utterly splintered) by a numbnut Cofidis team car! Is this some sort of twisted pervert game of bicyclist Whack-a-Mole? You're not taking a !@#$in' roadtrip with your inbred buddies on a deserted red-dirt country byway at 4 in the morning to buy a six-pack of Bud Light fer chrissakes, you're in a *bike race* in the middle of the day--like, for your *living*--you eejits! I stand by my original solution--cattle prods, or one of those "electric fence" dog collars I think've been banned in some countries: one nice high-voltage jolt, and *that'll* keep you a safe distance away next time! Oh, for the innocent times of yore when some lumbering loser in a fright wig and hi-viz man-thong merely caused you to swerve off a mountainside by blasting a fog-horn in yer ear...and race organizers, *don't* start getting any offensive ideas from the fan base!

3. Valverde, man. I warned you dear little Nairo!

4. Sky, man. If it weren't for unfortunate attrition by saddle-sore and disgusting stomach problems (get well soon guys!), there'd be no hope. At least now if all the teams gang up and act in perfect concert maybe like one guy from another team's still got a distant chance at a podium!

5. What the !@#$ Astana, Samuel Sanchez stops to heed the call of the wild solo for *ten* seconds the entire race and *that's* when you put the hammer down? Well he's still in sixth you low-rent punks! Fabian, I don't care if you're *not* in the race--aren't you supposed to be policing this !@#$?

6. Looky looky looky at twee little Chaves!

7. Y'know, at this point, I don't even know if the stupidly scoured-up Alberto Contador is gonna start tomorrow--tho' since half the races this past year or two he's been whipping around with 80% of his body in splints, I'd be rather surprised if he didn't--but if this season's Grand Tours, and the truly vomitous lack of support he's gotten from his gilded wingnut team boss, aren't enough to make him question his life, his career choice, his entire belief system regarding the nature and order of the universe, and whether he just oughta go over to Oleg's house tie up his guards go into his living room where he's enjoying a peaceful lemonade and smack 'im square in the mouth in a fit of unseemly violent small-cyclist pique, I don't know what will. And frankly, if the discreet Samu *also* says you've ridden like a moron and needlessly whacked someone else down, you *know* you oughta just slink back to your team bus and burrow in amongst the dirty reeking yesterday's team kit like the hapless twerp you are. But even *if* Contador's lucky enough to make it to the finale in Madrid, Froome's *still* likely to snap his !@# with a wet towel and give him the world's worst chamois-wedgie while screeching "neener neener!" over his exhausted carcass, right as some other dimwit hits the brakes like they're about to t-bone a moose and takes him out again just in time for Froome to zip up the red jersey in triumph. On second thought--might as well go home and cool out playing video games til 2017 Alberto--even with Trek stacking half its deck with Classics up-and-comers, you sure as hell can't do worse than these clowns!

8. On a non-Vuelta-related note (I know, faithful reader(s), but it's just one, I promise), so now, on top of our star sprinter Nacer Bouhanni's penchant for self-destructive bar brawls, his baby brother is inciting fisticuffs with spindly outclassed unsuspecting fellow cyclists? Nice example you're setting there Rocky Balboa!

9. Finally, you've all been very patient. But don't worry lovely ex-carrots, your terrain is coming up fast. The GC's already pretty well set anyway, right?--might as well grab your own chances!

Rio Whaaaaat? It's Yer Vuelta a Espana in Preview, Part Tres: the 'Nother Guys, and Roundup Stuff! #LV2016

We've got the course down. We've got the GC. What *don't* we have? Damn right, everybody *else* who's going hell-bent for leather for sunburnt glory, and all the last minute news, unfounded gossip, and prurient speculation you need (well, probably don't need) to know! Ergo:

The Missing: Who's *not* here? Tragically, not Froome, but even more tragically, these guys: Sky's Mikel Landa with a "hip injury", which can only mean one of two things: (1) he's got a hip injury, or (2) those !@#$ers at Sky have corrupted 'im. It better be option (1), Brailsford you goon! Also out: defending 2015 campeon Fabio Aru, and last year's bizarro-world revelation Tom Dumoulin, who, frankly, has no business in Vuelta terrain anyway, except maybe lounging in a folding chair by the roadside with a crisp glass of rose' and a nice luncheon with the other fans cheering the *riders* on. Worst of all, Purito--WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The Sprinters: all right, you hard-core Vuelta freaks, quit laughin'! Yes, despite the wholesale bail-out of those sprinters with better sense, there *are* a few at this race, at least until Cavondonga sends them whimpering home like a kid who just got a bagful o' broccoli and Brussels sprouts for trick-or-treat on Halloween. Tyler Farrar (Dimension Data), who, late word has it, has even more epic hair this year than Marcel Kittel. (bite me! we still love him!). Reigning Spanish road race champ JJ Rojas (Movistar). Master o' Suavity Benna-Jet (Tinkoff). Uh...other guys! Oh, poor dears, at least they've thrown a *few* stages in there for you...just pretend all those mountains are--nope, I got nuthin', it's all an uphill death march and you're gonna be feelin' it!

The Stage Hunters: look, unless Froome's teammates chew their shoes off the pedals to free themselves from the trap they're in, they ain't getting let out for a stage win unless and until Froome *says* they can. And frankly, he won't. Sorry boys--it's "Vive la Revolucion" and you overthrow your captain, or you're hosed! Guys who actually have a chance: for the breaks and roleurs, Philippe Gilbert (BMC). LL Cool Sanchez (Astana). Michal Kwiatkowski, Peter Kennaugh--oops, they're Sky, they're doomed! Tejay Van Garderen (BMC), who's usually pegged for GC but is begging off in favor of Samuel Sanchez and hoping for a breakaway stage win instead (can you imagine, say, Cav and his huge ego doing that for someone else)? Andrew Talansky, and yes, I know you all want him for the overall. And did I mention I just plain like Rein Taaramae whether you seriously think he's gonna bag a win or not? For the truly climbiest, besides the GC contenders we covered already: Darwin Atapuma (BMC). Damn, they've got a bangin' squad this year! Pierre Rolland (Cannondale). We love ex-Euskaltel's Igor Anton (Dimension Data). Markel Irizar from Trek, an ex-Carrot--natch!(and we still love you Haimar Zubeldia!) Everyone at Caja Rural. And of course, the canny s.o.b. Michele Scarponi (Astana) who, having buried himself (and parked his bony !@# on the side of the road for 15 hours to help his leader) for his team at the last Grand Tour, and with no other road captain at the Vuelta to speak of, will surely have more than a few rocket-fueled cracks at the summit. Last but not least: by this year's results, whatever 6-foot-8 hulking Dutch weightlifter they stick in at the last minute to absolutely obliterate 2017 Paris-Roubaix champ Nairo Quintana. How do you say "Red Jersey" in Dutch again?

The Forecast: yeah, it's boring and I'm a ween. But it *matters*, first off because the poor Belgians're gonna spontaneously combust once they hit the unfiltered sun and heat of the Basque mountains, and second, 'cause it can determine the race. Sadly, the forecast for tomorrow's team time trial is lovely, meaning it's too late to back out of it now, suckers!

Roundup Stuff!: finally, as the cycling portion of the Rio Olympics winds down, let's take a moment to celebrate Peter Sagan's if not win, at least highly entertaining continuous-wheelie ride in the mountain bike competition, as well as his shiny new medals in the kierin, team pursuit, omnium, BMX, and the men's and women's road race even though he wasn't actually riding 'em. Nice work there Saganator! Meantime, Mark Cavendish profusely apologized for "not whacking into that bloody wanker hard en--uh, that accident!" And, for those of you just itchin' for early news of the Worlds, please be advised that giant and deceptively friendly German Andre Greipel has already informed his nation that's he not !@#damn going there to share team captaincy, which, I presume, is German for "wash my shorts and carry my chamois cream, Kittel you wuss!" Ah, our beloved cycling--now, get out your Basque flags, don't you dare ever root for Alejandro Valverde, and Alberto, it's time to stick it to that !@#hat Oleg Tinkov and take on the top podium spot in the Vuelta!

Forget That Wanker Cav, It's Yer Vuelta a Espana in Preview, Part Dos: The GC Contenders!

Okay, cycling fans, we've got the course of the fabulous Vuelta down: now who're the poor masochistic bastids twisted enough to take on the thing for the overall? These guys!

Alberto Contador (Tinkoff): you know the drill: the last few years, he's either crashed outta or been too tired to take on the Tour. But, on form, and however you think he has and hasn't done it, and after the natural indiscretions and tactical mishaps of youth, there's been no greater climber who can also take GC in the modern peloton, and the Vuelta is his kind of merciless stomping ground. How his? That's right, punks, he's bagged this Grand Tour alone three times, and if he takes it this year, he'll equal we-still-love Roberto Heras (shut up!)'s four-peat. Wildcard factor: let's face it, Oleg Tinkov's attention's been elsewhere, like getting a resort-perfect tan basking in the radioactive glow that is Peter Sagan, and he may not even remember at this point that there *is* a Vuelta. Ray o' hope: it's !@#$ing Alberto Contador for chrissakes!

Nairo Quintana (Movistar): for some reason, despite Movistar having the second most formidable GC lineup all year (behind the freaks at Sky, of course), our wee little pile o' pure mountain-goatness has had a lackluster season to date. But the mean steeps of the Spanish mountains are perfect for him, and he oughtn't be *too* set back from the get-go after the Stage 1 ITT. Go Nairo, for a high podium spot anyway--who doesn't love a redemption story?

Alejandro Valverde (Movistar): Sure, he's theoretically tired from riding--and damn near winning--the Giro, the Tour, half the Classics, the Olympics, and virtually every other road race this year in the UCI calendar--except that he never actually *gets* tired, because he's Alejandro Valverde, he just posed butt-naked and oiled-up for a magazine cover, and, uh, he clearly takes "nutritional science" to a whooooooooooole 'nother level. And of course, he's not going to the Vuelta for himself--he's going for Nairo, if you define "going for" as "hovering over his desiccated desert-drained carcass like a starving vulture waiting for the perfect moment of weakness." *Such* a generous helpmate, Alejandro--and good luck keeping an eye on your own teammate Nairo, much less your actual other competitors!

Ugh, Chris Froome (Sky): fresh off his trouncing Tour de France victory, and still in ghastly irritating delight over his bronze medal in Rio, Froome's ready to do what virtually anyone else would only be capable of doing in his situation: absolutely sucking, except he's got a cybernetic Borg-squadron of half-human half-derailleur tig-welded Franken-wraiths to bring him up to the last 100 meters of every single climb on every single day before they even break a sweat enough to need to dab their delicate brows with a hanky. Me: I hope Mikel Landa--who had a rather indifferent Tour de France, but certainly had enough of being under the domestique yoke at his last team gig before inexplicably bailing for even less green pastures at Sky--finds the legs to match his talent *and* his ambitions and, as Froome did to Wiggins before him, *completely* calls bull!@#$ and bushwhacks--I mean, genuinely accidentally loses his earpiece when he directly tosses it under a race moto's wheel and thus unfortunately can't hear any orders regarding--Froome. Tough to bite the hand that feeds you--but *damn*, Mikel, not *that* tough if a red jersey can be yours on the final podium, amirite?

Esteban Chaves (Orica): he's humble. He floats up mountains like a dream. And, while he's clearly a threat, he's not *such* a proven dead-on threat that the Big Three won't consider pacifying 'im with a little friendly leeway, for a little while at least. Looking for at least a coupla stage wins outta you, kid, and a wholehearted fight for a podium!

Tejay Van Garderen (BMC): Oh, Tejay. Bursts o' brilliance, but totally unpredictable, careening from breathtaking greatness to miserable bonkfest within--sometimes multiple times within--a single stage. No matter the odds, we're rooting for you man!

Samuel Sanchez (BMC): Shut up! Go to hell! BMC sez he's co-team leader and he deserves it! How many !@#damn gold-medal statues of you are there in the village square of *your* hometowns, you miserable haters--and you can start taking bets now on what vicious mountain stage will be his!

Tom Dumoulin (Giant): just kidding! Seriously, when the !@#$ did these humongous hulking Paul Bunyan Classics goons suddenly become viable Grand Tour contenders, particularly once the mountains kick in? It's happening *everywhere*--and I call, well, hijinks, *that's* right *I* said it, *hijinks*!

And Last But Not Least, Purito Rodrigue--WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! COME BACK, DEAR PURITO, COME BACK! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Well, there's my Vuelta GC roundup, and if there's anything race predictions show, it's that they b--that anything is possible. Next up: The 'Nother Riders. Til then, venga Alberto, and Samu, bring us home one last stage win before you retire!

The Hell With the Olympics, It's Yer Vuelta a Espana in Preview, Part Uno: the Course!

Okay, I've been lax, but besides the fact that both my dear readers have certainly got better stuff to do, I've also got an epic excuse: I was flattened for weeks by a completely ignominious yet totally incapacitating injury taking out the gar--uh, being chased off a high and excessively rocky nearby mountain pass by a distinctly irritated and giant-clawed Fiat-sized brown bear. Anyhoo, damn straight, cycling fans, new and old: it's time to block out the attention-whoring freak show that is the Tour de France, and go on the smashing, ever-underrated Vuelta a Espana! And sprinters, while there's a few bones thrown here for you, this ain't no place for Champs-Elysees glory-hunters: the Vuelta is a steep, leg-crunching climber's playground, and the rest of you, merely pack fodder. So what can we expect over the next three weeks? This!

The Sprint Stages: right, I'm forced to mention them in the interest of not being a total dismissive tool, so let's get it over with: Stage 2 tucks in a wee Cat-3 lump ahead of one of the few days o' mercy for the flat-land freaks; the 173k Stage 5 mocks you with another Cat 3 and a circuit finale; and holy crap, our Stage 12 intro to the the glorious Basque country at last, home of Euskaltel-Euskadi and, allegedly, a slight chance for fast men despite a Cat 1, Cat 3, then 2 Cat 2s on the way to Bilbao. Are you ready to get your orange on--I am! Stage 16: yeah, like any of you are still here anyway--but if you are, this Bud's for you! Ditto with Stage 18, and the lively last-day circuit of Stage 21. But spare a little TV time for the GC winner, if you please! So sprinters: the upshot is, I dare ya!

The Time Trials: Don't worry twee dear Nairo, there's only two: a flat 30k opening-day team trial to get someone into the gold (sorry, red!) jersey and terrify the GC time-losers on the day, and, on Stage 19 an individual bumpy 37k for the two time trial specialists (or reasonably competent roleurs) stupid enough to take on this race. Fabian, you sure you don't wanna have one last go after your spankin'-new gold medal from Rio?

The Breakaway Stages: sadistically categorized as "medium mountains," these are nonetheless a cavalcade o' cramping, not likely decisive enough for the GC to flip out but decisive enough to screw the complacent. Stage 3 warm up the legs with a Cat 3, a Cat 2, then a modest-sounding but biting 13.8 % hike up the finishing Cat 3 Mirador. Stage 4: another lumper, with 3 modest peaks at under 5% gradient, but a high-altitude, 11k final climb. And welcome to Stage 6, with some nippy little climbs and descents, and, an extra bonus, a "narrow" road at the end for some argy-bargy if the gruppo is fairly tight! Stage 7: 3 Cat 3s and a flat chance at the finish if the sprinters can schlep over the hills. Yeah, 'cause they're great at that! Stage 9: welcome to Oviedo, home of the incredible Samuel Sanchez, as the race pushes through a Cat 2-Cat 3-Cat 3-Cat 3-Cat 2 triple-decker sandwich--GC, sounds workable, but relax at your peril! Stage 13: welcome to the longest day of the Vuelta, 213k of you-better-not-!@#damn-forget-to-eat ahead of the next day's indescribable agony. Stage 15: you get what counts for mellow in the Vuelta--a 118k countdown from Cat 3, to Cat 2, to the Cat 1 finale of Los Sarrios. If you blew your GC on yesterday's queen stage, you might as well have a go!

The Mountains: *here's* what makes this race so agonizing, so excruciating, and so marvelously beautiful, particularly to those of us with access to primo air-conditioning: gradients so steep you might as well be riding upside down, terrain so summer-burnt and spare it's like a moonscape, and, of course, heat so brutal even the most flame-retardant sun-lover will be begging for a miserable Belgian early-March sleetfest or pelting Giro snowstorm. We first hit the serious mountains on the confounding Stage 8, which is mostly false-flat the entire way until at about 170k you smack right into the Cat 1 Alto de la Camperona endgame, with a max slope of 25%. What sicko dreams up this !@#$? Stage 10: yep, party's over, slackers: it's the legendary hors-category climb of the Lagos de Cavodonga, after you've already relaxed with a Cat-1 leg-squincher up Alto del Mirador del Fito. Enjoy tomorrow's rest day--you're certainly gonna need it! Stage 11: another 168k lumper, 'til the poor bastards hit the fearsome Cat-1 Pena Cabarga, with a slightly unwelcoming 18% pitch, a coupla short 6% sections, and a final-k punch of 11%. Ow, *dammit*! This gives you a few days to chill, until the Queen Stage 14: almost 200k of "holy crap!" with the gently-rolling Cat 1s the narrow Col Inharpu, the beloved (or behated) Col de Soudet, then the Col du Maria Blanque, and last but not least, everyone's HC fave--or, likely for someone on GC, mortal enemy--the notorious Col d'Aubisque. Medic--and masseuse! Stage 17: fresh off another nap day, it's the exciting new climb of the Mas de la Costa, generally a lax 13% for the weaklings but gearing up to 22% of sheer pain-o-rama. God, is this thing *over* yet--me, at least *I* hope not! Stage 20: if the race ain't already won or lost, honey, this is *it*--a fierce descent for the unafraid and completely coordinated: 4 Cat 2s and a GC bucket-list Hors Category Alto de Aitana, mostly under 10% but a looooooong--and draining--21k. Please, please someone drop Alejandro Valverde fer Chrissakes!

Okay, that's yer brief Vuelta a Espana Course in Preview: next up, the Players, and yes, I'm still hoping Purito comes to his senses!

It's Yer 2015 Vuelta a Espana Racejunkie Awards! #LV2015

Still struck with a pang of sorrow when you see some schmo on the street in a red t-shirt? Watch an ad for a Spanish telecommunications company and think angrily, "Valverde, you little !@#$%$#"? Find yourself running after the carelessly-discarded spit-covered gel packets of passing roadies like you've just been tossed the Holy Grail? Then you're in severe Vuelta a Espana withdrawal, honey, and we've got the cure--the incredibly prestigious, factually dubious, and beastily biased 2015 Vuelta a Espana Racejunkie Awards! Prizes for the lucky winners, if they're ever desperate enough claim them--a custom-embroidered racejunkie cap and I *promise* I'll find some neat little high-school-jock statuette somewhere in a thrift shop. So here, this year's noble (and disgraceful) awardees:

Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Rider): Yay! We're popping champagne and chillin' our bone-exhausted legs 'til the sprinters can fight for last-chance glory in the final 2k of the entire 3 week race. Until we love Purito Rodriguez has a routine mechanical and that low-rent punk Alejandro Valverde attacks 'im to take the intermediate sprint and Purito's already-won green jersey. Well he's still got white *and* second on GC, you graceless jackass--and you better watch out for him at the Worlds!

Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Spectator): To the shirtless beer-gutted cig-smoking jerk who actually tried to steal Ben King's jillion-dollar Cannondale during a post-crash tangle in the peloton: it's not like anyone wouldn't've noticed you as slightly anomalous tootling on it, eejit! To the invisible dirtbag who took off with his Garmin, which he might've wanted to use to, y'know, figure out if he's about to blow up in the middle of a professional bike race: you're certainly more discreet than that other guy, but still a disgusting jack!@#. What the !@#$ is *wrong* with people?

Beach Blanket Bungle Award: I know! Let's run a Grand Tour opening team time trial right through a fast-blowing traction-hosing sand dune! No *way* the freaked-out GC riders'll crash out on *that*! Uh, on second thought--can you just toss some tacks down on the road next year, I think they'd have better odds with those things!

Crash o' the Race (GC-Screwing): the great, tenacious Tejay Van Garderen, sorely busted and out in a wicked Stage 8 pile-up and still by far not the worst off of the mercifully-healing-at-last boys to hit the deck. Get well soon, the lot of you--Tejay, we're looking for more great things from you next Grand Tour you ride!

Crash o' the Race (Totally !@#$ing Inexcusable): yep, it's a two-fer! Despite the conventional wisdom that one is there to escort the riders, not kill them, some moto-bound moron apparently--for I believe literally the umpteenth time this season--didn't get the memo. What are you *doing*, UCI, issuing hunting licenses to these guys before each Grand Tour? For !@#$'s *sake* already!

The Freaks Come Out at Night (Well, During the Day Award): if you pegged Tom Dumoulin as a high-mountain-goat-for-the-ages before the queen stage of this race, you're either a butt-naked liar, or the only cheesy late-night-infomercial fortune-telling hotline on the planet that actually freakin' works. Next year, Purito takes Paris-Roubaix--watch out, Fabs and Boonen!

Crazy Eights Statuette: all right, the Vuelta's always a bit of a wildcard, but even by its weird standards, *eight*--8 out of 21!--first-time Grand Tour stage winners this race alone is pretty damn impressive. Esteban Chaves (solo, he's won a ttt I think), Bert-Jan Lindeman, Jasper Stuyven, Kristian Sbaragli, Nelson Oliveira, Danny van Poppel, Alexis Gougeard, Caleb Ewan--this 8-headed prize is for all of you!

Sticky Bottle Award: hey, let's be honest--everyone drafts a wee bit from the team cars wending one's way back from a flat, or holds on to a fresh bottle o' refreshment a few seconds longer than strictly necessary at the start of a nasty climb. But having your team director shoot you out of a cannon to the front of the freakin' pack is a whole 'nother level o' naughty entirely. Nice work, Team Astana--hope Nibs enjoyed the rest of the race from his living-room couch!

Corollary Dumb!@# Life Lesson Award: while we're rewarding your catastrophic stupidity--much less lack of sportsmanship--let's give you this to boot. *Don't* pull this crap in front of the cameras--at least wait til the motos are busy rammin' someone else before you make your move!

Bye Bye Bushwhacker Prize: first, lemme say that as an ex-Euskaltel rider, anything and everything Mikel Landa does is beyond reproach, especially when his team bosses held him back--to no good end, even--at the Giro. But it sure was entertaining watching him piss Vinokourov off 'til Mikel finally caved for Aru's sake on the penultimate stage--Mikel, I can't wait to see what you do over at Sky!

Raving Oligarch Verbal Twitter Assault Golden Keyboard Award: you're all spineless pathetic wussies because none of you had the nuts to face Alberto Contador at the Giro. Astana are a pack of cheating scumbags (okay, maybe you can't really fault the man for that). Froome's a simpering crybaby (to his credit, he did apologize when he saw Chris broke his foot). I WILL TAKE YOU DOWN ASO FOR DAMAGING MY GOLDEN BOY PETER LIKE A STEROID-STUFFED PRO WRESTLER ON A 98-POUND WEAKLING! Oleg Tinkov, you sure beat the dullards in the team-boss world all hollow. And you still found the time to berate a million other schmucks as well!

No Guts No Glory Award o' the Race: Ruben Plaza's amazing 100 kilometer solo attack from his own breakaway to take the win. *That* is how it's done, you amateurs!

Just Plain Guts Award: Tom Dumoulin--I gotta admit, this one is--by far, no contest--for you. With virtually no team support (in legs, if not intent), you clenched the red jersey so tightly that only days of coordinated attacks by damn near everyone and from the only GC contender *not* already gob-smacked from the Tour de France could wrench it away from you at last. You are hors categorie, Tom--take a bow, *and* a nice, well-earned nap!

Finally, Yer 4.3 Million-Euro-Man Insult to Injury Prize: okay, it was a bit, well, intemperate of Peter Sagan to swear like a sailor and kick the crap out of a medical support van and his own bicycle, scaring a helpful--and innocent!--medical support person when he got whacked over and substantially de-skinned by a race moto. But really, *fining* him on top of that, when he wouldn't have had to react in the first place but for some eejit thinking *he* was the more important party in the race? Geez, UCI, make 'im send the asshats *flowers* next time whydontcha?!

Well folks, that was the Vuelta that was--Purito, I *know* you can do it, you still got another chance next year!