Argh!: y'know, I'd pretty well resigned myself to supporting the use of race radios because, basically, Jens said so, but now there's an argument that actually has independent merit: if you watched Ten Dam, Schleck, and (sorry Ivan!) Basso's epic choke in the last 2k of the USA Pro Cycling Challenge, it's obvious some of these guys *cannot* be trusted to think for themselves. Geez louise, you have a *guaranteed* win by one of the best bike racers on earth--and frankly, some of you could use it this season--and you blow it by pissy wankerian knowingly self-destructive tactical dithering? Look, I was gonna get annoyed if Andy bagged it too, but better him than none of you for all that work y'all put in. But really, DSes, you've *got* the radios in the team cars, did it *occur* to you you're supposed to use 'em to scream instructions their !@#damn dimwit ears during the race if they need it instead of, oh, ordering a Big Whopper at the drive-thru as a post-loss consolation prize? Andy, of course, managed to whine like one of those horrid over-coiffed yippy dogs *again* about how everyone else owed him victory, though from my seat Ten Dam was at least trying the whole time and Basso jumped on every move no matter who wouldn't even try to help him. Yes, I know you're trying to divert our attention, Andy--but you've still got to learn to time-trial this winter! Anyhoo, big points to Tom Peterson for shoving Richard Nixon's mug out o' the way (serious, look for it): And that was some fine riding, Levi--Johan, with the win as extra leverage, I hope he *does* bail to Quick Step for more dough!
Your Vuelta Roundup: and, as Euskaltel's we love Igor Anton sneakily holds way, way back in preparation for stomping Nibali and Rodriguez next week (shut up! and you can all just bite me when Mikel Nieve wins the Vuelta in a couple years!), Monday's gonna be a big race to the bottom for the GC contenders as each tries not to suck *quite* as bad at the time trial as the next guy down, and I'm banking on Nibali, providing he's not too tanked from his mean ride today, to be the fair-to-middling best o' the bunch. But it's still your race to lose overall, Rodriguez--I hope you don't mind if it's to Anton!
Blast From the Past: meantime, nothing sets the ol' waterworks off and the heartstrings tuggin' like this genuine diamond I find I still have filed from, it looks like, the Financial Times right after the bust in 2006: "I'd no reason to know about testosterone," quoth Landis, "and, all of a sudden, 200 journalists are experts and they've all convicted me." Such cruel, unjustified doubts from those vultures--I'm gonna sue every !@#$% who slanders me! Oh, wait...
Yer Racejunkie Tweet o' the Week: finally, a warm congrats to Mark Cavendish for his comment on Tyler Farrar (sorry!)'s mash-up on this week's Vuelta sprint: "Just watched yesterday's crash in the sprint of #vuelta. I wonder who's going to be first person to blame me for it." Not me, Cav--maybe the field was just hallucinating one of your hired goons chasing 'em down instead?
Retire Or I'll Break Your !@#$ing Kneecaps!: yes, the Astana saga just gets curiouser and curiouser, with Astana managing to keep within the UCI rules and, totally coincidentally, retain their ProTour status with the wholly unsurprising completely voluntary retirement--not a team switch, a retirement--of jailbait quitter Roman Kiriyev, because for my money, a 24-year-old who's just recently achieved his dream career, has been riding actual races within the preceding fortnight, already grabbed a spot on a Grand Tour squad, and despite reports of serious injury has, accordingly to reliable medical reports, a "boo-boo", is just the kind of grizzled veteran whose jaded, arthritic burnout and approximately 63 road miles ridden finally caught up with and whacked 'im when he decided on his retirement "months ago." Well, nice to know ya, Roman--hope Vino didn't cry too hard when you gave him the news!
Crashes and the Dumb!@# Parents Who Cause Them: and, in the sort of crack parenting advice only someone who has personally inadvertently frozen three innocent young cactii to death during a blizzard is qualified to give, I generously offer this suggestion to tifosi everywhere: DON'T LET YOUR FREAKIN' KID RUN OUT ONTO THE COURSE AT A GRAND TOUR. Now, I understand the entirely faultless tot's impulse in dashing out on a 70kph Vuelta downhill to grab a discarded water bottle--if Jens Voigt so much as phtoofed the spit-covered nub of an empty energy gel into the gutter in front of me I'd dive for that thing mount it in platinum and parade it around my office like the Hope Diamond. But I'm old enough to *choose* to be that stupid, and certainly to wait til the peloton goes by. Thankfully, both child and the very worried Kurt Asle Arvesen escaped with mere bumps and bruises, and will be just fine. But *think*, dear parents--we wouldn't allow Junior to skip out onto the fifty-yard line during the last damn play of the Superbowl, would we? Riiigghhhtt!
Punk-!@# Move of the Week: fine, David Moreno wasn't thrilled Chris Anker Sorensen attacked, but to my eyes, it was an *extremely* punk-!@# move on Tuesday for him to wheel-suck Sorenson for 3k then, nicely rested, blitz around him for the stage win. Meantime, I remain in deep denial about we love Igor Anton's disastrous two-day bonk and meekly confessed lack of form, because (1) of course Igor'll ride right back into it in a day or two (shut up! will too! go to hell!) and (2) while GC contenders like Rodriguez and Nibali are foolishly crossing him off their list, Euskaltel revelation Mikel Nieve will smack the smirk off their faces with a coupla smashingly time-gaining stage wins (shut up! will too! go to hell!). Keeeeep dreamin' there Vincenzo--the boys in orange are comin' up!
Oldies But Goodies: finally, it's just darn great the last two days to watch the usually slow-n-steady Levi Leipheimer accelerate like a beast to take a stage and big George Hincapie crush the break today while certain European riders, hampered, as Cadel Evans noted, by a distinct lack of that pesky "oxygen", cracked after a few brave, if futile, efforts of their own. Yes, yes, I know who George and Levi used to ride for, you paranoid, mean-minded haters--lalalalalalalalala, I can't hear you, lalalalalalala!
Look Who's Back!: oh, yeah, watch out, mother!@#$ers. It's Alexandre Vinokourov, and whatever his reasons, he's not done with you yet. A snapped femur is nothing to a man who'd rip it out and beat you over the head with it rather than retire from the peloton in ignominy. He's coming back for a final showdown at Lombardy, and this time, he's not landing in a !@#damn ditch until he's stood on the top of his final podium and he's pedaling home to his hotel at 60kph in a power-drunk haze. I know you want it too, Gilbert. So come and take it from him. If. You. Dare. See you in October, baby!
BMC Ya In Hell, Gilbert!: geez, from Cadel's sharp slap at Thor to know and keep his place, to Hushovd's very warm welcome of his good friend Gilbert to the squad on the condition that he sticks to the Ardennes classics and doesn't start dreaming of sugarplums and Paris-Roubaix til Thor's long been rockin' on the porch reminiscing about yesteryear, the fireworks just keep coming at now-superteam BMC, with Classics aspirant Greg Van Avermaet feeling just a tiiiiiiiiny bit suspicious of BMC's professed commitment to his own personal development with the addition of Philippe to his happy home. Oh, I'd not worry, Greg--between Thor, Cadel, and Philippe marking each other like dead enemies at every race, they won't even *notice* if you escape up the road for a win!
And We're Off!: yes, the fabulous Vuelta is on the road, and with the usual twitchy freak assortment of crashes, mechanicals, and disastrous bonks for the prologue in the rear-view, it's time to coddle the flatlanders before Tyler, Cav, and co. seriously start reconsidering bike-doping when the race starts hitting even its more modest hills. In the meantime, they're off to a surprisingly fine start, with Tommeke charging just a bit too early (but still looking great--come on Tom!) as that nasty little uphill bit in, and Chris Sutton capping a smashingly strong finish with a detailed individual shout-out to his teammates for the set-up as Benna-Jet of all folks bags the red jersey. Here's hot-off-the-presses spectator footage: Anyway, I'd just like to point out that Euskaltel-Euskadi did *not* lose as much time in the TTT as might've been well expected, and Menchov, you can just start shining Anton's bike shoes for him right now. He likes 'em nice and bright, so get started already, punk!
Yes, cycling fans, the obscene circus that is the Tour de France is past, the lucrative post-Tour crits are history, UCI's Pat "Dick" McQuaid, having abandoned anti-doping efforts for the year, is blissfully in heavily-hallucinating rainbows-and-unicorns territory declaring the sport finally clean, and it's time for the fabulous Vuelta a Espana, baby! So here's what you need to know:
The Course: 3 solid weeks of high-altitude pain, pain, pain, and more pain, as pansy French climbs like Alpe d'Huez are abandoned in favor of excruciating heat, ferocious impending misery, and some seriously daunting!@#$ in the mountains. Oh, right, and Oscar Freire gets a couple of not-really-flats to make the rest o' the sprinters whimper like the pampered simpering babies they are. Climb or go home, suckers!
The GC Contenders: --Igor Anton. But for his craptastic bone-buckling crash-out last year, the generous Samuel Sanchez's wiry acolyte would've been standing atop on the final podium with (the worthy, but still) Vincenzo Nibali gasping for fresh air in his armpit. And that's *exactly*, with the help of his twee mountain-goat teammates and a merciful lack of time-trialing kilometers, where he's gonna be this year. Aupa Euskalteeeeeeeeel! --Vincenzo Nibali. Let's be honest, Ivan Basso wouldn't be hedging his bets (and continuing Liquigas captaincy) calling himself and this kid "Italy's Schleck Brothers" unless he had a reason to worry, and Nibali's near-winning performance in the 2011 Giro, and 2010 defending jersey in this race, tells you why. Good luck Vincenzo--but Igor's still gonna stomp your !@#! --Michele Scarponi. Dang, this guy is better now than when he was d--uh, a debutante. No, he won't win--he'll just grimace his way along quietly and sneak ever-up on GC--but a podium spot could be in sight. But heck, it's not like Lampre's girly-dress-up team kit is hard to miss--so keep an eye on 'im, boys! --Joaquim Rodriguez. Katusha may blow, but they ain't stupid. He's fresh, he's canny, and he's eager to take his home Grand Tour. And thank heavens he won't have to time trial too much! --Denis Menchov. Oh, don't even *go* there with me, honey--where the hell has he *been* this season, anyway? But good luck dear little Sastre with your stage win!
The Climbers: they're busy. Look for anyone who busts his...chainring for his captain and deserves a reward, and anyone who can't keep up with the GC in this race but gets too press-hyped to concede defeat, to grab a solo stage win here and there. This means you Euskaltel, and--aw, you know who you are, I'm not gonna make it even worse!
The Sprinters: hah! Like they're any use in *this* race. No, there are some. Let's see...there's Petacchi, and...um, there's...no, well...oh, just take my damn word for it, already!
The Missing: 1st, Thor Hushovd, who as you surely know by now wanted to ride the Vuelta to prepare to defend the prestigious World Champion stripes that in between acting as a freakin' domestique for !@#$'s sake he's been CONSPICUOUSLY PIMPING ON JONATHAN VAUGHTERS' !@#$IN' JERSEY ALL SEASON--you *suck*, Garmin! Also, all the Tour de France GC contenders. Never fear though, cycling fans--*after* you watch the far more important Vuelta coverage in full every day, you can watch Cadel, Ivan, and the Schlecks go head-to-head at the USA Pro Cycling Challenge in Colorado. Better, catch Thor at the Tour of Britain instead. C'mon Thor, show Vaughters he can shove yer wilted Tour de France mountain-win bouquets right--gosh, right in his glove compartment!
And Finally, Why This Particular Vuelta's So Bitchin': yes, at this Grand Tour there *is* a distinct lack of publicity-slut nimrods bouncing their pasty hairy beer-guts over their underwear running way too close to the riders (and cameras) for comfort, but even better, the Vuelta is takin' a nice hike through the brutal, beautiful Basque Country itself, which means thousands upon thousands of orange-army fanatics packing the roads to deafen even their Euskaltel heroes with screaming. These guys, in sum, are (aside from my dear reader(s) of course), the very bestest fans in the business. Igoooooooooooooooooooor!
Well, them's yer intro, I'll go into far more'n you ever wanted to hear as we go along. Now repeat after me--Anton rules, Nibali drools, Anton rules, Nibali drools, Anton r...! Look, here's why:
Okay, aside from ex-cycling gadfly/newbie car racer Floyd Landis saying Alberto Contador's former coach is a "drug trafficker," Gilbert still deciding whether to screw over Boonen at Quick Step or tag-team Cadel doing it to Thor Hushovd at BMC, Horner recovering well (thank goodness) from a blood clot and Levi Leipheimer taking the Tour of Utah while new Sky signing Henao climbs like a monster, there's really not that much goin' on today, so that said, except for maybe Jens and Cav, it occurs to me lately that there's a certain "je ne sais quoi"--French for "total lack of entertainment value," of course--missing of late from the peloton. Oh, and before I get any crap, yes, although a *few* of these selections *may* have had issues with doping in the past, I'm against it. Extremely against it. So against it, in fact, that I'd rather listen to Andy Schleck wh--well, maybe not quite *that* against it, but trust me, *really* darn against it. Therefore, without further ado, Guys I Really Miss From the Peloton But Probably Shouldn't:
1. Jan Ullrich. say what you will about his strict fidelity to omerta' and the fact that he was a frustrated constant second fiddle to Lance Armstrong for the better part of a decade--and we all know why *that* was--but god love 'im, that man was a glorious mess. His power, undeniable; his performances, gorgeously erratic; his weight-piling off-season schnitzel binges, just plain lovable. At his best, as he chomped his way up a mountain in some ridiculous gear, he was simply a marvel to watch. And lest we forget, the man *did* take a Tour de France. Glad to see you back in action on the charity circuit, Jan!
2. Roberto Heras. like most climbers, Heras never yapped on much--no small part of why I tend to like them--but what you could count on, no matter what *he* was on, was his impeccable form on a climb, and drugs just can't buy that !@#$. And with no glory left in sight, the man's still riding his bike. Oh stuff it, like you don't think noone else at the time was any cleaner!
3. Alexander Vinokourov. Damn, it's barely been a month, and already the roads seem almost sane. And with Vino, you always knew to expect *some* race-course freak-show, whether it was a wholly pointless acceleration 70k from the finish line or his impish tendency to inflict sudden pain on an exhausted-but-inevitably-winning GC contender just because he could. Vino, please do get a handle on Iglinsky so he doesn't hurt anyone--but if you could imbue yer little Astana acolytes with your random torment, we'll all owe you big time!
4. Mario "the Chest" Cipollini. Look, it's no secret that I normally can't stand sprinters--their arrogance, their braggadocio, their squicky tendency to be caught making out with their own reflections in the men's-room mirror--but I gotta say, Cav excepted, the politesse of these guys lately is really getting on my nerves. But not only is Super Mario fielding a personal squad of exceedingly formidable female cyclists, you could always rely on him for, if not a sparkling quote or a brilliant finish (and he dished out plenty of those), a buck-nekkid photo of him around a bicycle. Damn, don't people think their mammas look at the internet?
5. Gilberto Simoni. Y'know, there's nothing I love more than to hear Cav go off on a teamful of guys who've just helped him take a win, Cadel snap on a posse of friendly press corps, or McEwen threaten to personally dissect anyone, on any basis, who !##$s with him. But these guys are frankly Amateur Hour next to the great two-time Giro d'Italia champ Gilberto Simoni, whose enormous capacity for vindictiveness and utter lack of self-editing led to some of the nastiest smack-talk of the last decade. Best of all, the man *can* back it up in the heights. Come back, Gibo--maybe your ol' pal Basso could use another DS to help him out over at Liquigas?
6. Erik Zabel. Don't tell me the sight of a hot-pink Telekom jersey didn't whack 14 or so years o' fear into the sprint kings! Oddly, there's rather a dearth of Zabel greatest-hits compilations on the web, though, in a disturbing harbinger of this past year's cow-carnage, I did find this interesting clip of poor Erik being clobbered by a pony. This isn't why I miss you Erik--but Phil and Paul's commentary *is* priceless!
Yes, I've left out many deserving greats, and you and they all know who they are. And no, Lance isn't one of 'em, 'cause frankly, we *still* hear too much about that !@#$. So back to the countdown to the Vuelta, and good luck Contador with your Landis response!
Man on the Run: yep, looks like it's serious--Cav's go-to, and frankly much-needed, lead-out Mark Renshaw is apparently about to head to Rabobank to pursue some main-man sprint dreams of his own. Well, given how you've used him like a bat-wielding goon on the other sprinters, Cav, you better watch out now if you piss *him* off! Of course, you could just go all McEwen and actually rip someone's ear off with your teeth yourself...
Thooooooooooor!: in other "what the !@#$?" news, we love Thor Hushovd has bailed on the wholly unappreciative Garmin-Cervelo--I warned you, Vaughters!--to head to BMC of all places, and is so certain that the squad's massive support of all things Cadel (which Cadel deserves, for sure) won't leave him completely jacked again in the Classics and everything else that he's gone ahead and inked a full three-year gig. Considering what Thor managed to pull off entirely on his own in the Tour de France this year, though, I imagine that even there with the full force of the squad behind the defending Evans, Thor'll manage things for himself juuuuuuust fine. Okay, Thor, I'll admit I'm still a little skeptical here--but if you say it's okay, it must be true!
Bio Hazard: so, despite the fact that narcs-supreme UCI've got every cyclist's blood profile locked down cold, it seems there's a little problem with the infallible biological passport--according to Cervelo guru Gerard Vroomen, the dedicated dope-fighters aren't actually, y'know, testing against it. D'oh! Y'know, *no-one* has more faith in Pat "Dick" McQuaid than I, so I'm gonna state the obvious here and say that the only reason UCI *hasn't* done any of this stuff lately is that they just haven't plain had the time since they've been so busy busting big-name riders like, um....and, uh....gee, maybe...no, how about....hmmmmm....oh, but you watch out, you cheaters, they're comin' after you *someday*!
Tic-Toc, Baby!: finally, since you just can't wait for the Vuelta to begin (no, not the *Tour*, you soulless trolls, the *Vuelta*, the fabulous *Vuelta*), here's a bitchin' promotional video to ring in the countdown. Enjoy--and dammit, bring this sucker *on* already!
I'm *Scum* (Oh, Screw, I Mean on This Specifically): yes, I've done a grievous injustice to lords o' commentary Phil Liggett & Paul Sherwen: according to their interview in Bicycle Times, Phil gets "annoyed" when they get criticized for talking nonstop about Lance !@#$ing Armstrong, because in fact, it's the doofus US TV producers who *make* them do it. In my defense, I've only slagged 'em here for it 40 or 50 times total while lauding their godly superiority to all other creatures except maybe the boys at Euskaltel an estimated 3,650,000 times per single actual post, but still, I can't bear having done them wrong for a minute, so not only do I most humbly beg your forgiveness for being a complete twit, if you guys stop on by Rancho Racejunkie, I'll take you on a sojourn--on the fine racejunkie steed of your choice--down the path to one our truly superlative ice-cream emporia. Heck, I'll even pony up if you're one of those inexplicable "sorbet"-eating freaks. Sure, you'll drop me thirty yards out the driveway, but I'll catch up in a week or two. And I highly recommend the Vienna Finger Cookie, but if you're of a mind for a pint instead, I'll even make sure ahead of time they have the Guinness ice cream on hand. So Phil & Paul, mea maxima culpa, ditch those boring $10,000 Cervelos or whatever astonishing !#@$ you've been comped, and step right up to my smashing 1973 copper Ross Apollo 3-speed stick shift, or whatever else you can find amidst the chaos!
Yer Doping Excuse o' the Week: no, I didn't get around to this about five days ago--and really, can you blame me for not keeping up with the sheer quantity of postaldiscoveryastanaradioskank riders that've been dropping like flies every day?-- but while it's awful hard to beat Riccardo "Hey, *Anyone* Can Mistakenly Tell Their Doctor in a Total Delirium That They've Removed Their Own Blood, Pumped It Full of Illegal Performance-Enhancing Drugs, Stored It Improperly In the Fridge Next to the Yogurt for Three Weeks, Then Re-Injected It Back Into Myself In the Breakfast Nook" Ricco', former Lance minion Max Van Heeswijk's doing us all proud, claiming that when he admitted to a Dutch reporter he'd taken EPO on Lance's watch, he was really just referring to some "pre-race vitamins" he'd taken. (Unfortuntely, there's no record either way, as Van Heeswijk allegedly took the recording. D'oh!) Y'know, I hear you, Max. Truly. It is *so* hard to distinguish my Dora the Explorer Chewable Vitamin C Supplements from my SpongeBob Squarepants Gummi EPOs, especially when Lance is screaming right in my frickin' ear to get my lazy !@# to the start line before he rips my legs off. So remember next time--the *vitamins* have Dora and Diego on the label!
Oh, Cough It *Up*, Honey!: meantime, speculation continues as to where sprint king Mark Cavendish is gonna end up in 2012, even though he already knows, but it's clearly gonna be one of two places: (1) winning every race he's in, or (2) staring at Tyler Farrar's spandex butt in every sprint next season if he didn't get to take his crucial lead-outs Renshaw and Eisel with 'im. Wiggo, I see, has decided to welcome him with open arms if he goes to Sky, unless that is he fails to help him get and keep the yellow jersey in the Tour next year, in which case I imagine it'll be open fists in the team bus instead. See, they're best buds already--so long as Cav understands his place!
Your 2012 Rider o' the Year Is...: finally, I know I should be posting about Philippe Gilbert winning every post-Tour crit that Samu didn't whack him in (woo-hoo Sanchez!), and being all about to pulverize the peloton like stale breadcrumbs in this week's Eneco Tour, but since Euskaltel of course has come up with a stellar first-ever win for young talent Mikel Landa, I'm going to suggest y'all just su--um, sure enjoy the videotape: Lookin' good for the Vuelta, boys--the rest o' you saps might's well just unpack yer bags at home right now!
A Gentle Suggestion for Andy Schleck: well, it's finally occurred to Andy "I Was Supposed to Win the Tour" Schleck that he's got a little work to do on his time trial before next July, and if I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion, you might want to work on those sketchy descending skills, too. Y'know who's *really* good at both? Oh, of course Cadel, but even better--Alberto Contador! And after 2 straight years of your bitching over Chaingate, I'm sure he'd be happy to show you how to pitch down a mountain at a zillion kph while he's shoving a water bottle into your wh--um, maybe you better just ask Cadel for help after all!
Lance Fights Cancer...Patient: yep, apparently Lance Armstrong ain't got much use for folks fighting cancer who don't like him, too, as a gentleman dealing with cancer surgery wholly reasonably begs no-one to get him one of those ubiquitous yellow bracelets, and Lance fires back with a snitty tweet to which, I must say, said gentleman responded with great discretion and aplomb. Y'know, it seems to me, Lance, that much as you've admirably done for the cause--which no one disputes that I've ever heard of--everyone's entitled to feel, and fight their own personal battle in, their own way. And if someone struggling with a miserable and terrifying illness can't bear eyeballing a cheerful platitude emblazoned on a happy-looking yellow wristband, I don't see how you can blame him. (Similar feelings, I've read, have been noted among some breast cancer survivors and the pink-ribbon campaign.) You fought your illness bravely, and I'm so very glad you recovered and went on to such great things. But you don't *own* the fight for everyone else, Lance, and those who don't feed your ego over your approach are entitled to that. Now cut the man some slack!
You Think the Climbs at the *Giro* Were Bad?: well, go cryin' to yer momma, honey, because the perfect Vuelta a Espana's about to do you one better--they're gonna make you haul your !@# up a giant volcano, and tough luck to you if your team kit and bike instantly vaporize in the lava flow and you end up butt-nekkid and rideless with nothin' but yer cleats to stand on and some smokin' shreds o' musette to shield the works. Oh, well, the Spaniards at least ride well in the heat--but Belgian hardmen, you might wanna just stay home!
The War on Drugs: no, not UCI's, you sweet, silly, naive little fool--Italy's, as Riccardo Ricco's latest doping ban gets extended another 30 days on the grounds that, if I am translating this correctly, he is "a colossal !@#$ing wanker." Don't worry Ricky, with the !@#$ you take (allegedly!) I'm sure you'll still be at the top your game when your ban expires sometime around 2050...
Gratuitous Jens Voigt Update: okay, as long as everyone's being irksomely coy about their transfer plans (this means you, Cav!), for no reason whatsoever I refer you to we love Jens, busy, apparently, painting a table with the Jenslets and confusing his dog. Ride again soon, Jens--what the hell are we supposed to do without you?!
Beach Baby, Beach Baby, There on the Sand, From July to the End of Septem-beeer: finally, bon voyage to wee sensation Alberto Contador, who's (almost--geez, decide already!) wrapping up his season (except for, y'know, his legal one) for 2011 to hit the beach, toss back a few--hey, I was gonna say margaritas, you cynics!--and reflect on his fascinating year. So, to tide you Alberto fans over 'til then, here's a little tribute:
It's Yer Final 2011 Tour de France Racejunkie Awards!: okay, I stand duly chastised, but it's not every day I'm accused by my faithful reader(s) of not babbling *enough*, and, frankly even with *my* low standards I questioned the good taste of an award to someone who basically survived a terrifying car accident, but between that and a couple 'nother things I left out due to space, here you go:
Your Body Is a Hoogerland Award: this goes, of course, to poor barbed-wired Johnny Hoogerland *and* to Juan Antonio Flecha, who though he did pop back up quickly after all was directly hit by the damn media car before Hoogerland sailed into that hideous fence, and while it's usually Stuey O'Grady wrapped up like a mummy with splints stickin' out of 'im in 14 different directions as he crosses the line, gigantic accolades to both Hoogerland and Flecha for not only sticking it out but actively triumphing, to the tune of the polka dot jersey for Hoogerland no less, with every subsequent attack during the Tour. Here's the dual damage: Let's hope no-one has to get this prize ever again!
Domestique o' 2012 (Yeah, You Read Right): as Alberto Contador's bromance with Bjarne Riis hits the rocks hard as he tells the press on further reflection it's certainly possible to do the Giro-Tour double if YOUR TEAM DOESN'T SUCK, we here at racejunkie are always ready to help, and can't help but note that it's our own dear reader/resident badass Doug who has recently *twice* conquered the Galibier. Look, no-one doubts that Sorensen's an awfully good guy--but Saxo bank just *gave* you a ton of fat-cat dough, Bjarne, now *use* it before Contador !@#damn jumps to Movistar! And I only take a ten percent cut. And maybe that ill-gotten maillot jaune you were so eager to get rid of. And...anyway, congratulations Doug, see you on Eurosport next year!
Happy Happy Joy Joy Prize: Best. Announcer. Reaction. Ever. Go Edvaaaaaaaaaaaaald!
Aussie Fans Kick !@# Award: finally (I mean it), and, in just about the best piece of citizen-journalism I've ever seen, our Phil and Paul of tomorrow weighed in on not only the mind-boggling news that Cadel was about to become the first Aussie ever to win the Tour, and the upcoming weather on the Champs-Elysees, but, most important of all, muffins! Great work, girl--and Versus, you once hired the Trautwig, now *hire* this chick!
So sorry to have pissed y'all off, and in 2012 I swear I'll just yap on no matter how questionably--so no freakin' complainin' next year!
Yes, folks another exciting and very strange Tour de France is behind us, and just as some guy with a truly terrifying pile o' chimp-thatched beer gut bouncing over his neon Speedo must run alongside the maillot jaune on a climb for half an hour searing our eyeballs on the queen stage, so must every Grand Tour have its accolades, which means it's time for the official, coveted 2011 Tour de France Racejunkie Awards! So before Contador gets his 2010 crown taken away somewhere after his great-grandkids turn 21, let's get right to the show:
Bawl Your Eyes Out Moment o' 2011: shut up, like you didn't too, you poseur: Tyler Farrar making a "W" with his hands (and damn near wobbling off his bike) as he crossed the line in his stage 3 victory. You rock, Tyler!
Doug and Wendy Whiner Award: wah, it's raining, wah, no-one-'s riding for me, wah, I don't like time trials, wah, it's not *fair* to make us descend at a Grand Tour, wah, wah, wah! Okay, Schleck brothers, everyone else can ride their bikes down the mountains, and we'll !@#damn buy you guys a jump rope so you can !@#damn *skip* down the Galibier next year. Will *that* shut you up once and for all? Great--it's a deal!
WTF Tactic of the Tour (Individual): not to dump on the guy, but Andy Schleck on the Plateau de Beille. If you're gonna take serious time outta Contador when he's not a knee-bashed weakling, or even when he is, 86 consecutive two-meter attacks ain't gonna do the job. Either go up, or stay home!
WTF Tactic of the Tour (Team): 4 GC leaders at RadioSkank? Leaving aside the unfortunately high attrition rate, which had nothing to do with this issue, what you get is 4 guys wringing themselves inside out before you've even picked a leader to ride for. Dang, Johan, what were you thinking?
Crash o' the Tour (Decisive): the hell with the Giro or Vladimir Karpets going all baseball-bat on Contador's kneecap--the race was over for half the riders--GC, stage, or bottle-carrier--on that ginormous pileup on stage 1. Brutal!
Crash o' the Tour (Just Plain Bummin'): oh, Vino, we hardly knew ye. It was only a matter of time in the Alps or Pyrenees before you scared the crap out of the peloton with your utterly random rippin' attacks and brought needle-bearing narcs down on you like vultures on carrion. What a lousy way to end your career--you *sure* you don't want to come back to piss off the French just *one* more time?
Crash o' the Tour (Irritating): crashes, actually--Jens Voigt on the descent o' the whatsit. I'm not sure, but just for a *second* there I thought I could hear cursing in German. We love Jens--and tarmac fears him!
Boy Wonder o' the Race: I was thinking Jelle Vanendert--in large part because if he captured the maillot jaune I thought "Mellow Jelle"'d be a bitchin' nickname-- but this one really goes to smashing Canadian export Ryder Hesjedal, who never saw a break he wouldn't be in. You looked awesome, Ryder--I can't wait to see what you do in the future!
It's a Bird, It's a Plane Prize: holy crap, no, it's one-hit-Grand-Tour-wonder/very fine Classics man Damiano Cunego, locking in a top-seven spot! What's next, the guy wins the Giro again?--watch out Ivan Basso, he's getting his mojo back!
No Guts No Glory Award: indisputably, Thomas "Savior of French Dignity" Voeckler. And no, given the guy's agonized gasping at the top of Alpe d'Huez and pretty well every other damn stage he held the jersey in, I'm not suggesting a damn thing. It's the sort of thing that gives a cynical fan hope again. Now listen Voeckler, don't !@#$ it up!
Mountain Do o' the Tour: Hors categorie, Thor, you are just the *man.* Forget six stellar days in the yellow jersey: two mountain stage wins, when a big lug like yourself by all rights oughtn't be able to climb anything bigger'n a speed bump? Woo-hoo Thor!
Euskaltel Are Gods Award: well, okay, not so much a prize, as a simple statement o' fact. Now bow before the altar of Samuel Sanchez, you lowly swine!
Slow 'n' Steady Wins the Race: okay, the man doesn't shoot up a climb like Lance on--um, on a bike. On a bike, Lance, honest! But he knows exactly what he's doing in a tactical sense, he doesn't let the Worst-Timed-Mechanical-Ever hold him back, and he's a freakin' beast against the clock. Cadel Evans, it couldn't have happened to a more deserving guy. "Advance Australia Fair" is *right*, baby!
Bait'n'Switch Prize o' 2011: I honestly thought Mark Cavendish's total personality transplant had this one in the bag, but the Schleck's 180 from 24/7 crybabies to Best Sports Ever (to Cadel, anyway) pipped him at the Champs-Elysees. Hey, Cav, doesn't that count as cutting you off?--you sending Renshaw up there to bust some !@$@$s or what?
Missing the Point Award: UCI has zero--ZERO, you hear me?--tolerance for doping at this year's Tour. So what are they gonna do about it? That's right, you cheating sons o' beetches, they're gonna go after--um, Jan Ullrich? Who was implicated in Operacion Puerto half a decade ago. Who retired soon thereafter. Who's barely ridden his bike since then except for a few wholly laudable kids' charity rides. You go, UCI--the Doping Skankwad Class of 2011 appreciates your ignoring them!
And Finally, Rock-'Em-Sock-'Em Robot Award of the Tour: y'know, Alberto Contador may be a lot of things, but a wuss isn't one of 'em. Pow, you !@#$%%$!
Well, them's mine for this year, and I'm sure there's some poor sod out there to whom I failed to do justice. In which case, humblest apologies, and never fear, o also-rans--you'll have your chance for immortality in 2012!
Swell Cadel!: okay, I'm a wuss-weenie, seeing Cadel fighting off tears on the podium choked me up. But while the Schlecks have to be fair handled their maillot jaune loss with grace and cheer since yesterday, I did feel better straightaway watching 'em all together with Cadel right there on top. Bad racejunkie!
What the !@#$ Is Wrong With You, Versus?: there he is. We love Samuel Sanchez of we love Euskaltel-Euskadi is proudly taking the podium in his polka-dot jersey. And what are *you* disrespectful clowns doing? Ignoring it and interviewing Mark Cavendish, with his giant head blocking even the big spectator's video screen! How does he "feel" about winning the green jersey? Happy, you asshats--now get your priorities straight, and give Samu' the glory he deserves! Here, I'll fix it: Now don't do that again!
Garmin Just Gets Cooler: sure, despite Jonathan Vaughters cruelly screwing Thor "Mountain Goat" Hushovd out of a decent hotel room, it's hard to imagine how much more bitchin' the squad could get at this Tour, but as bone-broken crash-out Dave Zabriskie comforts himself for missing the party in Paris by hitting the show at Comic-Con, Garmin does their man a solid by including a life-size paper cut-out of 'im on the podium at the best-team presentation. Take heart Dave Z--I'm sure you'll be back there at the end for real in 2012!
Speaking of Who's Not on the Podium: and, watch out Schlecks and freakin' learn to TT if you can (and on my end, it's nice to be right for once)--I see that Contador *is* in fact not riding the Giro in 2012 (a wholly uncalled-for jerkfaced slap to a beautiful and of course far superior race that openly loves you, though, Alberto, unlike the hissing French, by saying you'll "never" do it again) to focus on winning the Tour. Looks like someone's after your record there, Lance--let's just hope he's got the same luck getting completely off the hook for, uh, nothin'!
All Right, Cav Fans: finally, while it's true Cav could barely get up a mountain on a helicopter, much less two wheels, and I normally don't have that much use for sprinters and their constant TV-ho ego trips, he *did* work his butt off on the intermediate sprint points, and, more, over a bucket o' inevitable stage wins solidified his well-deserved rep as the fastest bloke on two wheels. Congrats, Cav--and next time Samu is getting accolades, back the hell off the stupid press and bow to him like he deserves!
Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oy Oy Oy!: Let's face it, this has been one giant freak show of a Tour de France: half the faves crashed out in the first week, Samuel Sanchez just beat Fabian Cancellara in a time trial (shut up! go to hell!), Cunego came out of nowhere, the French didn't suck--what the !@#$ is next, Thor Hushovd taking two Grand Tour mountain stages? Anyway, you may not think Cadel rides pretty, and you may not think the man rides exciting, but the man indisputably does ride smashing, and huge congrats to Cadel and our friends Down Under for Australia's first-ever Tour de France champion! Oh, *look*, the man is crying--woo-hoo class act Cadeeeeeeeeeeeeeel--*that's* karma smackin' you right in the !@# and on top of the podium, baby!
Yer Tour in Mini-Re(well, technically still Pre-)view: so before Cav takes the stage tomorrow and thumps his chest like a gorilla, why don't we take a moment to review: Voeckler rode like a brave obsessed monster, Pierre "New Hope of French Cycling" Rolland did the Alpe d'Huez more than justice, we love Samuel "Holy Crap He's the Polka Dot Jersey!" Sanchez is King of the Mountains, and, because I'm not a whiny little beeyotch (today) like that emerging smug little snot you-know-who, I'm gonna give a big warm "well done!" to the first-ever podium brothers Schleck, who did, after all, only tank the time trial after a humungous recent solo breakaway and a truly mind-boggling amount of snippy braggadocio and smirking on Andy's part, and heck knows both of those take effort. But Andy's still very young, and unless he's gonna play Ullrich to Contador's perpetual (if less annoying and more well-rounded) Armstrong, his Tour will come. Plus, if Jens Voigt says so, it has to be true. Forgive me my doubts Jens, you're still a god! Still, since that's clearly the last time Alberto's gonna !@#damn ride the Giro--all I can say is, Andy, you got one year to get happy goin' downhill!
Next up: interviews, yap, photos, yap, the final podium in Paris, and yer ultra-prestigious fanatically-coveted 2011 Tour de France Racejunkie Awards!
Okay, It's Over: so the sun has set on Alberto Contador's Tour de France, and while you can hardly diss the boy after he alone among the GC contenders rode (and blitzed) the Giro (in case he was banned from the Tour, but whatever), then spent days in the Pyrenees nursing a sore kneecap--tho' you can *certainly* blame Bjarne for his spectacular dumbassity in letting Alberto effectively lose the Tour on stage 1 getting caught behind that stupid crash--I gotta say, I'm rather sorry for him, and Andy Schleck's been so unbearably whiny the last week I was seriously hoping Contador--hell, even Schleck's own team--would kick his !@# on the Galibier just on principle. But whatever his troubles, as his completely gobsmacked poor face showed, Alberto, classy about it as he was,just didn't have it in the end, and by any measure--including, for sure, tactical sense--if Cadel finally gets his Tour in Paris there can be no doubt he's earned it with every excruciating pedal-stroke. If the mightily tenacious French re-phenom Voeckler nails it? Holy crap, that'd be epic, but don't tell me you won't feel slightly, well, surprised, you liar liar pants on fire! And Bjarne--if you even *think* about using that new pile of Saxo Bank dough to try to buy out we love Samuel Sanchez from under Euskaltel in exchange for say the Vuelta, you can just !@#$%^%$ *&^%$#% yer frickin' !@#$$! #$% (*&^, you !@#$ #@#$%er! Anyway, starting about 11:30 in, here's Voeckler's brilliant, almost heartbreaking, lug to the line: Beautiful!
It Ain't Easy Being Green: meantime, forget the fact that Cav's in-the-bag green jersey is now back in play due to a 20-point penalty for blowing the time cut (along with half the peloton, to be fair)--more important than Rojas squealing like a kid at Christmas over his good fortune, what the hell has gotten into the Manx Missile lately? Where even the perpetually-genteel Tyler Farrar has fallen prey to a very brief (and instantly retracted) bout of smack-talk, Cav has apparently replaced his entire personality with some hideously saccharine Smurf's, generously complimenting everyone from Thor Hushovd to the guy who takes his urine sample with nary a complaint or insult in sight. Come back to us, Mark--I cannot *take* Andy Schleck's whinging as a cheap substitute to your !@#$ed-off perfection!
Yer Lance Armstrong Question o' the Day: last but not least, for those of us subject to those nonstop Miller High Life commercials on Versus, am I the only one thinkin' the only reason they finally stopped running the ones with Lance jovially chatting and mountain-biking with a buncha other pretty folks is because he must've threatened to rip the arm off the lowly peon actor who dared touch him on the shoulder during the party scene? Oh, well, I'm sure it didn't hurt *so* much with that nice beer buzz on and all...
Want Some Cheese With That Whine?: wah, Cadel won't work, wah, no-one's attacking, wah, no-one's helping me win, wah, wah, wah. Look, Schlecks: no-one owes you *anything.* First, you've got nearly two minutes on Contador who was limping up the Pyrenees with a bashed-in knee and a Giro-decimated lack of energy, and the best you can--or are willing to--get on 'im is 2 more seconds on the Plateau de Beille? With *your* abilities, why the hell didn't you dispatch him once and for all right then? It's not like you have moral problems hosing him like you did last year! And honey, if Contatwerp *remotely* feels better later this week, you've got a lot worse to worry about than guys on other squads freakishly not riding for *you*. Second, let's reiterate: no-one else owes you *anything.* Cadel doesn't--yes, it's a wheel-sucking snoozefest of a way to win the Tour, but *you're* the one who's gonna get obliterated in the time trial, why *should* he knock himself out? And Basso's got his own Tour redemption to sort out--remember when Frank was (allegedly!) associated with Fuentes, but only Basso went down? More, Ivan excepted, Liquigas simply doesn't have the high-altitude firepower to win the Tour, and at least Ivan's got the nuts to keep attacking alone. Andy, you or Frank could well win anyway--it was all decided on the first-stage pileups where Twerp lost time and you, thanks to mere timing, didn't. Win or lose, whatever, but quit the cryin' already!
White Punk on Dope: so UCI prez Pat "Dick" McQuaid sez it wouldn't be a "bad thing" if there were a doping positive or two at the Tour de France this year, on the grounds that it'd suggest that anti-doping efforts were working. Now, two years *without* a poz, *that'd* suck, as it'd tend to show there's "something going wrong here." Leaving aside the fact that, uh, there *has* been a positive dope, or masking agent, test at this year's Tour, and there hasn't even been *one* year, much less two, without a doping poz recently (as I seem to recall Contador got into some small imbroglio in 2010)--Pat, given the disgusting raft o' nailage that's been been going on since a reliable test for EPO, then CERA, then the bio passport, and also since certain members of the peloton have been shocked with a cattle prod every time they reach into the cooler on the team bus, I think it's safe to say that a load of these clowns are still getting away with it. I gotta give it to you, though, Andy's account of being forced to walk through a restaurant's worth of innocent diners with a cup of wiz in his hand both showcases your genuine diligence in the matter *and* provides a nauseating visual sure to be seared into my cerebral cortex for years to come. Thanks so much for all you do!
The Dark Horse Rides On: and, in "French Riders Who Don't Suck" news (and I was really rooting for Sandy "The Dog Ate My Bicycle" Casar, btw), Thomas Voeckler's doing a smashing job hanging on to the maillot jaune, and tho' he's assuring the French fans he can't win it, we love Samuel "Holy Crap He's the Olympic Road Race Champion And He Rocked the Pyrenees!" Sanchez, for one, is not buying it. I say let's make a deal with the French tifosi: if one of their own finally hits the podium, will *you* stop hissing and abusing everyone who kicks your !@# whether or not they're stoked on illicit substances? Hell, even that crap only helped, say, Virenque so much!
The Guilty Pleasure of Alexandre Vinokourov: all right, I'm a class-A hypocrite on this one. I can't stand doping, and I especially can't stand guys who take (allegedly!) half their wins with an IV in their butt and a direct sterile line to their team cars. But I loooooooove watching Alexandre Vinokourov, and I'm sorry to see him retire. I love the way he attacks seemingly at random, with no particular sense or strategy to the timing. I love how he lights up a pack of wheel-slurping lame-os out of their stupor with his inexplicable aggression. I love him for his endless work in keeping his fallen friend Andrei Kivilev's memory alive, for always rewarding his domestiques with their own victories before they hit retirement age (hear that, um...someone?), I loved watching him stick it to the bitter booing fans at Liege-Bastogne-Liege whose own guy couldn't've won it anyway. And I particularly love him for calling bull!@#$ on the teams, peloton, and entire cycling world for their ridiculous hypocrisy in criticizing him. Trust me, I appeal to the purity and goodness that is Lance Armstrong every night to make me a better person, to no avail. And yes, it makes me feel soooooooooo dirty. Disgusting as you may be, Vino, you'll be sorely missed--and I'll chomp down my racejunkie hat like a Dorito if I'm the only one!
It's the Thor de France, Baby!: here's the scoop: we love Jens "Shut Up Legs!" Voigt is now on Twitter, and he sez Thor Hushovd's hotel room is a cramped, tiny piece of crap. What the hell is wrong with you, Vaughters? The man is world champion. He wore the maillot jaune for a week with your sponsor's logo all over his rump. He deigned to lead out (the great,to be sure, but jeez!) Tyler Farrar in a !@#damn sprint, for !@#$'s sake. And now this most unlikely of climbers has bagged you a Pyreneean stage win off the Col d'Aubisque, and this is the best you'll do for him? Pony up for a decent hotel room for the boy already, you oppressor pig! And no, I don't care if Jens *was* being tongue-in-cheek and Thor *was* already staying in a decent pad--you can freakin' pay up for an *extra* palatial suite for just his dirty socks and the pile of fawning sycophants you owe 'im. Don't take any more guff, Thor--and Jonathan Vaughters, Garmin *gave* you a damn Visa card, right? So use it!
GC Deep, Mountain High: let's cut to it: (1) Contador clearly ain't just "psyching out" the Schlecks at this point and (2) relative to his own freakishly high norm, at least, and barring some miracle renaissance tomorrow (which to be fair, Alberto being Alberto, is certainly possible), he looks like hell. So what's this mean for GC? Well, for my money, if the Schlecks successfully continue to tag-team him through the Alps, and Cadel doesn't crack, it's over, because there ain't near enough room in the time trial for Alberto to recover the time over even the sucktastic Schlecks, so we're basically talking about a battle for 2nd. And Andy, give it to Frank, while we're at it--you can't blame Chaingate for this one, your big bro just looks a bit better than you this year! Oh, Alberto, I can't stand the whining, promise me you'll pull it back for the Alps...or heck, if Thor Hushovd can take a mountain stage, maybe you can at least kick Cavendish's !@# in the next sprint!
Radio Silence: and, in further bodily-damage news, RadioSkank has now lost the stalwart (and darned on-form) Andreas Kloden, leaving just Levi Leipheimer--without the aid of Klodi, Chris, Jani Brajkovic, or Popo--to hold down the fort for the squad's Tour de France dreams. Luckily, Lance Armstrong is apparently due in France shortly to torment Alb--um, support Levi, which should provide, if massive annoyance to those of us at home who will be subject to the nails-on-a-blackboard 24/7 media whorefest, a big mental boost to our lovable RoadID tough guy. Aw, Levi--if they won't let Lance in to domestique, maybe you could buy up a few of yer old Gerolsteiner teammates to help you along...
Euskalteeeeeeeeeeeeeel!: finally, no post would be complete without a replay of the fantastically humble and exceedingly smashing we love Samuel Sanchez taking the stage to Luz-Ardiden, with half his key lieutenants crashed out, no less: Woo-hoo Samu--aupa Euskalteeeeeeeeeel!
Yep, forget the 11 days of GC-decimating crash-hold-ups, mass pile-ups, and dates with ditches that've left basically Cadel and Andy slugging it out for numero uno and all the other dogs just yappin' behind--it's finally time for the high mountains, baby, and the Tour begins in the Pyrenees! Anyway, tomorrow we'll see if what's left of Alberto can finally drop--and let's be honest, he needs to *severely* drop--Cadel and baby Schleck, or if he'll be stuck recovering time in craptastic 10-second increments til even the final time trial can't save him. Me, I'm rather hoping Alberto'll gain it all back just so Cadel can slap him around in the end like the road warrior he's finally grown into, but then, if Contador can pull this Tour out of the hole, especially after that grindfest of a Giro, I suppose it'd be just plain bad sportsmanship *not* to cheer him. And, since we all already know Samu Sanchez will take a stage for his down-but-not-out orange army (shut up! will too!), can the cagey Ivan Basso come up with the goods and knock one of the chosen ones off the top 3? Still, go Cadel--bonus points if you bring your dog up on the podium!
The stages: tomorrow, it's an Hors Category two-fer up the Tourmalet and Luz-Ardiden, , then, after a Friday drop off the Col d'Aubisque, Saturday brings us 6 ugly climbs with a lively--and leg-mashing--finish on Plateau de Beille. Meanwhile, chin up, Cav--a few more years of crawling on your knees up these stages to make the time cut, and you'll be climbing mountains like Thor Hushovd, I promise!
Road Rage is Right: okay, we'll get to the rest of the carnage in a moment--but what the hell was that with that media car suddenly swerving at top speed right into the entirely non-threatening JJ Flecha and, by extension, poor bloody barbed-wired (and far more gracious than these freaks deserved) Hoogerland? Jeez, why don't we just stick the camera guys on the back of a !@#damn Zamboni so they can flatten the riders right into the road surface next time? That oughta work, you reckless !@#$s! Just look at this:
Ouch Report: in other disasters, Contatwerp went flying head-first into a spectator--Bjarne, can you order *some* of your extra boys to surround this little menace to society so no-one else gets hurt?--our beloved Dave Z is gone with a reported broken wrist, luckless nice-guy Van de Velde fell over, green jersey/class act Gilbert swore post-stage to keep on fighting for the shoulder-snapped van den Broeck's sake, and, worst of all, the gloriously destructive Alexander Vinokourov was forced to withdraw from his last Tour de France with, not a sarcastic tirade against the press and peloton and a leg-crushing stage win or two, but a broken femur and a host of other excruciating injuries after a hideous flyer into a woodsy ditch. Y'know, winning the Tour de France merely by attrition is *not* the way to take this great race. I mean, do we *really* want to see Cav and Greipel as the only two guys left slugging it out for GC in the Pyrenees?
Well, Excuuuuuuuuuse Me: oh, yeah, here it comes, Contador's respectable bailout: quite legitimately, no doubt, Alberto's suffering from some pretty bad-!@# knee pain from his series of crashes and his entanglement with Vladimir Karpets today. Still, the boy is pretty tenacious, plus outwardly optimistic about the restorative effects of a day off, and I won't be surprised if he sticks it out if he has to handstand his way across the finish line in Paris. Heck, he's more likely to stay upright that way lately than on two wheels, it seems...anyway, Alberto, get well by Tuesday, 'cause if baby Schleck's gonna beat you, I want him to have to beat you at your best!
A Gentle Plea for Reform: finally, I don't know what the hell's causing the gorefest at this year's Tour--whether the riders are still twitchy and terrified from the tragic events of the season, the routes chosen are narrow crap, the roads are just too damn crowded as Marco Pinotti suggests, or the pressure for spectacle from us clueless tifosi has driven all common sense from the race organizers--but can better minds than mine (come on, they can't be *that* hard to find) please get on the problem and try to keep these riders out of the ER for 10 minutes? Whatever it takes, we swear it's good by us! Big pillows tied onto their hips? Closing off the streets of NYC for 3 weeks so the boys can ride on a nice clean straight grid? Tricycles, what? Figure it out, ASO, so you've still got some undented kids to ride this thing--I beg you!
It's Not That Important: look, it's cycling. I get the pain thing. You're a bloody wreck, you broke something of moderate usefulness, no one wants to bail on the Greatest Show on Earth, you suck it up and go on. And sure, before I hear any crap, it's easy to Monday-morning quarterback. But !@#$, people, particularly after what has already happened in the peloton this year--including the latest difficult news about Mauricio Soler's cognitive state--if you are telling the cameras that you personally were aware someone whacked his head into the asphalt during the race and immediately then, thereafter, and at the end of the !#@$ing stage didn't know where he was, what he was doing, what was happening, or how he got there, you really think it's okay to let him continue to ride for what--pride, GC, respect for the race? Or if your crash-smacked sprinter has a pre-race pounding headache and vomiting, and two riders from completely different teams are worried enough to track down your DS to tell you he's barely functioning and they're worried, today seems like a great day for a bike ride? What's more, if any of these guys had crashed again--and let's recall how many perfectly alert riders go down on any given day-- this could've been an even worse discussion. This video is just damn chilling. Luckily, both Chris Horner and Tom Boonen seem to be safely on the mend, and best wishes to both for a full and speedy recovery. Damn, squads--keep some perspective, please!
And, Yer Question o' the Day: okay, end of sanctimonious polemic. Am I the only one who thinks that--and no, we're not in his terrain yet--Contador just ain't lookin' that good out there?
Dang, take off for a coupla of 10-minutes-o'-interest sprint stages and all hell breaks loose--half of RadioSkank's hardworking GC is crashed out with busted whatsits or severely set back on the block, bitchin' Brit Wiggo is nursing a broken collarbone and heading back home, the race organizers go after Cav and Thor for ungentlemanly conduct--because we all know that's the worst problem plaguing the sport--and desperate stealth weapon Contador, now professing he's ready for the mountains, tries a classic left-hand-side uphill flyer on a milder stage only to be chased down and pipped by Cadel at the line without even gaining back a second. Save the drama for the mountains this weekend, whydontcha--or at least stay safely upright on the bikes for ten minutes you guys!
S.O.S. Please Someone Help Me: Speaking of our wee Giro king, I see sponsor Saxo Bank is freaking ou--um, generously handing Bjarne Riis the dough to pick up a bunch more support riders for Alberto, including, one hopes, at least one who can remind him of such crucial truisms as "front of the pack, good, !@#-end of nowhere, bad", and, equally utilitarian, pick up the squad's GC mantle for the future should the main man's doping case not go in his favor. I gotta say, I'm feeling sympathy for Bjarne on this one--having nursed such other talents as Basso and the Schlecks to huge success, it'd be a damn shame if he ended up in disgraced obscurity having to scramble to sign any kid with a halfway-decent speed on his daily newspaper route he can find. Anyway, who wants to domestique for Contador? Come on...a big fat signing bonus for new recruits with tactical sense!
Right Said Red: and, in a handsome reminder that the weakest man in the Tour de France can still beat the crap out of pretty well all but a 180 or so of the other 8 billion people on the planet with his legs tied behind his head like a trussed-up steer (hey, that reminds me of...aw, forget it, the boy's been through enough!), 2010 Lanterne Rouge Adriano Malori on Thursday was crowned Most Combative, which is not only an honor, but surely a useful tool as muscle-backup for his Lampre teammate Alessandro Petacchi the next time Cavendish (or some hired goon) tries to whang him off the tarmac in a tight sprint. Use him if you can, Ale-jet--ya can't count on your calendar pin-up photos defending you when you're mano-a-mano with the Manx Missile!
We Heart Capitalism: in souvenir news, the Tour itself is offering a smashing new bib on sale, not only ideal for brainwashing your little tot into a career in professional cyclist before s/he can even use the potty, but also for yer enterprising yet neat-freak grown-up contender who doesn't want his apres-stage...nutritional supplements getting on that nice team jersey. Also available for you-know-who's chef, a little maillot-jauneish reminder of what's at stake the next time there's a food-borne !@#$-up: Enjoy your dinners, gentlemen--carefully!
2 Legit, 2 Legit to Quit: finally, admiration and many thanks to Wall Street Journal sportswriter/cycling guru Reed Albergotti for his intriguing article on the present, past, and future legacy (and limits) of Alberto Contador, in which, I humbly note, racejunkie is briefly quoted, which means, I presume, that if I were really cool, and certain racers were interested in the trifecta of financial news, foreign sports pages, and cycling bloggers, I'd wake up some morning after the Tour de France to the sound of, say, Alberto's big brother whomping in my window with a crowbar, or, maybe, a set of giant white Cavish teeth trying to chew their way through my innocent doorjamb. Ah well, I'm not worried--it's not like some riders don't take criticism well!
Yes, even racejunkies take vacation, and even during the Tour--hell, it's not like I'm off during the Giro or Vuelta--so, dear reader(s) and cycling fans, til I'm back at the end of the week, here's Thor "Oh Yeah, I'm the Maillot Jaune, Baby!" Hushovd (and his new steed) for your viewing pleasure:
I'll be back for the mountains--and Contador, just *try* not to lose more time until then!
And, my entire post this morning is now entirely irrelevant, because tho' the boys have barely left the team bus, Cadel Evans is in total control, and Andy Schleck, Ivan Basso, and damn near everyone else has got a cool 1:14 on Alberto Contador, held back by a smashingly stupid Astana/spectator crash and, I think, making it virtually imperative that the race organizers institute a new rule immediately leashing the fans as well as dumb-crash usual suspects, their dogs. So while Bjarne sez he's unconcerned, Contador, presumably, is going all Armstrong on him for letting him hang back that far in the bunch anyway--and jeez, Bjarne, what the !@#$ *were* you thinking, it's like only BMC had the brain trust in the team cars this morning!--and Frank's gonna mark Alberto like dog on fire hydrant to make sure he doesn't get much more'n an occasional stage win. Me, I think this sucks--love Contador or hate him, the boy can bring on the excitement, and if we're all gonna have a giant paranoiac wheel-sucking contest in the Alps, you might as well just wake us in Paris. And before he even gets to celebrate--!@#$ up Lance! Oh well, the French are happy--now instead of figuring out why you still can't win your own home Tour, you can boo Andy for 3 weeks like whiny little beeyotches instead!
Oh, look--here's the first photos of Contador on the team bus back to the hotel-- Cheer up, squirt--after all, it can only get better from here!
And We're Off!: Y'know, once you've seen Thor Hushovd dressed up like a chick holding a giant hammer over his head, it's hard to believe things could get any better, but yes, it's time for the glory, the folly, and class-A showmanship of the Tour de France, and what better way to start it than with a compact, handy guide to the festivities? Sure, some o' this'll be old hat to you veteran fanatics--but remember, at the Tour, anything can happen and most usually does!
The GC Contenders: look, Alberto Contador could pretty much stay in his hotel room for three weeks mainlining hard-core sedatives and he'd still win the thing, but should he and his lieutenants be truly thwapped from the Giro, ever-podium press-nemesis Cadel Evans, two-time Giro king Ivan Basso (still never quite the same after his ban), oh-so-close-to-last-year's-podium we love Samuel Sanchez, and perpetual second-banana (sorry, that's not to say he's not a very fine cyclist) Andy Schleck are on his tail. Andy in particular is still looking for revenge for a punk-!@# move he pulled on Contador early in last year's race that's he's conveniently blocked out of his memory before whining for 365 straight days about Alberto's stupid "Chaingate" attack, but since Contador in particular doesn't seem to hold a parallel grudge (or media weep-fest) over Andy, look for Andy and slightly-older evil twin Frank to bushwhack Alberto if they gets the chance. And yes, Levi Klodi Horner are in the slugfest, but !@#$ed. Fun for all!
The Climbers: Whatever don't go to the GC contenders and the tragically motivated Movistar, it's all about the orange-and-black, baby--go Euskalteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!
The Fast Men: sure, this is a spectacularly crap course for these guys, but we got drama: Cav's still gotta prove his early-season suck-form was a fluke, the disconcertingly ageless Petacchi's out for blood because of the stupid Italian cycling fed's completely unfair decision to keep doping slime-weasels out of the Worlds squad, Boonen's gotta earn his keep with that oily smirk Patrick Lefevere at Quick Step, unhappy Thor wants a good show to up the dough in his next contract, and peloton nice-guy Tyler Farrar, after the terrible loss of his dear friend Wouter Weylandt, would like to win one for both of them. Me, I'm rooting for Tyler 'n' Thor. You go boys!
The Breakaway Artists: Oh, pack it up and go home. Philippe Gilbert just took it. And the next one. And the n--oh, just go the hell home!
Time Trial: is this even a question? The last guy to beat Fabian Cancellara tested poz for like 2 gallons of dope the next day. The man's a bionic freak! Or bike doping. Or just plain better'n you whiners. Or...
The Missing: total, unmitigated bull!@#$. We love dear little Tour de France champ Carlos Sastre (yeah, don't feel quite so bad about Menchov) and Robbie McEwen are out. You suck, race organizers and RadioSkank!
The Commentators: it's not Phil & Paul's fault that they're Lance fans, and they can still tell you all about the spectacular local brie they ate at that winery apres-stage 15 in '78. Kneel, swine!
And, a Bonus Feature for My Beloved Reader(s): Lance, Lance, Lance, Lance, Lance, Lance Lance Lance, Contador, Lance Lance, controversial, Lance Lance Lance Lance chain Lance Lance Lance Andy Schleck Lance Lance. There, I saved you two hours outta your life--you just watched every morning's TdF preview show!
Yes folks, it's time for the Tour de France again, and if you *really* wanna know what's going on in the race, the riders' own words'll say it. Trouble is, they're crap. Ergo, Yer Official Guide to What Those Guys Are Really Sayin':
1."The sensations are good." I *sucked* today. I mean boy, did I *suck.* !@#$, where's Michele Ferrari when you need 'im?
2. "Wah, wah, wah, Greipel/Petacchi/Garmin, wah." Cav wanted to win the stage, but didn't.
3. "I dropped my chain on the bottom of the Galibier. That's cycling." When I get back to the hotel, I'm gonna beat my mechanic half to death with it.
4. "I didn't eat enough during the stage." I didn't eat enough clenbuterol during the stage.
5. "Chapeau to ___, he really deserved the stage." What's *that* jerk on?
6. "Cadel was just amazing today." Cadel was just amazing today.
7. "I'm really happy to win my first stage in the Tour." I'm really happy my team captain took me seriously when I said I'd kill him if he didn't let me take one stage after 12 years of faithful service.
8. "This win is for my team." This win is for my team...doctor.
9. "Leopard-Trek set a hard pace." Jens Voigt kicked back with some spectators downing beer and pretzels for six hours and still pounded the whole peloton into whimpering smithereens.
10. "I spent half the day throwing up on the side of the road." I have a stomach virus.
11. "___has pulled out of the race with a stomach virus." ___ has tested positive for dope.
12. "I think I hit a piece of road furniture." So *that's* the sound Pat "Dick" McQuaid makes when you run over 'im!
13. "I don't have a problem with the no-needle policy." I take *my* !@#$ by mouth.
14. "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, c'est soir?" Hey, you think Tommeke'll pose naked getting a massage again?
15. "I'm feeling okay today. We'll see how it goes." I am going to spit Andy Schleck out on the climb of Mt. Ventoux today like a gangly six-foot lougie.
16. Stuey O'Grady: "it's just a little road rash." I broke both arms, a femur, and sixteen vertebrae this morning. A little nap'll fix it.
17. David Millar: "The conditions were unbelievably hazardous out there today! It's an outrage how the race organizers don't give a !@#$ about the riders!" It's just a little road rash.
18. Ivan Basso: "I'm finding my rhythm." What I need to find is how the !@#$ to keep up with the dopers these days.
19. "I got a little boxed in during the sprint." Damn, I could barely hang on to Euskaltel at the back of the peloton.
20. "The cross-wind was incredible." I missed the move.
21. "The fans are so encouraging." Next !@#$in' nutbag who tosses water in my face is gonna get my fist tossed into his.
22. Samuel Sanchez: "My team did an excellent job today. It's such an honor to work with them." My team did an excellent job today. It's such an honor to work with them.
23. "I'm so proud to be on the podium. Again." I can't believe that backstabbing little !@#$ beat me. Again.
Well, dear readers, now you're set to really call the race. And don't forget to shout, Allez, Allez!
He's Baaaaaaaaa-aaaaaack!: and, continuing the season's highly disconcerting trend of guys older than those 4,000-year-old redwoods in the Guinness Book of World Records pounding the crap out of their younger compatriots in every single race on earth, no less a wingnut-emeritus than comic-book villain Alexander Vinokourov is gunning for a spot on the Tour de France podium, which, if he doesn't get abducted by a black van full of masked goons dragged off to UCI headquarters and subjected to "enhanced interrogation" til he coughs up the details of his, uh, training regimen, is distinctly not impossible if half his immediate top-five rivals decide, y'know, they'd much much much rather chill out at home doing club rides for three weeks in July instead. Oh, come on, like you don't secretly *love* to watch him while your guts just roil in self-loathing for it!
Thooooooooor!: okay, let's be honest, compared to Garmin, Europcar right now is somewhere at the butt-end of squat. But we love Thor Hushovd has not been feeling appreciated lately, so if they can genuinely pony up for some hard-core Classics backing--and of course an obscene amount of dough for you personally--honey, I'm all for the move. Vaughters, don't tell me you can't find the cash to counter-offer--now make our big sensitive World Champion lug feel *loved*!
And Now, A Gratuitous Tom Boonen Shot: finally, in honor of Tom Boonen's return to form and promised return to leg-crushing stage wins, and certain faithful fans and dear reader, I include this reminder that our darling clean-livin' boy's still got it: Geez, Tommeke, nice pic--but doesn't your *mom* see this stuff?!
Oh, Poor Levi: first, yes, I *am* personally a former Tour de France winner who's personally guided one of the best cyclists in history *and* the little twerp upstart I screwed over for him and he still won anyway to like half the Tour wins in the last generation, so !#@$ off, I *do* have the right to this opinion. Second, what the hell is RadioSkank thinking? Four GC contenders? Figuring out halfway through the race which one's got the legs then putting the other three guys who've already whacked themselves senseless trying to get the honor half-uselessly at his service? And tho' neither Levi, Klodi, Horner, nor Janez have mercifully shown any irritating signs over their (largely) long careers that they've got insufferable Lance-ian egos, so I suppose we needn't worry about any of them smiling with their heads then trying to kick the nuts off their intra-team rivals with their feet, does anyone else remember what happened the last time Johan decided to let the best rider win? Yes, a win, to be fair, but arguably the single bitchiest-behaved team and podium in Tour de France history, and this time, Bruyneel ain't quite got those freaks-o-nature to rely on. Dang, Johan, all those guys have talent to spare--if you want more'n just some stage wins, at least give one of them a no-holds-barred blitz of undisputed 100% support from day one til the chosen one chokes before dissing 'im!
Aw, Rats!: and, the 'Skank's roster also leaves we love Robbie McEwen at home, which not only inevitably dulls the sprint finishes, but dumps the entire responsibility for aggressive head-butting, violent outbursts, and general fisticuffs on poor Mark Cavendish, who, though undeniably a brilliant (and yes, Cav fans, very dashing too) sprinter, has frankly already got enough to worry about with Thor and Tyler set to stomp him out of the green jersey. Don't worry Cav, you'll still get a good half the sprints--just pray your hired goons' antics don't show up on the replay!
The Union of the Snake is on the Cliiiii-iiiimb: meantime, fallout continues from banned cheat-weasel Riccardo "the Cobra" Ricco' (now claiming his catastrophic incapacitating health crisis wasn't due to bad blood, but a really, really bad cold)'s cheap-shot sneak into a local gran fondo to help his buds, mainly in the form of hysterical "free Ricco'!" screeching from his Manchurian-Candidate brainwashed fans and sensible pleas from calmer tifosi just begging the nasty little squirt to go away. Oh, so he's banned from riding on the entire planet by his own cycling fed--he could always be someone's really, really, really helpful soigneur, right? Wait, maybe that's not such a good idea...unless you *like* 250 visits from the narcs a day!
Bow, Quick Step!: in transfer news, I see we love Tom Boonen has graciously decided to stay with ungrateful smack-talking jerkface Patrick Lefevere over at Quick Step now that the latter's turned unctuously complimentary, which makes me think there's *some* possibility the squad might actually give Tom the support he needs from now on. Hint: negative reinforcement doesn't work with 'im, you troll--but can you *try* to find a happy medium that doesn't involve an OD's worth of saccharine?
Is He or Isn't He? Part Deux: finally, speculation's still high as to Andy Schleck's form leading up to the Tour de France, with estimates continuing to range from "crap" to "don't worry! He's super! I swear!" Me, I'm just hoping that, with Rabobank sworn to revenge in July over Leopard-Trek heartily picking up the pace during the pleasant Bauke Mollema's ill-timed flat at the Tour de Suisse, Andy finally quits wanking about Chaingate from now on. He sure sounds confident: Oh, Schlecks, if we love Jens has your back, I've got no choice but to root for you anyway...
PS: I'm delighted, as I'm sure everyone is, to hear that Mauricio Soler continues to improve, and it looks like he has, fortunately, escaped any spinal cord injury. Keep it up Mauricio!
So Is He or Isn't He?: okay, first Andy Schleck cracks spectacularly in the mountains of the Tour de Suisse, lookin' like Contador could've ridden a whole nother Giro since May and still kicked Andy's !@# at the Tour, but begging the question of whether he was (1) teabagging (sandbagging, whatever); (2) just sensibly riding his way into his form for July; or (3) completely, monstrously !@#$ed. But now, baby Schleck's fought back, looking less like a wind-whipped noodle and far more like the kind of guy who can whomp to the top of the podium a few weeks from now. Geez, pick a form, whydontcha--forget psyching out Contatwerp, yer rockin'n'rollin' is making *me* seasick! Here's the last few minutes:
Oh, !@#$!: well, thanks to new UCI rules, we can pretty much guarantee that the "Help Wanted" signs on ProTour team buses'll be up for a while: if ya doped as a rider, yer out of team management for good. Wisely, the UCI is *not* applying the rule retroactively, due, no doubt, not to actual justice or peloton cleanliness concerns, but because of the simple fact that if they did, the only staffer left in cycling tomorrow morning'd *maybe* be the BMC guy in charge of washing Cadel Evans' underpants. Anyhoo, while comely studmuffins like Ivan Basso or Alessandro Petacchi can certainly find post-riding gigs as runway models, inspirational speakers, or, y'know, male escorts, the rest of y'all are gonna have to find less glamorous careers. How do you say "No, the Value Meal comes with *small* fries" in Kazakh again?
It's a Small Worlds After All: meantime, the Italian cycling fed has taken a particularly strong stance on doping this year, ordering that any rider who has tested poz for drugs is automatically out of the World Championship squad this year. The problem: as commissario tecnico/we still miss from the gruppo we love Paolo Bettini delicately puts it, he is now stuck enouraging along a very, very, very young team. Oh, come on, Paolo--a little caffeine in their sippy cups, and yer boys'll be all right!
Busted!: oh yeah, baby, one of the most damaging and controversial doping scandals in Tour de France history is over: the French gendarmes have definitively nailed and stripped all results from 2010 Tour "champion" Alberto Contador for...um...riding down the Galibier without a tail-light. Voila'--after generations of their own innocent countrymen losing the Tour to dirty cheating foreign swine, the honor of the French Republic has been restored! Oh, sure, Alberto, they've long packed away that horrid guillotine, it's just a few years in the craphole basement of the Bastille being gnawed by rats now--but no pate' for you, you thieving little sh*@!
Thoooooooooooooooooooooor!: and, as you've certainly heard, we love world champion Thor Hushovd has finally broken the Curse of the Rainbow Jersey, taking an uphill sprint at the Tour de Suisse and, along with the happy news that Tyler Farrar has decided despite his mourning for his dear friend Wouter Weylandt to ride the Tour de France after all, getting ready to unload a two-pack of whup-!@# on Mark Cavendish come July. Here's Thor with the win--now bow, peons!
Musical Saddles: in transfer news, supreme peloton smack-talker (and, come to think of it, just plain smacker) Robbie McEwen, currently of the heinous RadioSkank, is heading to GreenEdge, Sylvain Chavanel apparently has buckets of lucrative offers from everywhere, and Quick Step head Patrick Lefevere, who's spent most of the season insulting Tom Boonen like a wanker, is suddenly swooning again over our erstwhile ex-party boy and is begging him to stay with the squad. I don't know, Tommeke--if this is love, what the hell is Lefevere gonna do to you when you piss him off?
What a Goon: remember that charmless dimwit high-school alpha jock who always took out his raging adolescent insecurities on whatever harmless nerdlings who had the bad luck to pass His Highness on the way to their lockers to the grunting approval of his Neanderthal inbred beer buddies? Well, as if siccing your legal team on former teammates, Tweet-slapping 'em like a whiny beeyotch, and screeching every two minutes about your own nobility and unimpeachable perfection weren't enough, now Lance feels compelled to corner his enemies outside men's rooms and get 'em kicked out of Aspen restaurants that apparently are his own personal rock-star preserve. Classy! His defense: he was really just asking after Tyler's well being. Yeah, the same way he was helping Floyd Landis on Brasstown Bald that time by offering that friendly encouraging gesture! And people say sportsmanship is dead...
Excuses, Excuses: and, the controversy over whether Alberto Contador should ride in July has intensified, with no less than Dauphine champ Wiggo on the bandwagon, the French crying like babies as usual, and Bjarne, of course, utterly certain that the clen in Alberto's system was the result of a culinary accident. Contador, meantime, is focused on his form, and I can't decide if his coyness over how exhausted he still is from the Giro is merely a Lanceian attempt at faking a bonk a month early to send Schleck into a tizzy of fruitless overexertion when Andy foolishly attempts to capitalize on it, or a sincere admission that even he may not be able to pull off a rare Grand Tour two-fer. Y'know, not to give the boy *too* much credit for poindexterosity, but an indifferent if solid first week of the Tour de France *would* have the added benefit of making Contador look suitability vulnerable and possibly even human, which surely couldn't hurt him with a bevy of narcs just begging for an excuse to legitimize themselves by taking someone of Contador's stature down. Boy, are you *tired* those 1st seven days, Alberto--you hear?
News From the Freak Injury Department: pellet-gun assaults, twisted spinal columns, rump-chomping saddlesores--yep, poor we love Oscar Freire's had it all, and now, it's more surgery on his nasal polyps, with the team flat mum so far on his chances for the remainder of the season. And, am I just imagining things, or, between this worldwide spike in farmhouse clenbuterol doping and Euskaltel's innocent Mikel Landa getting flattened by some renegade charging cloven-hooved monstrosity, are cattle becoming the single biggest threat to the peloton since Vinokourov? Anyway, here's the damage: Get well soon Mikel!
Now He's Bionic: yep, just when you thought all Alberto Contador had to contend with is a bunch of babies accusing of cheating the entire peloton by clenbuterol microdosing, now there's (wholly speculative and unsupported) allegations from the French that the child is mechanically bike-doping in the mountains, based, it seems, on (1) his suspiciously changing bikes at critical points in the Giro and (2) that long wire attached to a battery pack that Bjarne Riis sticks into Contador's top tube whenever he goes back to the team car for a "water bottle." Um, isn't it possible this is just a cheap-shot tactic to draw attention away from the fact that, a few stellar guys excepted, the French lately just plain suck? Hey--look--I think Andy Schleck's got spikes on his derailleur to take out the wheels of his competitors--that must be why we haven't won the Tour in 20 years!
Sportsmanship o' the Year Award: meantime, I see none other than Lance superenabler/RadioSkank overlord Johan Bruyneel says he thinks Contador is innocent and ought to ride the Tour de France, which is not only a gesture of great and benevolent kindness to his former wayward protege, but also, it can be surmised, an easy proclamation to change his mind on and immediately accuse the little !@#$%%$& of doping and destroying Lance and Johan's innocent faith should Alberto actually win the Tour again. Y'know, I am still dearly rooting for Levi--but Johan and his Machiavellian cadre of minions, not so much!
Forza, Ivan!: finally, though there may well be doubts at this point of the wisdom of Ivan Basso ditching his defense of the Giro in pursuit of his ever-elusive and Op-Puerto disrupted dream of the Tour de France, I gotta say, based on his Dauphine Ivan really got hosed by that crap training crash on Mt. Etna a few weeks back, and I'm exceedingly hoping, at least for livening-up-the-usual-Alberto-Andy-battle purposes, he rides into form enough in the first week of the Tour to keep himself a genuine threat for the podium. Or, accident aside, it could just be his regular-innocent-guy blood values causing the "problem"--what the heck was that stuff Schleck and those guys were mixing into their sports drinks again?
Watch Out, Baby Schleck: yep, for a guy just at the Dauphine for "training" along with most of the other Tour de France big guns, Cadel Evans is sure lookin' good out there as he pulls highly respectable results in the prologue time trial and sincewise, and if *I* were a guy like Andy Schleck who blows at the time trial, however brief this one was, I'd be feeling a miiiiiite twitchy about my prospects for July right now. Y'know, about the the only thing Cadel could do to make me like him *more* lately would be to threaten to bludgeon another journalist who got too close to his dog. Woo-hoo Cadel!
Readin', Ridin', and 'Rithmetic: and, it's apparently autobiography season in the peloton, as dandy pinup Ivan Basso's got a fine new tome out, "Climbing Against the Wind"--both, according to Basso, a metaphor for cycling and life--and even if you *don't* read Italian, or simply can't bear to read again that ghastly bull!@#$ that he only "tried" to dope in 2006, I believe it's entirely worth it for the pictures, including a full-color, three-part centerfold of Ivan reclining on a bear-skin rug clad only in his skivv--wait, am I reading this review right? Anyhoo, endlessly tiresome whinemeister St. David Millar also's got a brand new book, which, while the title escapes me--primarily because he's so unbearable I can't stand to look too close--apparently contains the shockingly un-introspective but distinctly displeased revelation that former Saunier Duval weasel-teammate Riccardo Ricco was particularly adept with a syringe. (Contador, apparently, gets a walk.) All right, all right, you're freakin' reformed, the sport's still a hideous cesspool, everyone else except you is still a dope-snorting dirtbag--has it *ever* occurred to you in the midst of your righteous wailing that, once in a while, when talented as you are even you lose a race, the guy who beat you might actually be clean? Next on stands: Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen's life story. Buy it or he'll !#@$in' jam his fist down yer throat, you !@#$in' !@#$er!
It's the Official Racejunkie Let's Save Team RadioSkank Petition Drive!: okay guys, it's becoming increasingly obvious that, thanks to the "FactsF-OverLance" Armstrong doping scandal, Team RadioShack's continued sponsorship is in doubt, and, as I *do* feel kindly inclined to some of these guys, I hereby launch the Official Racejunkie Let's Save Team RadioSkank Petition Drive! My plan: we got a perfect (and race-winning!) shill in the great, admitted junk-food addict Chris "Supersize Me" Horner, we need something wholesome to draw in Americans to the sport, so we're targeting McDonald's, baby! !@#$, if a lunch-time-musette Big Mac, Filet-o'Fish, Quarter Pounder, french fries, icy Coke, thick shake, sundae, and apple pie ain't gonna float you up that mountain like you got wings, what exactly *do* you think can do it, clenbuterol? Suckers! Oh, come on--let's do it!
My J7 is a dashing steed, It glides along at perfect speed, Encompassing a ride in haste, Or a meander, to my taste, Drawing gawks from dazzled peasants, Humbled by its gloried presence.
You lit up ridestudiocafe, On a dull and sunless day, In your coat of gleaming latte, You were truly quite a hot-te. In looks it has a city feel, Its frame of fine cro-moly steel, Of carbon fiber it knows not, Beneath contempt to roadie snots, But as I watch some spandex twit, Blow by in full faux world-champ kit, I forget all my travails, Communing with the leafy trails, As it elicits compliments From friendly speedsters far less dense.
Its step-through top tube is a peach, It puts the saddle well in reach, So I needn't strain my thighs, Stretching my legs up to the skies, Its woven basket perched just so, To carry sundries to and fro And oh! the many happy stories, Of ice-cream trips to Rancatore's!
No, it can't whisk me to the line, In a Cavendish-esque time, Nor titillate a shrieking fan, While it climbs up Zoncolan, Samu' or Jens I'll never be, A podium I'll never see, And though we cannot win a race, My Public is the perfect ace!
Let's hope no-one has to get this prize ever again!
Now don't do that again!
, then, after a Friday drop off the Col d'Aubisque, Saturday brings us 6 ugly climbs with a lively--and leg-mashing--finish on Plateau de Beille. 
Meanwhile, chin up, Cav--a few more years of crawling on your knees up these stages to make the time cut, and you'll be climbing mountains like Thor Hushovd, I promise!
Enjoy your dinners, gentlemen--carefully! 
Cheer up, squirt--after all, it can only get better from here!
Oh, come on--let's do it!
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