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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

6. Oh Tibo!

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

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

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

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

11. Alaphilippe, man. Panache!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Look, we all know what you did in 2019.  And frankly, you oughta be ashamed of yourselves. So how better to start 2020 off with a clean slate than with a firm step forward and a strict dedication to our New Year's Resolutions? Well, for those of you too weak to make--or stick to--yer own, never fear--racejunkie's got you covered!

UCI: We are gonna wave our iPads *so hard* over some guys' bike frames you'll *know* we're gonna find any hidden motor out there.  Even if we're really looking at funny cat memes.  Hey--that one's playing the piano!

Mikel Landa: I will stop at nothing--no rival, no teammate (got that Poels?), no !@#$wit backstabbing team manager--to win the Tour de France. Tho of course I shoulda listened to racejunkie and taken a Giro or Vuelta first!

Philippe Gilbert: If I hear one more !@#$in' word about that !@#$in' Wolfpack I am going straight up Warren Zevon on their !@#es. Seriously, you fired *me*?  Paris-Roubaix 2020, beeyotches!

Eusebio Unzue: Alejandro, I want you to absolutely kick Mikel Landa in the nu--oh wait, I got rid of that kid already! Um...Edu Prades maybe?

Egan Bernal: I'm 100% all-in for the Tour de Fra--ow, !@#$, Froomey, get that flailing arachnid elbow of yours outta my eye!

Chris Froome: I'm going 100% all-in for Tour de France number fi--ow, !@#$, Egan, quit biting at my damn ankles already!

Tour de France Organizers: a full-on, three week women's Tour de France.  Ha ha--in your dreams--'cause it certainly ain't in ours!

Elisa Longo Borghini: Mine.  The Giro Donne is *mine*. You hear me Vos Van Vleuten and van der Breggen?

Peter Sagan: I am going to reclaim my rightful place as King of the Peloton.  Wait--did that !@#$er Van der Poel just pass me again?

The Giro: I will never, ever again put in some stupid surfeit of flat stages and egregious number of time trial kilometers to seduce lesser riders with bigger names to this beautiful race.  What is this, the !@#$in' Tour?

Lucy Kennedy: I will not, *not* raise my arms in victory until I'm *sure* I've stuck a bike pump in the spokes of the woman behind me first.  Winning!

Matthew Van der Poel: let's see, I've already conquered cross...road? no, got that...unicycle? too easy...tricycle races? bagged those...

Julian Alaphilippe: I will prove that I *am* in fact French cycling's Next Great Hope to win the Tour de France.  And this time, I *mean* it--Fleche Wallone, my !@#!

Every Freakin' Idiot Fan on the Planet: I will not flood the racecourse, let my giant lumbering mastiff out for a stroll right in front of the peloton, try to take a selfie with Sagan in the last 50 meters of a sprint, or throw water, beer, or any disgusting bodily fluids onto an innocent rider.  But asking me to keep my bouncing beer gut and precariously slipping Speedo outta yer face while I'm running beside you screaming with the cameras on me in all my doughy glory--now *that*'s just a bridge too far!

Well kids, time to kick 2019 off to the roadside.  Let's raise a glass to a great 2020 season--and keep those resolutions dammit!

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2019 racejunkie Awards!

Yes, it's another marvelous, and also appalling, year o' cycling done 'n' dusted, and in this gaudy self-congratulatory awards season where reality-TV celebrities strut the red carpet wearing godawful dresses that cost more than a pro road bike fer chrissakes, and movie stars explain away yet another incriminating photograph, we all know that what's *really* important is celebrating the good, the bad, and the !@#damn ugly in the marvelous world of pro cycling! Prizes--I swear, if anyone should be so bold, so wiseass, or so desperate to claim 'em--a custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap to adorn your shameful head; a passel o' dashing racejunkie stickers to slap on that jackwagon Team Skineos, or yer best friend; and a handsome, genuine abandoned promotional jock statuette trophy sustainably sourced from my local second-hand store with yer name personally written on it by me in indelible, irrefutable permanent ink.  So without further ado, stand up and accept your prizes with pride!

Paranoid Conspiracy Theory o' 2019:  He fell at high speed in a training run, breaking 86 major bones 14 rather important organs and ripping off 93% of his skin from road-rash, and yet, despite the faithful testimony of an eyewitness teammate that "that !@#$ looked *bad*", Chris Froome's deliberate failure to contemporaneously post sufficiently disgusting gory selfies of his being tended to by the 20 different medical personnel who were surrounding him, plus the hospital's apparent mishigas about promptly cleaning up blood from a healing recovery room instead of leaving it looking like the freakin' elevator scene from "The Shining" for two weeks, gave joyful credence--or at least roughly 12 jillion characters of Twitter space--to the notion that Froome was in fact relaxing in a secluded castle in Montenegro having his entire bloodstream replaced by liquid HGH cocaine amphetamines EPO espresso and Red Bull while nursing, not catastrophic and potentially career-ending injury, but a vicious paper cut sustained while opening his squad's latest Amazon shipment, all in a wily elaborate fiction designed to evade the narcs, make his crappy team look even more repulsive, and increase scrutiny of an improbable arachnid superstar with the approximate credibility of Lance Armstrong.  Froomey, collect yer prize--if you can!

Smack Talk Award: Giro frontrunner Simon (?) Yates' smug pre-race warning that his hopelessly outclassed opponents oughta be "!@#$ting in their pants right now."  Which they were, if only in helpless laughter as they left him far, far in the dust for 21 consecutive stages.  Congratulations, Simon (?)--in a field normally crowded with racists, punks, and eejits, you win for sheer audacity!

Mystery Transfer o' the Year: Nairo Quintana to Arkea. Seriously, I mean, whose wheel is he even supposed to suck in the mountains *now*?

Fan !@#$wit Award: you know, there's usually no shortage of contenders here, and with idiots wrenching bidons outta passing racers' hands, causing crashes by popping up like deranged clowns in unexpected corners of high-speed descents, and flat-out tossing random bicycles into the charging peloton, this year's been no exception.  But is 2019's winner a standout: yes, that total blockhead who figured that the opening team trial of the beautiful Vuelta was the perfect time to flood his poor dehydrated garden and, naturally, a twisty section of the race course, thus wiping out almost the entirety of an unsuspecting Jumbo-Visma and UAE, and damn near making an even more confused Quick Step plow head-on into a Jumbo car that apparently didn't place a high priority on getting this !@#ses outta the way.  Where's Noah and his freakin' Ark when you need 'em?

Lying Lying Liar Prize o ' the Year:  if you say you remotely even predicted Mads Petersen men's World Road Race Championship victory in Yorkshire--and yes, that counts even if you *are* Mads Petersen--honey, you are *it*.  Mads, get ready to prove us all wrong next year!

TMI Award: look, from "marginal gains" to personal pimped-out campers to jiffy bags to special fluffy pillows for the delicate flowers to lay their noggins on, to rampant sexism and immediate backlash for whistleblowing, to pack-fodder donkeys transforming into Triple Crown racehorses overnight, we all know British cycling as a whole, are a bunch of dirty, doping, bull!@#$ting bastards.  So *why* must we sit through the unduly explicit testimony of dueling deniers/classless emasculated !@#holes Freeman and Sutton, one accusing the other of erectile dysfunction--which ought to be treated with sympathy, not derision, anyway--and the latter asserting his wife LOVES HIS STUDLY NATURALLY-NON-STOP JUNK?  Jaysus, I miss omerta!

Classics Upset o' 2019: sure, your first professional win--spectacular an achievement though it is--is likely to be a minor stage in an obscure race given the UCI stamp of approval only after a truly epic night of drinking, debauchery, and serious cash payments, but for my money, if you're gonna win ever, you might as well make it a big one, as stalwart EF worker Alberto Bettiol shocks the field and bags Ronde Van Vlaanderen for his inaugural stomp on the podium.  Well done, kid--now Sagan, don't get complacent!

Giro d' Netherlands Award: look, you're hard pressed to find a more beautiful race in the peloton than the Giro Rosa--and a more legendary bunch of hometown heroes, from sprint bad!@# Giorgia Bronzini to Eliza Longo Borghini to Fabiana Luperini, to dominate it.  But this year, from Van Vleuten to Vos to Van der Breggen, it was nearly an all-Dutch wipeout.  The exception?  Exciting breakout sprinter Letizia Borghese.  C'mon, azzurri--you've got this next year!

Law of Obvious Unintended Consequences Prize: !@#$in' hell, Movistar.  You *know* this trident team leadership at the Tour scheme never works.  Couldn't you just have !@#$ed Landa over without making him schlep all over France for three weeks?

Superdomestique o' 2019: Stage 19, Vuelta a Espana.  Wee youngster James Knox, a surprising Top Ten in the overall standings, goes down hard in a nasty crash, and takes, as one might expect of a cyclist, the start on Stage 20--barely.  So who shepherds this kid the entire way on the hard-driving penultimate day?  Damn straight, that's the legendary Classics and breakaway champion Philippe Gilbert, with the ever-intimidating Zdenek Stybar to boot, tenderly nursing this kid over mountain after mountain and right across the finish line.  *Dang*, Quick Step--you *seriously* didn't give PhilGil a contract for next year?!

All Hail the Chief (For Not Calling This Off) Award: after years of grim photos of hypothermic cyclists shivering under enormous drool-icicle pornstaches, quivering like wet Chihuahuas at an ice sculpture convention, and even gnarlier reports of wizzing on their own hands to fend off frostbite and enable their numb hands to even halfway manipulate the brakes, a sympathetic, rational UCI finally institutes an Extreme Weather Protocol.  What *doesn't* bother the high honchos snugged cosily in their space-heated VIP tents?  *that's* right, these fragile boys being bombarded with ice balls the size of their heads, as a freak Vuelta hailstorm sends the poor battered things diving for cover under any thornbush, overhang, or big Belgian Classics man they can find.  FFS UCI, you need these guys to be blitzkrieged by actual dinosaur-destroying meteors before you call it a day?

Crash o' the Year (Disc Brakes Are Better Edition): Wout van Aert vicious deli slice of a wipeout, just like the riders have been warning about for years.  Never fear: happily, the boy's already back on great form at this weekend's cyclocross races, and fortunately, his full recovery seems assured.  Glad you're back--now back on to rim brakes for you!

Orange You Glad I Didn't Say Banana? Prize: yes, a year that saw tender fluoro-carrots Fundacion Euskadi amass a pile o' mountain stage wins, then horribly collapse, also saw--through Mikel Landa's endless efforts, a whole lotta fundraising, and fans who were about to riot if this didn't happen--our precious Euskaltel, Orbea bikes and all, reborn as a World Tour team for 2020.  Aupa Carroooooooooooooooooots--and watch out for the damage in the high passes, the rest of you saps!

I'm So Pissed Off I'm Not Even Going to Name This Award of 2019: You *suck*, Tour de France. You can't run a three week women's Tour to honor one of the most formidable all-terrain talent pools the peloton has ever seen, when you've already got a group of women riding the entire race a day ahead of the men's event dodging traffic, pre-Tour road closures, and rampant-running livestock with barely an unexpired gel and a half-patched replacement tube for support?  How about just handing Van Vleuten Vos and Borghini a !@#$in' broom dustpan and garbage bag to neaten up the team bus area before the all-important boys arrive, and show 'em how you *really* feel about women athletes?

Don't Give Up Yer Day Jobs Award: god love 'em, but Astana's fearsome rap video darn near broke the cycling internet--and our eardrums--with the mellifluous stylings of founding Run-DMC member Jakob Fuglsang, a scary as hell start-off by Alexander Vinokourov, and all the crotch-grabbing, handsign-throwing bravado we've come to expect from drunken fratboys on an ill-advised YouTube spree. I love you, Astana, I do, but--come to think of it, Vino, just please don't hurt me!<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rMIv5Dsmuf8" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Snit Fit o' 2019: y'know, it takes guts--and a truly award-winning ego--to climb off your bike the day before the Tour de France time trial you're fully and fairly expected to win, all in the name of a colossal crybaby prima-donna masterclass tantrum over the fit of yer skinsuit.  Next year--well, you got rid of 'im for next year, but Rohan Dennis, don't half think your new squad's gonna put up with this crap unless you win the race *first*!

Social Media Master o' the Year: if you don't love Toms Skujins--whether or not you can spell it, pronounce it, or pick 'im out of a lineup--you are one warped, sorry individual.  Even more warped and sorry than those of us who *do* spend 14 hours a day on Twitter!

Cry Me a River Award: Dang, what is this, 2005?  Lance Armstrong.  After 'winning' 7 Tours de France, bamboozling the entire US into a blindly-worshipping cult o' personality, screwing over his own friends and making dozens of millions of dollars he'll *still* never have to give back, thus reassuring a century's worth of future cheat-weasels that slime *always* pays, what's Captain Whines-a-lot cryin' about now?  Right, that he's cruelly oppressed by not being able to cheat at competitive--and let's be honest, meaningless to everyone not personally doing it--Masters' ping-pong because of his voluntarily chosen and richly enjoyed treacherous dirtbaggery.  FFS Lance, pick up a used table at the town dump and upload videos of you smashing it solo against the backboard if you can't live for 2 seconds without the thrill of victory and the roar of millions of admiring fans.  Now either give that mansion you live in to the guys whose careers you destroyed if you *really* want some sympathy, or wipe your tears on those seven yellow jerseys in private!

Punk-!@# Move o' the Year: miraculously, this breaks Alejandro Valverde's approximately 16-year winning streak, as that pathetic !@#$wit who cheated at freakin' *e-racing* far and away takes the prizes.  Cripes, have you *no* dignity?

And Last But Not Least, Slap Fight o' 2019: between Luke Rowe and Tony Martin's DQ-worthy argy-bargy (and let's be frank, outright assault) at the Tour, a mid-interview smack upside the head by a passing resentful colleague, and Nacer Bouhanni looking to sucker-punch just about anyone for anything, these angry little toothpicks can generate a surprising amount of upper-body strength, but for me, the amiable Tao Geoghan Hart and Ruben Guerrero, outrageously pissed at jointly allowing Jakob Fuglsang to take the stage on a breakaway while the two of them d!@#ed around, then devolving into actual post-race fisticuffs, perversely warms my pacifist heart.  Next time, someone intervene quicker--before these flailing incompetents actually knock *themselves* out!

Well folks, them's yer quick and dirty (yep, very dirty) cycling awards for this year.  So collect n to 2020--and guys, just *try* to hold your !@#$ together this season!

It's Yer 2019 racejunkie Merry Festivus Gift List for the Peloton!

Yes, it's that heartwarming, giving time of year, when we all throw parties, send cards, give each other carefully chosen gifts, and give ourselves severe acid reflux when we view our January credit card bills.  So in this season of love and generosity towards our fellows, what do we wish for our beloved members o' the peloton (and beyond) in the glorious world o' cycling this year? This!

1. EF Education First: a top-flight pair of Oakley sunglasses for everyone.  'Cause either they *were* trippin' when they designed that psychedelic 2020 kit, or they're gonna *be* trippin' when they're wearin' it!

2. Andre Greipel: one last (or heck, several last!) Grand Tour sprint victories.  You give those whippersnappers what-for, Andre--we know you you've still got it in you, ya big lug!

3. Rohan Dennis: a spankin' new, perfectly fitted Team Skineos bike and time trial skinsuit.  OR ELSE HE'S GONNA BLOW A GASKET MID-RACE AND DISGRACE THE WHOLE TEAM (LIKE THAT CAN GET ANY WORSE), YOU HEAR ME BRAILSFORD?

4. Team Sky: if the latest (and ickiest) British Cycling testimony is gonna be believed, a case of empty Coke cans to fill with clean urine to outwit the narcs, and a bucketload o' Viagra tablets.  Not that those big studs need 'em or nothin'!

5. Mikel Landa: a break. The kid needs a freakin' break.  What *is* this !@#$ with Poels or whoever yammering on about pursuing his own chances at the Tour.  Get that twerp in *line*, Bahrain, and give Mikel some unqualified leadership for once!  Wait...isn't this basically what I wish for Mikel *every* year?

6. Alejandro Valverde: an Olympic gold medal, and the 2020 men's world road championship. Because I basically have no soul.  You go, Bala--heck knows time won't stop you!

7. Lucy Kennedy: Stage 3, Giro Rosa.  An exhausted Kennedy raises her arms in victory--but just a moment too soon, as the indefatigable Marianne Vos speeds up and *just* pips her at the line.  Lesson learned--now you're ready Lucy, so take that GT victory in 2020 you've so hard-earned!

8. Matthew van der Poel: To see the press-hype--and his actual palmares--this kid's the second coming of Peter Sagan.  Honestly, besides maybe a camera-friendly wheelie trick, what the hell *else* could he possibly need?

9. Bella Italia: A World Tour team. I mean, this is *Italy*, home of Coppi, Bartali, Pantani, Simoni, Bronzini, Petacchi--for over 100 years, the perfect and beautiful Giro.  Seriously, WTF?

10. Amgen: Bring back the EPO Tour of California! Where *else* do  you get a fun, exciting stage race primarily sponsored by a popular PED?  The "Hal's Illicit Blood Bags" Tour of California just doesn't have the same ring to it...

11. Tejay Van Garderen: look, everybody loves Tejay. How 'bout a nice big fat solo GT stage win to shut the doubters on this guy?

12. Sam Bennett: some !@#damn credit. A guy with his huge pile of wins this season, and he can hardly get a contract for 2020? I call bull!@#$!

13. The Climbers: great legs. 'Cause with Euskadi back at full World Tour status, their poor rivals are gonna need 'em!

14. Primoz Roglic: He can have second at the Tour, after Mikel. And next person who mentions his prior sporting career, Rogla gets to kick in the nuts!

15. Toms Skujins: Baked potatoes. Mashed potatoes. Scalloped potatoes. Fried potatoes. Hash-browned potatoes. Au gratin potatoes. Sweet potatoes. Latkes.  All hail the King of the Perfect Carb!

16. The Wolfpack: a new nickname, 'cause let's face it, right now no-one can take another second of this self-promoting !@#$. "Basket o' kittens", maybe? "Six-pack o' Brewskis?" Naw, doesn't sound tough enough...

And finally, My Beloved Reader(s): may your cycling days be filled with warmth and sunshine--or, if you're Belgian, miserable, freezing rain and mud.  May the cobbles not flatten your tires, may your chain never break, and may your stem never spontaneously shatter.  May your bidons be full, your power gels delicious, and your apres-ride beer be crisp and cold.  So kick back, enjoy your presents, and on to (holy crap!) 2020!

It's racejunkie's 10 Cycling Things I'm Thankful For This Thanksgiving (And a Few I'm Darn Well Not)!

Yes, it's nigh about Thanksgiving in the US, where we celebrate our shameful colonial past by gorging ourselves with such venerable 17th century feast-staples as sweet potatoes with tiny marshmallows melted on top and a Doritos casserole recipe we found on some health-destroying godforsaken Big Agribusiness website, waiting to see if the giant inflatable emoji balloons soaring over 5th Avenue in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade are gonna break loose and terrorize the elves on the Santa float, quarreling politically with our !@#$wit relatives we have NO CHANCE WHATSOEVER OF CONVINCING EACH OTHER WE'RE RIGHT AND THEY'RE !@#$WITS, watching giant steroid-stuffed Hulks whang into each other painfully in football games for our sick enjoyment for the grotesque enrichment of a privileged few, and, oh right, taking a moment to reflect on what we are truly grateful for this year.  So what, in our beloved sport of cycling, merits our love and gratitude this year (and a few what-doesn'ts)?  This!

1. Euskaltel rising, again.  Right on Mikel Landa!

2. One more year for we love big lug Andre Greipel.  Go gooooooooo, Gorilla!

3. The bad-!@# women of the peloton calling bull!@#$--on harassment, abuse, crap wages, and general disrespect--throughout the sport.  All Hail the Queens!

4. Team Skineos' house-o'-marginal-gains cards finally starting to fall down.  Though it's not like the  sport hasn't been spotlessly clean since Operacion Puerto went down!

5. The beautiful men's and women's Giro (well, Giri).  Now make the women's race longer dammit!

6. The Vuelta.  Arid, gorgeous, and *steep*.  Aupa Euskadiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

7. The continuing tradition of riders raising their arms in triumph only to be pipped at the line by a wily--and dogged--competitor.  How else can us armchair strategists feel smugly superior to those who actually *get* their !@#es off the couch and *do* stuff all season?

8. Nairo Quintana to Arkea.  Hell, now Valverde doesn't even need an *excuse* to bushwhack 'im at the Tour!

9. Domestiques.  No, their job ain't pretty.  But every stunning sprint victory, every thrilling GC-deciding mountaintop upset, every dream-destroying echelon split is because of *them*.  Thank you, brave and talented souls--you know who you are, even if most cycling fans don't!

10. The ageless Alejandro Valverde.  Because I basically have no soul.

11. Cross season.  'Cause how the hell else would we survive the excruciatingly long dry spell between October and January?

And a Few I'm Damn Well Not:

1. Mikel to Bahrain-Merida.  !@#DAMMIT, this kid needs a !@#damn break!

2. Paranoid conspiracy theories o' the week.  Froome didn't really crash.  Froome *did* crash, but really only needed a little Spiderman Band-Aid.  When Froome crashed, he got wicked bad road rash, and his true praying-mantis creepy exoskeleton was shockingly revealed to all.  Aw hell, I *am* thankful for all this !@#$!

3. The Amgen EPO Tour of California is 'on hiatus'.  Forget the damage to US cycling--how else can you repeatedly use the words "EPO" and "cycling" in close proximity without getting sued by a prominent rider, or team?

4. The British Cycling/Team Sky doping scandal.  Seriously, did I *need* to see testimony about whatsisface's, well, gentlemanly stamina problems, and his wife's secondhand but forceful denial of same? Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Well, dear reader(s), them's mine.  So Happy Thanksgiving, and I raise a drumstick to you all--that is, if that greedy !@#$ I'm sitting next to doesn't selfishly grab it first, as usual!

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!