It's Yer Giro de Italia in Preview, Part Tre: The Sprinters, the Stage Hunters, and a Dance Performance for the Ages!

 Holy crap tifosi, we made it--it's just one day til the fabulous Giro d'Italia!  The teams are presented, the coffee-table shrine to hot pink glory's in place, the spritz is ready to be poured--so let's plunge in for our last minute preview of Giro Stuff We Really Wanna Happen!

1. The Sprinters: well, wee Caleb Ewan sez he's all-in to win at least one stage in the Giro, Tour, and Vuelta this year, and if his form so far is any indication, for once, this isn't any of that casually arrogant sprinter bull!@#$ that sent me screaming toward the discreet exploits of the mountaineers who let their legs (and an occasional well-chosen insult) do the talking when first (and frankly, by far still) I got into this sport. So why not? Forza Caleb!  Of course, it's all overshadowed now by the bitter dispute between horrific face-smashing crash survivor Fabio Jakobsen and accidental near-career-destroyer Dylan Groenewegen, who appeared to reach detente after some incredibly gracious statements by Jakobsen, some serious time to heal, a controversial 8-month UCI ban and careful withdrawal by Groenewegen, some tentative forgiveness from the peloton, and, just yesterday unfortunately, a harsh rebuke of an apparently wholly unapologetic and unself-aware Groenewegen bragging about a productive, brotherly, and theoretically confidential meeting with Fabio that Jakobsen himself took a totally and far-less congratulatory view of.  Please just let Fabio heal inside and out, whatever else happens between you boys! Other fast men to watch this year, at least til they hit the base of the Zoncolan and have the sense and self-preservation to say "!@#$ this !@#$ !": Elia Viviani, coming off a coupla crap seasons with buckets to prove and who will stick it out to the end anyway to honor the race; Dylan Groenewegen, who better watch his back as well as the wheel in front of him; Giacomo Nizzolo and Fernando Gaviria, equally eager to and capable of delivering for the home crowd; that punk Moscon, on very good form; and, of course, not-a-pure-sprinter-but-you-better-not-!@#$-with-him Peter Sagan, freshly shorn, wily as hell, and, of course, with the kind of legendary panache the Giro lives for.  Forza Elia--just watch out for those dumb!@# motos this time, willya?

2. The Stage Hunters: as usual, there are several opportunities here for breakout stardom: days when the route is hilly but not so treacherous as to waste the time and energy of the GC contenders; and days when we hit the highest high passes and the childhood dreams of triumphant mountaintop glory are coldly shunted aside in favor of marking one's GC rivals and simply squashing any dangerous pretentions of podium-place one-upmanship.  You want flowers, or you want the Trofeo Senza Fine, pal?  Anyhow, we've got a plethora of big talent here, some in the twilight of their careers, some at the beginning looking to justify the hype and up their contract-season bargaining power, and the occasional, unknowable breakout shocker with his heart on his sleeve and--well, just don't !@#$ this up with an illegal supertuck, punk!  My picks, and yes, they're 90% ex-Euskatel who SHOULD BE HERE YOU INGRATES: we  love Gorka Izaguirre, as bro Ion takes a well-deserved rest; Filippo Ganna, surprisingly vulnerable this season in the time trials but cut him some !@#damn slack whydontcha the man's not a robot which if you all recall is actually a *good* thing; Jai Hindley, who'd love to prove that last year's exploits weren't a freak of weird timing and a !@#$ed-up field; LL Cool Sanchez, who started as a baby with Contador but is still at the front of every break and attack and deserves a last GT stage just for grinta; Nibs, who if he realizes he can't fight for GC will nonetheless crush the pain like a mosquito and go for a yuge mountaintop finale; Basso and Contador's boys in to stretch their legs and impress their legendary bosses at least in the breaks; we love Pello Bilbao, who we'll particularly love if he crushes himself for Landa and still manages the time and good luck to be let out to go for a mere stage win; guys that are unjustifiably hyped for GC like Buchmann, sometimes-not-quites-but-still-really-really-goods like Bardet and Soler; and for me, most of all, I'd love Mikel Nieve to take another stage, because frankly, that victory in 2018 at Cervinia on his 34th birthday 7 years to the day from his last one right in front of me literally made me cry.  Aupa grandeeeeeeeeeees!

3. Ceeeeee-le-brate Good Times, Come On!: finally, I'd be incredibly remiss in my interminable run-on sentences if I didn't stop to praise the remarkable pre-race team presentation, with not only a lovely orchestra, lushly talented singer, parade of otherwise-banned podium babes in those reliable cyclist standbys six inch stilettos bearing flags, and oh, right, the *riders* and even (respectful touch, I thought) the DSes, but also a Cirque-de-Soleil/Madonna-in-her-Vogue-Period/Bondage-esque dance performance, which you really, really oughta look up on the internet because I'm mostly geo-barred here.  So with that, and EF and Bardiani's trippy new kits, searing our eyeballs, time to bust out the Europop, kick back with some lovely Tuscan reds, and get ready for the of course the mountains, but also the gravel stretches that'll probably make or break this whole show!

It's Yer Giro d'Italia in Preview, Part Due: the GC Contenders!

 Yes, dear reader(s), it's *still* happening, so with the updated start lists finally out, and everyone who no one gives a crap if they even rode it or not already popped for this year by the ace antidoping enforcers over at UCI, it's time to review our General Classifications Contenders!  The field, with pros and cons:

1. Mikel Landa: Yeah, I said it. And if I read one more twitter poll about who's gonna win that doesn't list him I'm gonna spit--me, a delicate, genteel lady! Anyway, two issues: (1) Confidence. If his !@#$in' DS makes those big sad puppy-dog eyes fill with tears or even crease his brow by slagging him in the press this year you wankers, he will collapse like a souffle' in an earthquake, so you can shut yer freakin' yap with any of that !@#$ing bull!@#$ *right now*, you hear! (2) The second time trial.  FFS Bahrain, you need to pad this boy's lead by at least a minute by the penultimate day or Mikel's gonna be swiped off the podium like a bad Tinder profile.  DON'T mess this up you guys! Strengths: Pello, who's been on fire this year, sez he's committed to having Mikel's back.  Yeah, I've heard that before--but let's hope he really means it!  And the squad is really bringing a bangin' group.  And Mikel genuinely seems a jillion times happier than he was at Team BackStab or SquanderMe. So stay upright Mikel and pace yourself--those final-week mountains are yours!

2. Pello Bilbao: Look, I *love* our dear ex-Carrot, and hope he at least has the luxury of popping off the front for a stage win.  But have you not read a !@#damn thing I just told you in the first paragraph?!  It's like that time Scarponi could've pulled off at the cafe for a beer and a massage and still beaten everyone else to the line but graciously waited for Nibali, or when Sepp Kuss could've taken the stage twice while Roglic was desperately trying to grind back up to him, but they still *did their jobs*.  Aupa Pello--within reason, of course!

2. Vincenzo Nibali: sure, our two-time champ's getting a little long in the tooth as Grand Tour GC winners go, but I mean, not eligible-for-the-old-person's-home-Chris-Horner-bagging-the-Vuelta old, and look how *that* panned out. And of course, Lo Squalo's starting off somewhat hampered in training and form by a busted wrist.  But he *is* the mitico Shark, he adores his home race, and HE WILL HOLD THAT DAMN JOINT TOGETHER WITH DUCT TAPE AND RUSTY NAILS IF HE HAS TO SO UNDERESTIMATE HIM AT YOUR ETERNAL HELLBOUND PERIL YOU QUIVERING WEAKLINGS!

3. Simon Yates: I know.  He doesn't want any pressure either.  And he can't fake out to the peloton that he's really his brother now that they're actually on different squads.  And he's acting awfully nonplussed for someone going after one of the biggest--and definitely the most beautiful--prizes in cycling.  His form looks great, he hasn't been afraid to hit the gas pedal just so he won't tip off his competitors, and he is just floating when he accelerates.  If he doesn't crack after the mountains in the second week--and if he can manage against, or with, other teams that are more formidable on paper, he's gonna be tough to out-ride.  Good luck, but I still hope Landa and Nibali beat you!

4. Egan Bernal: His back.  His back, his back, his poor poor back.  He is a gorgeous climber, and surprisingly not so catastrophically disastrous in the time trial as he oughta be.  So if he can control the pain, it's hard to picture him off the podium.  But Skineos clearly isn't optimistic, because they've named Pavel Sivakov--a very fine rider, but still--"co-leader."  Oh yeah, that !@#$ works--just ask Movistar! 

5. Remco Evenepoel: yes, he still gets age-checked for Space Mountain at Disney.  But 4 is the new 28-to-32-years-old apparently, and despite the fact that he's still coming back from a nasty crash in last year's Il Lombardia, he's carrying a lot of expectations on his back whether his team'll cave to it or not. Just don't throw those things by the side of the road or UCI'll have your !@# !

6. Dan Martin.: Cripes, he almost gets as little respect as Landa.  But no matter what kind of a day he's having, or how much a particular section is blowing his legs out, he is just *dogged*, and over three weeks and at least one stage guaranteed not to be called off until the riders already have massive hypothermia, that's the kind of grinta you need.  He was also fourth in the Vuelta last year--a pretty punishing parcours.  He may not win--but I'm still expecting pretty good things from 'im!

7. Hugh Carthy: He won on the Angliru, and podiumed at the Vuelta.  Whether you think that was due to everyone's weird schedule, everyone's weird form, or an entirely weird race, that is indisputably some badassery.  Maybe not this year--but if things go sideways, and with EF reportedly debuting yet another retina-searing kit that will distract and exhaust the rest of the peloton with screaming nightmares, you can't entirely count him out, either!

Well, them's mine, which virtually guarantees that if you bet on someone else entirely, you're likely to make a !@#$load of cash.  So good luck to all of you, but best luck to Mikel Landa of course--and bring on the mighty Zoncolan!  Last preview coming up: the sprinters and, far more importantly, the high-altitude stage hunters.  Aupa Mikel Nieveeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Holy Crap It's Really Happening: It's Yer 2021 Giro d'Italia in Preview, Part Uno: La Corsa Rosa!

Yes, in a topsy-turvy but intermittently-hopeful cycling season in which Paris-Roubaix was postponed, La Course was !@#$ed (of course), and Valverde remains a hot young property at the age of 682, the beautiful Giro d'Italia is back in May when it belongs, and with one of the strongest fields and some of the most fearsome mountains in years, it's time to look at the course!  Here, what the boys will be battling, the crowds will be drunkenly socially-distancing at, and the couch peloton will be cheering, this year:

Week One: we start off in Torino with a short, 8.6km time trial in which we find out right off the bat exactly how many seconds dear Mikel Landa is already screwed. Go to hell, he's conserving energy for the Dolomites, you miserable haters! Stage 2: Ciao, velocisti!  The sprinters get an early chance to shine with a flat, 179km chillfest to Novara.  Please, no twitchy, stupid accidents to break our hearts, and bruise delicate peloton skins, this early!  Stage 3: A 190KM bit of a roller to wake the legs up and give the break some leeway til a slightly uphill last k for the finish in bella Canale. Stage 4: sure, enjoy the first half of the day, but the second part of the 187k turns upward, with a wicked ascent up the Colle Passerino just before the end.  Ugh, can you cameras quit sadistically focusing on the poor suffering autobus?  Stage 5: phew, after a nice massage, you can relax til you hit the rotaries and 3 corners as you approach the finish line.  At least it's pancake flat!  Next up: it's yer intro to the Apennines, as we take on some road furniture, and basically a final 15k uphill.  If you've got some early weakness, GC, now's the time to freakin' hide it!  Finally, we wrap up the week with some potential crosswinds along the Adriatic coast and a slightly uphill finale.  And yeah, be grateful while you can, sprinters!

Week 2: Are we in the mountains yet?  Gettin' there, honey, 'cause Stage 8 through Campobasso, up Bocca della Selva, a long leisurely descent, then a final hike to Guardia Saniframondi is gonna ache!  That is, til Stage 9, which tosses in a coupla Cat 2s, a Cat 3, then a Cat 1 finale up to the sarcastically-named Campo Felice, with, as a bonus for the tifosi if potentially tire-pinching for the riders, a sharp uphill gravel finish.  Yeah, they'll be "felice" when they fall off their bikes!  Stage 10 takes it down (literally) a notch, with a short 139k stage from L'Aquila to Foligna, and a long, mostly downhill 38k or so to the curvy, though paved, finale.  Enjoy your rest day, kids!  Stage 11: it's a beautiful amble through the vineyards via the strade sterrate on the Brunello di Montalcino "wine stage". Surely you hard-driving team directors'll allow these boys a decent toast tonight?  Stage 12: party's over as we head down from Siena to a quartet of Cat 3 and Cat 2 passes (including some ouchy little 14% nips on the final climb) til the surprisingly twisty end. Careful out there!  Stage 13 throws a massive bone to the two sprinters who haven't already gone home crying to Mamma on a paper-flat meander from Ravenna to Verona.  *Now* would be a good time to run home crying to Mamma, fast men!  Last but so very not least, Stage 14 brings on the first real splits in GC with the spectacular, and whoa-nelly painful, Monte Zoncolan.  Don't !@#$ this up, Bahrain-You-!@#damn-Well-Better-Be-Victorious!

Week 3: Lord have mercy, or at least the organizers did, 'cause Stage 15 is a trio of Cat-4 lumpers, a final wee 14% gradient as we dip into Slovenia and back into Italia, and even a short section of pave til the last 300 meters of all-out tarmac. That wasn't so bad, was it?  Good, because tomorrow you're climbing Passo Fedaia, *then* the Cima Coppi of the freakin' Pordoi, *then* the massive nut-kick of Passo Giau.  Hey, at least it's downhill to Cortina d'Ampezzo--if you've still got control of your bodily functions!  And if you don't, you got a final rest day to get 'em back.  Don't get lazy though! Stage 17: do you know the way to Canazei?  Well, from, but having largely determined the GC, we relax with a slightly less torturous jaunt to Sega d' Ala with the Cat 1 Passo di San Valentino at 155k in, then a ripping Cat 1 finale starting at 10%, plateauing at 15%, and a few nice stretches of 17 and 18% to really bring on the pain the last 11k of the race.  Mikel, you know what to do here!  Stage 18: it's a snoozy 196k through Cremona til 4 wake-up bumps in quick succession to a silky smooth finish in Stradella.  Ah, that felt nice--or it would've if most of the sprinters were still here!  Stage 19 jars you back to reality, with the Cat 1 skip to Mottarone halfway in and a gorgeous Cat 1 finish up Alpe di Mera.  Don't work too hard though boys--the GC and the podium is sealed, if it isn't already, by a brutal penultimate day with a deceptively chill first half then a cannonball into the pain cave with agonizing last-chance schleps up Passo San Bernadino, the ominously named Splugenpass, and, after a careening descent, your final, if almost forgiving, 10% reward to the top of Alpe Motta.  Seriously, you're gonna DQ me for deliriously tossing a baby fan my last water bottle NOW? Anyway, if you've got enough padding on the clock, time to celebrate, or if not, to totally legally and legitimately ride the best freakin' time trial of your life--it's yer last chance to win or lose the maglia rosa, and welcome, for better or way worse, to Milan! 

Well, that's Yer Preview Part Uno.  Next up: the General Classification contenders!  And no, even *I'm* not that nasty to poor Froomey. Well...Anyhoo, get out your Euskaltel caps BECAUSE IT'S A !@#DAMN OUTRAGE THEY WEREN'T INVITED AND THE ORGANIZERS WILL FEEL OUR PAIN AND PROTEST STRAIGHT FROM OUR LIVING ROOMS OVER THE AIRWAVES INTO THEIR TINY, SHRUNKEN, MISERABLE HEARTS, bust out the Aperol, and let's get this hot-pink party started! 

It's Yer Handy UCI Guide to Proper Peloton Behavior!

 Yes, usually you can rely on us here at racejunkie for such crack racing analysis as "!@#DAMMIT, GIRO, WHY DO YOU KEEP INCLUDING TIME TRIALS WHEN YOU KNOW THEY !@#$ OVER LANDA?" and "what kind of insane crap is this bull!@#$ 'new generation' on?" But the hot issue--and frankly, the most bat!@#$ bonkers--is what can riders do out there on the race course that won't get them fined, relegated, or banned from the sport?  So, in the interests of protected our beloved peloton from personal and professional self-destruction, we helpfully present Yer UCI Guide to Proper Peloton Behavior:

1. Socks. If you do not fix that completely unacceptable sock height WE ARE GONNA !@#$ YOU UP, YOU HEAR?

2. Bike Weight. Any underweight bikes shall be immediately corrected by (1) attaching Chavito-sized weights in appropriate increments until you are within no more than 1 microgram under UCI standards or (2) strapping Andre Greipel to your top tube. Try dragging *that* up Mont Ventoux, you cheating punk!

3. Tire Width. If you don't like puncturing every six seconds on the Strade Bianche because the tires you have can't take the constant stabbing of rocks, you can ride on yer rims then you crybaby!

4. Barriers: From now on, the dangerous footed metal barriers that continually cause riders to crash within meters of the line, and which in any event require environmentally destructive mining practices, shall be replaced by lightly padded UCI officials.

5. Sprints: to avoid the possibility of dangerous and reckless sprinting, riders shall henceforth set out one at a time, in two-minute increments--now, wait a minute, that can't be right...

6. Time Trial Helmets: From now on, only helmets that have terrifying googly eyes that actually bounce around in their casings are permitted.

7. General Environmental Concerns. As shown by the gas-guzzling INEOS monster trucks, enormous team buses, dozens of motos, team cars, tchotchke purveyors, Mercedeses hauling dignitaries, and approximately 600 vehicles bearing giant plastic replicas of corporate mascots both preceding and following the peloton proves, UCI is strongly committed to protecting the environme--ah, !@#$ it, I got nothin'!

8. Bidons.  Tossing empty bidons right to adoring child World Road Champions of tomorrow is strictly prohibited.  Tossing bidons at the heads of the joyless eejits who imposed this rule is strongly encouraged.

9. Gels. In an effort to bring back lighthearted 'fun' back to the sport that you all are unjustly accusing us of killing, empty gel packets may only be crammed at full speed into the GC leader's back jersey pocket.  Team with the most accurate hits and least crashes gets a kegger!

10. Musettes: To prevent further grotesque souvenir-hunting by happy fans whose patronage helps PAY UCI's BILLS, musettes may be thrown only into Gianni Moscon's wheelset.

11. Miscellaneous Rubbish: all other detritus, including but not limited to bodily fluids, must be deposited in a two-meter zone located at the base of the Koppenberg.

12. Podium Ceremonies. Podium babes, having been banned on both public health and misog--yeah, like we give a crap about misogyny!--grounds, remain forbidden. Small robots, having been mocked in tryouts, shall be replaced with the Terminator, or, for lesser jerseys, that molten-metal cop guy from the second movie. Flowers, which are useless water-sucking frippery, shall be replaced by dumping a wheelbarrow of mulch over the rider's heads.

13. Road Furniture.  Due to the large carbon footprint of people in safety vests waving destructive synthetic neon flags in front of road furniture, all such injurious hazards shall be helpfully marked with a 4-inch length of kitchen twine.  That oughta do it!

14. Carbon Dioxide Mitigation: Fans.  Exhalations of screaming fans contributing to an excess of greenhouse gases are prohibited. Tifosi shall hold their breath for the entire six hours preceding the peloton on the slopes of the Zoncolan.

15. Team Kits. Team kits, including but not limited to bibs, baselayers, jerseys, and chamoises, depend heavily on harmful unnatural fabrics. Accordingly, each rider shall be allocated a total of 16 local, sustainably-harvested fig leaves to pad their nuts against 7 hours of relentless pounding. 

16. Rain Jackets and Protocol. To avoid the potentially-deadly hazard of riders unable to doff and don rainjackets during the inevitably mercurial changes in weather in 10-meter increments on the Stelvio, thereby endangering other riders and subjecting the incompetent to dangerous frostbite, all World Tour cyclists shall be licensed annually in order to use such gear.  Real-world road conditions shall be simulated in the testing environment by use of water cannons, random ice patches, and bombarding the riders with rapid-fire tennis balls. Riders failing such test shall be immediately demoted to Sunday-morning club rides on !@#$ bikes with wonky derailleurs, loose chains, and pre-punctured tires, and stripped of all World Tour privileges.  That's a !@#$-ton of money even for you, Kelderman! 

17. As the women's peloton already gets NO !@#$ING MONEY OR SUPPORT ANYWAY, none of these rules apply to you.  Enjoy the sweet rewards of perpetual disrespect, ladies!

18. Rider Chats.  Yapping into race radios, and discussing tactical plans with one's teammates, rudely distracts the riders who are properly concentrating.  Accordingly, all on-course communication shall be conducted by Morse Code made by flapping your hands under your armpits to make that disgusting farting sound.  Good luck staying upright, though!

Well, fellow road warriors, that about covers it.  Maybe someday, we'll get around to !@#$ that really matters, like rider safety and dop--AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, you kidders!

My Fantasy Team Skineos Press Conference

 Good morning.  We're here today in this isolated,  empty hotel conference  room to address these scurrilous  allegations against us/courteously  maintain proper social distancing/so you  don't  throw stuff at us.  First, we'd like to thank  Dr. Freeman for his exemplary service  to the team/doing exactly what  we  told  him to do all along/lying his  #$% off to the narcs. Second, we'd like to unequivocally deny that we ever gave our riders any banned substances whatsoever/point out that you hypocrites knew exactly what we were doing all along/make the ridiculous assertion that these were the rogue actions of a depraved lone wolf.  Also, we were were really hoping you'd be distracted by all the lurid testimony about the witnesses' lack of sexual potency/the pandemic/whatever far superior !@#$ the 'new generation' is obviously mainlining.

As to the purported 'evidence' itself, there was absolutely nothing suspicious in the fact that those two key laptops conveniently went missing/the data files were erased by a spy-agency level computer specialist/some guy in a Skineos jacket blasted a hole through them with a Howitzer.  Regarding the alleged 'jiffy bags', they were clearly just innocent little snack bags stuffed with Goldfish crackers and a cheery note from Mum/to carry the riders' phones in their pockets so they wouldn't get all sweaty and gross/post-race Haribo gummies in the wacky and totally coincidental shape of testosterone nut-patches.  Further, any improvements in rider performance, particularly any untoward "donkey to racehorse" gains of people who were clearly acting on their own without any clearance ever from us, were entirely due to the lavender sachets we tucked into the boys' bedlinens to lull them into a relaxing night's sleep/the particularly strong espresso provided by our peerless team barista/some truly rhino-stunning amounts of cutting-edge drugs.

Finally, we'd like to affirm that we are absolutely committed to clean and transparent sport/going to throw some neopro you've never heard of and we don't care about under the bus instead of the glaringly obvious culprits/going to make our highly-paid lawyers drag this !@#$ out til everyone involved has turned to dust and we're all onto the next disgusting scandal.  Thank you, and good day/so long, see ya, wouldn't wanna be ya/!@#$ off! 

It's Yer 2021 Cycling Year in Preview!

 Y'know, I was gonna do my traditional "Year in Review" post, too, but in the end, one month of "Tour Down Under" then 11 months of "Oh, !@#$ !" seemed just too grim.  But it's a whole new year, everyone's been busting it to make it as safe and normal a year as possible--and yes, I'm aware that amounts to "still !@#$ed"--and it's time to cover what will be!  So mark my words--tho' I wouldn't give 'em any actual credence--and let's get to Yer 2021 Cycling Year in Preview!

January: Team camp time! "Wolfpack" air-dropped into Yellowstone National Park in elk costumes to see if they can outrun the real deal; Bahrain-Victorious changes name to Bahrain-ForGod'sSakeLet'sNotCurseLandaWithThisStupidNameBeforeTheSeasonEvenBegins; Ineos-Grenadiers double-dog-dares riders to lick cold aluminum pole in battle for Grand Tour leadership.  Hope you got legs, 'cause you ain't got a tongue any more!

February: The season ramps up! Riders at Tour of Oman hydrated by blasting fire hoses in lieu of bidon hand-outs due to social-distancing concerns; Kasper Asgreen fails to defend 2020 Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne under mistaken belief live racing is on hold, misses whole show by hooking up bike trainer to nonexistent Zwift course instead; Sagan posts video of himself wheelie-ing down Alta Badia giant slalom course, beats World Cup leader Alexis Pinturault by 39 seconds.  Ready for the Classics, I see!

March: The cobbles begin! Spectators, press, non-necessary personnel barred from Paris-Nice, 2016 champ Geraint Thomas claims win, saying "how the hell would you know? You weren't there to see it anyway"; torrential rain at Gent-Wevelgem turns Kemmelberg into giant wave, Peter Sagan surfs fan-club sign to victory; Cav takes Milano-Sanremo when Wolfpack hunts down, devours defending champ Wout Van Aert. That's about the only thing that'll stop that kid, anyhow!

April: Nothin' but Classics, baby! Arenberg cobbles purloined sometime during 2020, Paris-Roubaix quickly re-routed to some guy's suspiciously lumpy new driveway; Paris-Roubaix women's ra--aw, we know *that's* not gonna happen, peloton greeted by big UCI sign saying "NEENER NEENER!";  Alaphilippe sweeps Ardennes by sneaking on to courses night before, painting fake finish lines for Primoz Roglic, causing him to raise arms in victory prematurely. Take *that*, beeyotch!

May: It's the Giro it's the Giro It's the Giro! Riccardo Ricco' granted one-time reprieve from lifetime ban, busted in sting operation when mistakenly confuses watermelon Slushy bought from some guy outside a 7-11 for legitimate blood bag; Elia Viviani sweeps sprint stages after Cofidis teammates slash tires of every dumb!@# moto within 50 meters of him; Landa wins Giro after Movistar chases down GC rivals in usual pointless act of self-destruction.  Viva Mikel, viva il Giro! 

June: Pre-Tour prep time and Road nats! Riders arrive to quarantine ahead of Tour-bubble lockdown, drink entire year's national Champagne output in two weeks; Alexander Vinokourov crowned surprise Kazakhstan men's champ because "if you don't like it, *you* go tell 'im"; Toms Skujins wins Latvian men's road race, misses podium ceremony when distracted by nearby frites truck. 

July: It's the Grande Boucle, honey! 3-year-old Belgian toddler in debut road race wins Tour de France GC because "damn, that !@#$ is getting better every day"; Pogacar-Roglic rematch results in shared Lanterne Rouge when mark each other too closely, miss time cut on stage 1 by record-breaking 14 hours 28 minutes; riders solve rescheduled Olympics/Tour de France conflict by running screaming all the way to Tokyo when realize they have to climb Mont Ventoux *twice*. And what the !@#$ do you mean the Giro Rosa isn't a WorldTour race, you sick freaks?!

August: Are we still racing?  It's the smashing Vuelta a Espana, baby! Sturdy Classics guys who benefited from 2020 Vuelta reschedule to November vaporize in brutal Basque mountain heat, no riders left to take on cobblestones next April; Kuss gets bored waiting for exhausted Roglic, pulls over for a nap, wakes up in 2023 and still takes stage win for self; Euskaltel sweeps podium after at least getting invited to *this* race, fer heck's sake.  Aupa grandeeeees!

September: Time for the World Championships! Mads Petersen summarily awarded men's road race on finish line "because he never even got to show off his World Champion stripes last year"; van Vleuten new women's road champ despite being incapacitated by broken wrist, strained hamstring, swollen kneecap, severe gout, and chronic hangnails; Filippo Ganna first human to break the sound barrier by non-motorized transport during men's time trial, located 2 days later in New Zealand.

October: Il Lombardia, honey! Beloved "Race of the Falling Leaves" becomes "Race of the Falling Ice Shelf" due to freak El Nino weather pattern, race organizers decline to invoke extreme weather protocols, Nibali chisels way out to victory three weeks later with mangled seat stay fragment; women's peloton storms UCI headquarters, threatens to openly discuss menstruation and other scary lady stuff in front of board members, cowering misogynist ninnies immediately declare three-week women's Giro, Tour, and Vuelta for 2022.  Victory!      

November: Transfer season! confusion as Marc Hirschi linked to UAE, Ineos, Cofidis, AG2R, Manchester United and New York Mets; van Vleuten decides to ride solo with only small handlebar bag for support in 2022 "just to keep things interesting," still takes top of World Tour rankings; Froome to--!@#$ you haters, I am so still riding!

December: Team Kit reveals! 83 percent of 2022 races called wrong because no-one can tell every team's boring identical blue kit apart; Androni-Giocattoli ditches much-critized over-logoed 2021 outfits by demanding riders get all-body sponsor tats instead; EF replaces weird 2021 duck motif with kits made of actual, living ducks, riders repeatedly pulled off-course in 2022 by kit lunging after bread crumbs thrown by rival teams' soigneurs. Maybe we'll just make it a nice, simple blue kit next year!

Well dear reader(s), there's yer 2021.  So buckle up, cross yer fingers we actually get and stay going this year--and don't say I didn't warn you! 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 racejunkie Awards!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a Few I'm Damn Well Not: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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