It's Yer !#$% It, a Time Trial Basically Counts as a Rest Day, Right?: Vuelta a Espana Rest Day Roundup!

 All right, it's been an intriguing and often beguiling start to this year's Vuelta, with everyone damn near sobbing with joy over--well, why waste time on the intro, when we can just get right to it? Anyhow, here's the state of the race:

1.  Gesink. Yes, you too teared up with good-sportsmanship vibes when Jumbo predictably bagged the opening team time trial and Rogla made sure that everyone loves Robert Gesink, who sure earned it with those monster pulls, took the inaugural red jersey.  A nice reward for a selfless career!

2.  Rogla. Considering he *just* crashed hard out of the Tour, he's coming quite nicely back into form, isn't he? Oh, sure, Evenepoel's got a week and a half on the rest of the field, but even without Sepp Kuss to haul you up the even meaner mountains to come, anything can happen and most usually does!

3. Covid.  !@#$, like *9* guys just out *today* with covid?  What the !@#$'s with the protocols?  Then again, 21 stages, two countries, a coupla dozen hotels, giant entourages, and fans screaming a millimeter from yer face for 4000 meters uphill, really, what could go wrong?

4. Sam Bennett.   Speaking of which, that *sucks* that our dual-sprint-snagger got taken out right when he was looking superb for the final green jersey in Madrid.  Chapeau to perpetual class act Mads Petersen, now in green, for a class (temporary) farewell to a fierce competitor.  Well, if it can't be Bennett's, I'm glad it's Mads'!

5. Jay Vine. I *know*, I *know*, Zwift.  Like you'd've been paying attention if we hadn't all been so starved for even virtual cycling action the last coupla years.  Still, translating that into two giant mountain triumphs--pretty impressive, whippersnapper!

6. Valverde.  Oh, he's been pretty quiet so far.  But don't you think he's gonna pull off one final stage to delight the fans enrage his detractors and probably hose one of his own teammates?  *That's* why everyone loves Bala!

7. Mikel Landa.  First, shut the hell up, you faithless heathens, you know who you are.  Didja see he won Most Combative when he burned it up on that big breakaway?  Right on Mikeeeeeeeeel--and we know you're *really* just saving it all for the third week!

8. Aupa Euskalteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!

9. Enric Mas.  I bet you didn't think he'd be in second right now, did you?  Me either, or you're just way-!@# smarter than me.  Contador had his eyes on him since the start, though!

10. Yates, man. Full of surprises.  He'll be even more surprisingy if he doesn't crack spectacularly on at least one day coming up, you think?

11. Evenepoel. I admire a blazing ride as much as anyone, but if nothing about Evenepoel's absolute rocket ship of an individual time trial today didn't at least mildly freak you out, this has gotta be your first rodeo, amirite? Learned my lesson when my beloved Heras started pulling that !@#$.  In any event, it sure was a biiiiiiiiiiiiig margin over a pretty short course.  I'm sure it's just the aero kit!

All righty, there's yer roundup. Tomorrow, one for the sprinter.  Looking forward to it, Mads!

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

Okay, we got the course down, but who's here to contest the race? Well, Nairo Quintana's sure not, via late announcement after first getting the UCI's blessing to start, and the notable silence of Arkea-Samsic which just re-signed him, so he can fight his entirely unwarranted discipline for entirely unintentional Tramadol use at the Tour de France, entirely coincidentally on giant mountain stages where one could reaaaaaallly use its impressive pain-numbing (if not so much its dizzying and nauseating) effects.  Good luck with that--but hey, folks've gotten off for a lot worse!  *Anyhoo*, there's still lots of solid prospects in the race, even without him and the newly-crowned Tour de France champ.  Oh, and I don't know what the hell's been going on with we love Mikel Landa's "muscle injury," but first, the entire planet can !@#$ right off, and second, we still have faith, even if he doesn't, for a podium placing *after* his home stomping-grounds stage win.  So who else's on tap for GC? These 'uns!    

Primoz Roglic: Yeah, he's injured, and I'm still baffled for the massive amount of !@#$ he took for retiring from the Tour de France after plowing through half a dozen stages and supporting his teammates while *fractured.* That said, he's back on the bike, and uncertain form or not, he is freakin' Rogla, and while I'm honestly dubious about him taking the top top spot and, say, less dubious about Domestique-o'-Death Sepp Kuss getting the go ahead for team leadership, I'm convinced that if he gets through the first week unscathed a top 3 is not outta the question.  As usual, I'll be rooting for the biggest losing cause here.  Go Rogla!

Richard Carapaz: no, I can't !@#$in' stand 'im. Yes, I can begrudgingly acknowledge he may do very, very well.  And also be a wheelsucking sandbagging whinemaster the entire way to Madrid.  Ugh, do I *have* the podium ceremony if he's on it?

Remco Evenepoel: Well, Pat Lefevere's already thrown him under the bus, which, though par for the course for the head of the Wolfpack who *just* smacked around World Champ Julian Alaphilippe for heck's sake, means Evenepoel's either wilting already under the weight of diminished expectations, or mentally out to kick his !@#.  The high passes'll tell us which one!  

Jai Hindley: Count him out if you will--because heck knows the mountain-happy Giro-Vuelta duo is a leg-killer--but he did grab a Grand Tour absolutely no one expected (you either, liar!), and for that alone, we can't count him out.  But add sweltering August heat to crushing Basque mountains, and the Vuelta's its own particular kind of delightful (for us) hell (for them).  But wouldn't it be nice if he beat expectations? 

Joao Almeida: He's young, he's hungry--and he says his legs pretty well suck.  But while Covid took him outta the Giro, he did have a pretty stellar comeback to the second spot at the Vuelta a Burgos.  Plus, there's a lot being 24 can make up for, particularly if you get the leaders' jersey to give you that little extra oomph.  Aw, c'mon, you want him to do well too!

Miguel Angel Lopez: Astana's a freakin' train wreck right now.  Oh Vino, I *told* you not to let the Izagirres go!

Simon Yates: last but not least, Captain Yo-yo--who, after all, has bagged this smashing Grand Tour before--is if nothing else gonna give us a spectacularly gut-wrenching show of incredible surges, astonishing stage finishes, and monstrously record-breaking cracks.  Cripes, can you just *pick* one already--I'm getting seasick here!

Oh, and for stages, I'd love that wily old codger Alejandro Valverde to take one last win here--and yes, it'll make me feel *dirty.* And yeah, you know I don't want to hear any crap about this--aupa Mikeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!

It's the Vuelta It's the Vuelta It's the Vuelta! a Espana in Preview Part Uno: The Course!

 Holy crap, it's like T - 2 to the Vuelta! And this ain't no sprinters' party (though the Tour de France wasn't so much as usual this year either)--this is the fabulous Vuelta a Espana, baby, and a course tailor-made for the mountain goats over at we love Euskaltel and, of course, we love and *have faith in* you heretic goons, Mikel Landa, who we refuse to accept this bull!@#$ about not going for GC and maybe only aiming for a stage win.  #Landismo, beeyotches!  Anyway, before we get to who's in it, including that Tramadol-sucking DQd Mikel-backstabbing weasel Quintana, *what's* in it?  This!

Week One: Welcome to...the Netherlands? Whatever, but you can't go wrong with beautiful Utrecht!  We start off with an inaugural, long enough at 23.3k time trial that oughta give Lotto Soudal, and, more importantly, Primoz Roglic, an annoying GC advantage of approximately 52 hours 16 minutes over the nearest podium contenders.  Dammit!  Stage 2 *is* a rare gift to the fast men--if you don't count the Cat 3 tossed in to get the KOM going. Danger: crosswinds. Don't !@#$ this up, Bahrain!  Stage 3: don't get those mountain legs *too* twitchy just yet, because it's another flat one.  Enjoy, sprinters, because it's just about your last damn chance! Next up: a premature transfer/rest day, and we all saw this year how *that* throws the peloton for a loop.  Hold it together, and we'll see you tomorrow in Spain! Stage 4: Technically a medium-mountains stage, the climb 15k out then skeevy descent to the finish means some of you better have brushed up on your descending skills--no opiates for you, Nairo! Stage 5: and oh yes, we are in the Basque country at last, home of the most perfect fans on the planet and another day to get the climbers just started in their groove. And yes, I already have my massive orange shrine in place.  Aupa Euskalteeeeeeeeeeeeeeel! Stage 6: Okay, *now* we're in the mountains, honey: it's two Cat 1s including a mountaintop finish that, while it won't decide the GC, certainly might show who's gonna be spit out of it. Stage 7: "medium mountains", in that it has a giant-!@# Cat 1 beast of the Puerto de San Glorio peaking about 65k from the finish then a mostly looooooooooong downhill to the finish, with a mean lumpy bit at 150-168k just to wreck your rhythm.  Cripes, *now* can we have a real rest day?

Week 2: Feeling relaxed, or you freaked out about that opiate you didn't know you took and that pesky finger stick from the narcs?  Anyway, Stage 8 in Asturias is *not* screwing around, with a five-pack of Cat 2s and 3s until you start pretty much climbing for good for the last 18k onto the spankin' new hence totally unpredictable in practice mountaintop finito on the Cat 1 Collao Fancuaya.  *Now* we're talking GC! Don't shake out those legs *too* much, though--Stage 8 is another rolling ripper with a finale up the (yep, you guessed it) Cat 1 to Nava with a complete b!@#$ of a 4k to shell out the more slow-'n'-steady types.  Wait, now it's rest day 2 *already*?  What is this heathen sneaky !@#$ ?, I'm a Tour de France guy for chrissakes!  Well, rest up or not, but Stage 10 is a 30k individual time trial flat enough to completely screw Mikel and any other pure climbers but which ought to leave the rest of the GC undisturbed. Oh, and crosswinds.  No fun!  Stage 11: Okay, sprinters, enjoy--191k of damn near nothin'!  Stage 12: Welcome to Malaga!  You got squat to do most of the day, GC, except freak out about the 20k finale up the Cat 1 Penas Blancas.   That oughta wake you up outta your stupor!  Stage 13: don't worry, despite its rolly profile, it's actually pretty damn flat, but it's gonna take some recovery by the really big boys not to bonk a bit before the final sprint.  We finish up the week with a pretty mellow Stage 14 with a Cat 3 hop about 90k out then (of course, which is why we love the Vuelta), yet another Cat 1 finale with a downhill/uphill final k.  Oh thank God--there's a rest day *3* this merciful Vuelta?

Week 3: all right, gloves off (or on, whichever you prefer) boys--if you haven't crashed out or completely cracked like a bad nut, this is when it all gets decided!  Stage 15 is a party for the pure climbers, with our first HC ("Holy Crap") finale of the race that's sure to show whose recent injuries or covid bouts have left them vulnerable.  Stage 16: one more for the sprinters.  All right, guys, you can all go crying home now without any (well, much) shame or regrets!  Stage 17: Break(away) time--just one Cat 2 at the final to separate the wheat from the chaff!  Stage 18: another quiet mountain day, with just one Cat 1 honker at 140-150k out, then a relatively gentle 5-6%, 10k climb to Alto de Piornal. Bonus: you pass a monastery halfway in, so if you're done with this masochistic cyclist !@#$ and decide you'd prefer a life of quiet contemplation, now's your chance!  Stage 19 is another one for the break, with 2 Cat 2s and a nice flat finish.  But it ain't over yet: for stage 20, it's Cat 1 Cat 2 Cat 2 Cat 1 Cat 1, with a just-slightly-enough-to-crush-you-spirituallly uphill final k to Navacerrada.  Jaysus, I'm gasping--can we call the podium now or what?  Last but not least, even the brutal Vuelta gives the riders a mercy flat celebration stage for Stage 21, though I don't know that sparkling wine's gonna pair well with all that Tylenol you're stuffed with.  But stagger on up, GC, and enjoy your podium celebration before your legs collapse!

Well, that's yer Vuelta.  Next up: the GC contenders!  

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious Tours (!) de France racejunkie Awards!

 Yes folks, the Tour Hommes is rather long gone, but the Tour de France Femmes Avec Swift has just wrapped up, so, thanks to the women *finally* getting a real show after umpteen years (and the riders, staff, organizers, journos, and fans who made it possible by endlessly pressing UCI for the obvious), it's time for our inaugural Incredibly Prestigious Tours (!) de France racejunkie Awards! Prizes--I swear on #landismo, so you know this is no bull!@#$--for those so desperate for low-rent notoriety to claim 'em: (1) a genuine sports statuary thingy with your name and award either (a) elegantly engraved on it or (b) written in nearabout the nicest darn penmanship you've ever encountered outside a doctor's prescription pad; (2) a dashing, custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling (not baseball, you heathens!) cap; (3) a passel of handsome genuine racejunkie stickers to deface yer bike, yer helmet, or Pat Lefevere; and (4) eternal (because you know whatever dumb!@#ery you get up to now is sticking around in perpetuity) internet glory (or shame).  So what was the good, the bad, and (for sure) the unspeakably ugly of this year's Tours (!)?  Well pop open that champagne, try not to kill yerself with the cork, get ready with that brie and a hunk o' baguette, and let's look!

Total Best Moment in the Entire Planetary History of Cycling: you know it. You dreamt it.  And she's deserved it for at least the last 15 years.  Marianne Vos, indisputably the GOAT, in the maillot jaune.  Now figure out how to wind back time you blowhard physicists and let her fight for it every damn year!

Self-Own o' (Not Quite) the Race: no, he *wasn't* in the Tour, but we love him anyway, so he still wins.  Biniam Girmay's bitchin' new Angry Exploding Cork Cartoon helmet.  Glad to see that his vision's intact from his Giro d'Italia Champagne Fisticuffs, *and* his sense of humor!

!@#$ Crash o' the Tour (GC-deciding): Oh, dear Primoz Roglic.  Before your willing acolyte Vingegaard could even smack you around on the road for undisputed leadership at Team Jumbo-Visma, you got taken out when Caleb Ewan got taken out by, of all stupidities, an errant bale of hay knocked out into the course by a race vehicle, which an adjacent gendarme didn't even bother to kick back onto the sidewalk.  That just *sucks*--can we please find out who's responsible, and encourage them to issue Primoz a deeply heartfelt apology?

Corollary Screw You People, What Is the Big Damn Deal? Award: Stage 15.  Who doesn't take the start? Roglic.  Why?  No, *not* because he's being a whiny-!@# !@#$% over losing team leadership to Jonas Vingegaard, when you *just* watched him Jonas hauling relentlessly up the mountains for most of the last *two weeks* while he struggled through excruciating pain--it's because he was *struggling through excruciating pain*, you jackwagons, and he finally needed to *stop.*  If he'd wanted to hose Vinegaard, he could've dropped out the day after his crash.  Give the guy some credit for sportsmanship, and let him take his well-earned Tylenol in peace!

Fan !@#$wit Award: holy moly, I think this is maybe the single year since I've been doing this that no-one caused any kind of GC-determining catastrophe, unless you count the crashes caused by agricultural protestors literally gluing their !@#es to the tarmac in front of the riders, and the usual "Y'know what riders like to climb through? Smoke flares!" eejits. The flags stayed out of the wheels, the signs stayed sensibly held overhead, and the camera-seeking exhibitionists didn't unduly distract the talent.  All in all, well done, people!

Fan *Fun*wit Award: well, this is new this year—but I had to give props to the Tour de France Femmes Hopping Inflatable Chicken Guy, who livened up not only the race but apparently also snagged an empty podium shot (with him on it). Allez allez next year—we hope!

I'm Not Crying, *You're* Crying Result o' the Race: Hugo Houle, stage 15, Tour Hommes, holding off his rampaging compatriots to take a decisive victory, which he desperately wanted to get for, and tearfully dedicated to, his late brother.  Now hand me a hanky before I drool on my yellow t-shirt--or yours!

All I Want for Christmas Is...Prize: Simon freakin' Clarke, people.  At Christmas, this spectacularly underrated but always incredibly reliable rider was out of a contract, and unwillingly considering his next steps towards a post-peloton career.  And while his team might be mocked as the final resting place for talent towards, well, the twilight of their pro riding days, Clarke roundly proved he was no mere money-making nostalgia-name with a beautiful, nail-nipping, right on the line perfect bike throw victory on Stage 5.  Hot damn--call the police and the fireman!  

Well That Was 3,328 Kilometers of My Life I'm Never Gonna Get Back Prize: Caleb Ewan.  Just an amazing sprinter, with just some crap placement and maybe just a little missing mojo, on an unusually sprint-stingy Tour de France Hommes.  Still, he stuck it out over hill, dale, and Alpe, with his loyal teammates shepherding him in pretty darn comfortably ahead of the time limit no matter how punishing the day's terrain.  Can the race organizers give this guy a nice wheel of cheese or something for effort, at least? 

Raise the Red Lantern (Rouge) Prize: yeah, save your snark, you wusses, the last freakin' finisher in the Tour de France is *still* one of the most bad-!@# athletes on the planet and can *still* drop you like a stone before you even finish getting your chamois cream on.  Caleb Ewan and Lone Meertens, take a bow—and a nap!

Tiiii-iiiiime Is On My Side (Yes It Is) Award: Look, we don't expect much of sprinters in the high passes, and even stage winner Fabio Jakobsen is no exception.  But making the time cut on Stage 17 by *15 seconds*?  *That* is cutting it close.  Nice save--and I trust your teammates all got a round of beers from you that night!

Breakout Star of the Tour(s)!: Not familiar with SD Worx's Marlen Ruesser, despite her Olympic silver in the time trial?  Well I'm ashamed to say I wasn't, because she smashed Stage 4 by over a minute and a half over her nearest (or more accurately, farthest) competitor. Way to stamp it on the newly most prestigious race in women's cycling--and we'll be looking for more next year! 

!@#$ Crash o' the Tour (Jaysus H. Christ You're Supposed to Be on My Side!) sure, the men had a coupla problems with one moto causing one guy to crash and the succeeding moto and team car pinching the next guy in and making *him* crash, but let's be honest, that's par for the course these days. What's *particularly* *not* supposed to happen is yer own team car running up yer !@# and knocking you over. UAE—Mavi Garcia’s supposed to ride ahead of you, not be pushed ahead *by* you!

Total Sexist Bull!@#$ o' the Race (Commentator Edition): Orla Chennaoui, or specifically, her !@#$wit troglodyte detractors, who somehow couldn't get over the fact that she wore, y'know, *clothes*, that apparently deviated just a little too much from the Official Commentator Bro Uniform of Short-Sleeve Button-Down with Slightly Wacky Pattern, Skinny Jeans, and Fashion Kicks, and accordingly, were incapable of paying attention to a !@#damn thing she said for three weeks in their outrage over something totally irrelevant.  Look, I don't give a crap if Robbie McEwen is up there in the GCN box wearing pasties and a G-string, I want to know what he thinks about the *race*.  Fly your freak flag, people, but for heck's sake fans, keep your eyes on the prize here!

Total Sexist Bull!@#$ o' the Race (Peloton Edition): oh my gerd, for the first time in the entire history of cycling on Earth, a buncha riders went down in a pile.  But it's the Tour de France Femmes Avec Swift, so of course, some asshat posted a pic with an apparent caption slagging how those wacky women drivers just can't even ride a bike without coming down.  Now, I don't read French, but I *do* read "Jackass", and by that guy's standards, the !@#$ing whole men's peloton shouldn't even be allowed to navigate a shopping cart in a supermarket, much less a bicycle at 50 kph an eyelash-width's away from other people.  Oh, and I'm pretty sure Van Vleuten could hunt you down within a millimeter like a starving raptor from 100k out going blindfolded over pave.  Jerk!

Domestique o' the Tour(s)!: It's not often that a, what, three time? stage winner grabs this one, but damn, Wout van Aert can do it all.  When anyone else would be crying on the massage table and begging his team doc for some fake stomach-ailment diagnosis, Wout not only broke free on most every stage and bagged a pile of them, but, sensing blood in the water like Jaws on swimmer, he absolutely broke any last resistance left in the legs of defending champion Tadej Pogacar to ensure his teammate Jonas Vingegaard the stage, *and* the overall win in Paris.  You could do worse for a worker bee, amiright?

Drama From Another Mama Award: okay, I'm personally much more interested in the occasional St. Bernard or livestock that they hand up to the riders, but in the broader scheme of adorable podium shots with adorable spawn in adorable tiny team kit, it *was* heck funny that Lorena Weibes hoisted someone else's baby entirely up there for the inaugural maillot jaune of the Tour.  Still prefer baby goats though!

And Last But Never Least, Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: Usually, this goes to an actual rider-on-rider deliberate cutoff or post-stage minor slapfest, but this year, it's different.  Y'know, there were about 7 Americans in the Tour de France Hommes this year, several of whom rode incredibly strongly but only one of whom was paraded all over NBC in a grotesque, fawning, context-less lovefest, Twitter racist ignoramus Quinn Simmons.  Yap, his team made him apologize, yap, he's surely since grown as a person, yap--you coulda been singing the praises of, say, Neilson Powless, who rode at least as strongly, for three weeks.  Hang your head in shame, NBC--and try a better pick next year!

All right folks, there's absolutely more I could cover, but frankly, I've wasted your time this long.  Congrats to the winners, consolation to the losers, and now, it's time for the Vuelta--aupa Mikeeeeeeeeeeeel!