It's Yer Giro d'Italia Rest Day Due Roundup!

 Okay, it's still a little weird that it's actually the second rest day already after just Stage 9, but Giro's gotta make money having other countries host the gig no matter how inconvenient for the riders, so here we are.  So what did we learn this fateful first week, (both) my faithful readers?  Let's review!

1. You did *not* see Yates winning that opening time trial.  I mean, you thought he'd do well, but be honest--not that well!

2. You did *so* see Yates cracking.  Not because of his knee, though that is what happened this time--but like clockwork, he'll do it at least once every Grand Tour anyway.  Heal up soon--and props to him for being determined to at least start tomorrow to honor the race!

3. Tom Dumoulin.  Frankly, I still don't see how a guy with his build can possibly ever have won a race as cruelly (and beautifully) mountainous as the Giro.  And seeing him just gutted after his time trial third place--which for almost anyone else would be a career highlight--really sucked.  But the way he worked like a dog then celebrated wholeheartedly for his young teammate and virgin Grand Tour stage-winner teammate Koen Bouwman was genuinely a thing of generosity.  You could do worse than the proud owner of the Trofeo Senza Fine for a worker bee, buddy!

4. Thomas De Gendt.  Like you weren't screaming your damn head off willing him to take that stage?  Own it, Pinocchio, you were so either!

5. Biniam Grmay.  Okay, he dithered around with van der Poel when he could've bridged up to the break just before the line, and misjudged a coupla sprints.  He *just* won Ghent-Wevelgem for !@#&'s sake--can we give him 10 minutes to get adjusted to the Giro before we vilify the poor kid when we all *know* it's just a matter of time?  Jaysus!

6.  Juanpe Lopez.  Dang, calling nature breaks for the entire peloton already? That kid's learned to wield the power of the maglia rosa pretty quick!  

7. Don't even say it.  Don't even say it.  I don't want to curse him. Mikel cra--entirely voluntarily chose to caress the glass-smooth surface of the brand-new tarmac *twice* yesterday.  Plus, he sorta owned up to being mildly dented, which stands to reason when you hurtle at said tarmac at like 70 kph.  Tratnik's out. Pello's scraped up pretty good. But Mikel *did* stick with Hindley Bardet and Carapaz the whole way up--and even attacked, woot!--the Blockhaus climb nonetheless.  Mikel, heal up fast--we believe!  And Bahrain, get your !@#$ back together and protect this boy.  Landismoooooooooooooooooo!

8. Y'know, I really like and admire Richie Porte.  But watching Carapaz's relentless blue train crushing the rest of the GC as their own high-quality helpers dropped off in exhaustion gave me instinctively creepy Discovery-Postal throwback vibes.  Plus, they're working for Carapaz, who is the nails-on-the-blackboard, hovering-mosquito, punk-!@# Landa backstabber in my ear.  Argh!

9. I am still trying to get my head around the dance portion of the Giro opening ceremony, though as i adore the Giro without reservation and in every way possible, it's clearly my fault for being a low-rent, cultureless American clod.  But--ah, forget it, it's clearly my fault!

10. Cav is !@#$ed without Morkov, which means he'll prove me wrong, take all the remaining sprint stages, and wear the points jersey on the final podium in Verona. Oh well Caleb--if you can avoid being spit out the back tomorrow, there's theoretically a chance the break'll choke and you'll come back and take your win!

11. Bauke Mollema.  You've still got plenty of time.  But we're waiting!

All right, that's the first week down.  Next up--well, it basically only *does* go up from here.  Aupa Mikeeeeeeeeeel!      

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

 Okay, cycling.  You know what you did.  And you oughta be ashamed of yourselves! But even if you're not, what better way to start off the New Year by making a buncha impossible-to-live-up-to resolutions whose failure to complete will cause you relentless guilt and self-loathing the entire next season?  So if you don't know what's good for you, *we* sure do, so riders and assorted other cycling folks, listen up!

1. Julian Alaphilippe: Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I outsmarted the lot of you at the World Championships for the second year in a row while you all !@#$ed around fighting for the podium behind rather'n work together to actually reel me in so you could go for the top spot.  So I'm good!

2. Mikel Landa.  I know what I have to do, and I am gonna do it.  That's right, I'm gonna wrap myself up in 50 miles of bubble wrap every time I leave the house, and I am gonna *stay* upright in one piece!

3. Bahrain Merida: in a related resolution, we are going to freakin' cattle prod anyone who gets within 100 meters of Mikel, and any piece of road furniture that dares to exist in his presence we are gonna blast outta the way with a !@#damn cannon.  We'll try to warn the rest of you first though!

4. Toms Skujins: I am going to start an all-potato food truck to follow me around for sustenance--and also serve my fans--all season.  Frites, baked, smashed, mashed, roasted, au gratin, skins, hashed, gnocchi, and latkes.  Someone else can take care of the beer truck!

5. Giro Donne.  I am gonna air *every* stage, *live*, for its *full length*, this year and every year thereafter, including to the US.  We'll take up the issue of adding another 11 stages next year!   

6. Elisa Longo Borghini.  Given the above, isn't it obvious?

7. Euskaltel.  We've conquered the breakaways, we've earned our spots back in the Grand Tours which we never should've had to do anyway, and in 2022, as befits the best climbers on earth, we're bringing home and sealing the deal with the impossibly high mountain finishes we're known for.  Giro, Tour and Vuelta--watch out!

8. Mark Cavendish: I'm going to win the green jersey at the Tour de France, just to stick it to Pat Lefevere.  And no, you don't get a podium pic with me after the way you b*tched about me all year!

9. Any and All World Tour Teams.  What the !@#$ is this travesty? We're gonna #HireSimonClarkeDammit! Hell, even Ineos--that's how desperate the fans are to have him back another season!

10. Remco Evenepoel: I'll shut my yap complaining about my teammates.  I can just take the Worlds without slagging 'em anyway!

11. Anna Kiesenhofer: all right, so you're all gonna be on the lookout for me now.  I'm going to hide discreetly amongst the Belgians, then take half the races I enter next season anyway!

12. Alexander Vinokourov: I don't need to resolve *anything* after my intra-squad coup last year.  Bow, peons!

13. Movistar: we'll ride *for* our GC guy this year, and *not* do everything we can to shepherd some other schmuck's team to victory.  And while we're at it--we get that that trident !@#$ *never works!

14. Last but Not Least, the Fans: We will restrain our signs, leash our dogs, retract our selfie sticks, extinguish our flares, refrain from throwing disgusting bodily emissions on the riders, and for FFS, cover up that hideous TMI neon banana-hammock when we're charging alongside the leader on Mont Ventoux so we don't burn the GC's, or the home viewers', retinas out.  We're serious--that last part of the resolution is non-negotiable!

Well, I guess the rest of you get off the hook easy this year.  But don't think you're out of the running for 2023! 

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 Tour de France racejunkie Awards!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a Few I'm Damn Well Not:

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

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

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

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

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

It's Yer 2019 Cycling Year In Preview (Yeah, You Read Right)!

Ok kids, time to shake off that post-New Year's hangover, toss yer 2018 team kit in the trash, and pull up yer big-boy chamois--another shameful year is behind us, and another one is rarin' to begin!  So what've we got ahead?  Here, yer 2019 Cycling Year in Preview:

January: Team camps round up! AG2R to preemptive counseling for inevitable Tour de France loss; Astana to WHEREVER VINO WANTS YOU TO GO AND WHATEVER HE WANTS YOU TO DO YOU WORTHLESS WORMS!; Deuc-whatever-Quick Step "Wolfpack" to Alps for extreme wilderness training, mistakenly tear Philippe Gilbert to pieces in pursuit of fleeing rabbit.  Guess the 'pack just got a little smaller for this year!

February: Classics training! Record 2 spectators on course at Tour of Oman, soigneurs vaporize into dry air awaiting passing peloton at feed zones; 68 riders positive for "!@#$loads of caffeine" at Tour of Colombia, field decimated for stage 2; Sagan recons Gent-Wevelgem press room for intensive preening, smack-talk training.

March: the Classics begin! Nibali takes Milano-San Remo (again) after using 2-by-4 to preemptively whack every fan he sees with a camera outta the way on the roadside; Simon Yates wins Paris-Nice after defending champ Marc Soler mistakenly chases down Adam; Sagan repeats Gent-Wevelgem after Viviani blinded by Sagan's gleaming beauty just before finishing sprint.

April:  It's the cobbles, beeyotches! Sagan lost in Forest of Arenberg, taken in by wicked witch in house built of candy; cobblestones torn out, replaced with asphalt when Roubaix first-timer Froome complains, "They're ouchy!"; Alejandro Valverde sweeps Ardennes, bolts for team bus, disappears behind sweeping black satin cape when UCI  photographer notices Bala can't see own reflection in mirror; Wolfpack distracted when Van Avermaet throws raw meat by side of road.

May: It's Il Grande Giro, baby!  Mountain stages cancelled after Tom Dumoulin protests they're "too climby"; Landa takes individual time trial, wins Giro after sneaking to course night before, pointing arrow for time trial course away from valley floor and up the Mortirolo; Egan Bernal gains 93 minutes on Fedaia without pedaling when team mechanic mistakenly hands him Froome's Tour de France bike.

June: Time for Tour de France prep! Alberto Contador back in action at Dauphine as fans snatch Caja Rural team boss, force them to sign one-race contract; women's peloton train for--aw, what the hell do they really have to train for in France in July, anyway? Porte doubles at Tour de Suisse, Australia's richest family thrown into bankruptcy when bet fortune on Porte winning the Tour de France in 4 weeks.

July: What else? It's the Grand Bull-shay! Sky rewards Geraint Thomas for incredible 2018 victory by kicking him off team bus to "save gas," making him transport Froome's luggage between stages on foot; Froome out after eyeballs weld to readout on power meter, sent to be freed by surgical specialist in London; Movistar to "9-man-captain" strategy, fistfight ensues at team meeting, Nairo only one to make it out alive when hides behind water pitcher on table; no-one bothers to ride La Course, Giro Donne officials startled when entire planet's female riders show at their start line instead.

August: the Vuelta begins!  Euskadi-Murias loses 26 hours on opening team time trial, regains on first mountain top finish; Yates blows double when confuses Oscar Rodriguez' neon-green team kit for safety vest of road-hazard flag guy, doesn't bother to chase down on decisive climb to Santuario del Acebo ; c'mon, who's really watching the Tour de Pologne, anyway?

September: Time for the World Championships! van der Breggen, van Vleuten DQd from time trial and road races after signing in late due to exhaustion from epic 48-hour "Fortnite" battle; Alejandro Valverde wins men's time trial stripes, because nothing in this ridiculous sport makes any sense any more; Cav grabs men's road race because "I gotta justify 13 consecutive years of slagging other sprinters for sucking somehow."

October: Nibali wins Il Lombardia after having vertebrae broken by dipwad with selfie stick, legs run over by stampeding elephants, arms fractured by out-of-control cruise ship, and feelings really, *really* hurt by mean kid who cut in line at gelato shop; Sagan switches career to unicycle when miffed at perceived lack of adoring press coverage, UCI votes to make 2020 Paris-Roubaix one-wheel-only; 'cross season underway, Belgian 3-year-old busted for using training wheels in debut victory; Mikel Landa announces team switch to "for chrissakes, anywhere but Movistar, please!"

November: Transfer rumors confirmed! Sky announces replacement sponsor "Joe's Suspicious Internet Testosterone Nut-Patches.com"; Geraint Thomas to "back to haulin' Froomey's laundry, I guess"; Quick Step erroneously signs actual wolves, Gilbert, Alaphilippe, Evenepoel out of contract for 2020.

December: Team kit reveals! Euskadi-Murias switches to bunny suits, tiny riders swooped away by hawks; AG2R to controversial "disco ball" outfits so at *somebody'll* notice 'em in the peloton next season; "Joe's Suspicious Internet Testosterone Nut-Patches.com" design rejected by UCI for too- graphic imagery.  Bummer!

Well folks, that's yer 100% Guaranteed racejunkie Year in Preview--so when this !@#$ goes down in 2019, don't say I didn't warn you!

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

Yes, it's the holidays, that glorious time of year when we wish good will to all our brethren and sistren, except Team Sky who's relentlessly crushed the fun out of all the Grand Tours with their boring lifeless death-by-power-meter approach so they suck but everyone else we'll cut some slack.  So who's been naughty or nice this season, and what do we gift 'em? Enjoy, dear peloton--you deserve it!

1. Gianni Moscon: how many racist sucker-punching wankmeisters does it take to change a lightbulb? Who cares, but I'll tell you what that kid *does* need--a damn muzzle. And viewing his latest obscene gestures to the cameras straight from the warm-'n'-fuzzy lovefest that is team camp, we should damn well slap on some mittens, too.  Now *don't* take 'em off til you've learned yer lessons, ya little punk!

2. Floyd Landis: All I need are some tasty waves, a cool buzz, and I'm fi--oh wait, that's Jeff Spicoli. Let's just deliver this new team boss, and pleasingly perpetual annoyance to Lance Armstrong, a truckload of Doritos to go with his boatloads of bud!

3. Mikel Landa: the 2019 Giro.  Because until you get one, Unzue is *never* gonna 100% back you for the Tour, the new stupid "two team captain" strategy is *still* gonna fail, and you will always, *always* be !@#$ed.  We love you Mikel, you can do this--just maybe scarf an extra espresso before all those extra time trials this year and it's yours!

3. John Degenstache: damn, I'd love him to win Paris-Roubaix this coming year!

4. Peter Sagan: impeccable bike-handling skil--no, he got that.  A screaming horde of fanboys'n'girls second only to the Beatles--yeah, done and dusted.  More moolah in endorsements than god--mmm-hmm, been there already.  World cham--no, he has like a million o'those.  Aw hell, he doesn't need anything--maybe give the boy a Tour de France mountain stage, just to mix it up a bit!

5. Andre Greipel: a big ol' win on the Champs-Elysees.  Eat *that*, Lotto, you faithless goons!

6. Lotto-Whicheverscrewedhimover: a lump of coal.  You *suck* for jacking our big lug over!

7. Team Sky: Jiffy bags.  Ya gotta be running low by now, amirite?

8. Anna van der Breggen: La Course.  Because she was so, *so* close this year!

9. UCI: Salbutamol, or whatever performance-enhancing drug would give you the strength to bust anyone bigger'n some poor Master's racer for doping!

10. Alejandro Valverde: cripes, he's got the World Champion stripes and at least another 80 top years in the legs--I guess just that everyone won't have just ditched bicycles for flying cars and jet-packs by the time he packs it in?

11. Alexandre Vinokourov: Okay I don't really know what to get you Vino so please don't hurt me but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE give Mikel Landa a nice contract and 100% Grand Tour backing, and lure that boy the hell outta Dodge!

12. Dave Brailsford: a crack legal team.  No reason--just good to have in your back pocket in case you ever need it!

13. Geraint Thomas: like, a nice little "participation" trophy or some such comforting trinket given to the kid who always gets picked last in gym class.  'Cause heck knows Froome ain't gonna let the mere defending Tour de France champion have another crack at it this July!

14. Our Baby Carrots: between Edu Prades, Oscar Rodriguez' stealth triumph, and every darn breakaway in every race you rode in--what more our future superstars need, except to continue on the same flower-strewn path?  A case of giant bottles of podium Champagne--you're gonna get 'em anyway, might as well enjoy 'em up front!

15. Marcel Kittel: a buzz cut.  I'm serious.  It's like a reverse Samson & Delilah thing--shave off the gorgeous pompadour, regain your winning ways. Worth a try, right?

16. Nairo Quintana: his mojo.  After Mikel Landa kicks his !@# at the Tour.

17. The Women's Peloton: a TOUR DE FRANCE. Not some bull!@#$ pacifier snoozer-to-watch throwaway circuit race, a REAL FREAKIN' TOUR DE FRANCE. !@#dammit, are you people *trying* to make me doubt the existence of Santa Claus, how much longer do I have to ask for this?!

18. Finally, My Dear Readers (Both of You): look, what with everyone *still* reeling from Alberto Contador's retirement and that catastrophic stick-figure's victory at the Giro, it's been a tough 'ol 2018. May all your cycling dreams, at least those of which I would approve, come true!

All right kids, that's about as much genuine goodwill as I can put out there in one go without passing out.  So crank those maudlin tunes, lift that tasty spiked nog, and Merry Festivus and Happy New Year to all of you!

It's Yer Eleven Cycling Things I'm Grateful For This Thanksgiving (and a Few I'm Damn Well Not)!

Yes, it's Thanksgiving, that glorious American holiday where we reflect on how we stole this country from its rightful owners, confirm the world's grossest stereotypes of national excess by gorging ourselves senseless on stuffing, gravy, turkey, cranberry sauce, and pie, try not to stab Grandma's sterling silver dessert fork into the head of our crazy-!@# racist nutwhack paranoid conspiracy-theorist grand-uncle, and retreat to the couch in the living room hoping to accidentally drown out the sounds of other people doing the dishes while we watch the football game before we--JAYSUS CAN'T ANYONE SCRAPE THEIR PLATE OFF BEFORE DUMPING IT INTO THE SINK WHAT THE !@#$ EVEN IS THAT ARE YOU PEOPLE !@#$ING ANIMALS?! Oh right, and be thankful for stuff. So what cycling things am I grateful for (and a few I damn well ain't) this year? This!

1. The Giro. Yes, that disgrace won it this year, though fortunately I've almost blocked that out. What you *can't* block out--its monstrous climbs, harrowing descents, its fickle twists of grit and fate right up til the last possible moment. We love you il grande Giro--now I'm *telling* you Landa, ride this next year!

2. Not just one, but *two* teams full of baby Basque geniuses are back--and they're already getting results, including didja see Oscar Rodriguez' incredible stage 13 Vuelta a Espana mountaintop triumph!? May the ghosts of Carrots past smile upon you all--now go out there you smashing wee climbers, and make the peloton cry up every one!

3. Speaking of Basque cycling--Izagirres! Mikel! Mikel! Amets! Oh, no matter what team they work for, I'm bawling into my Euskaltel hat in gratitude right now...

4. Lotto-Soudal's Stig Broeckx. After a life-altering, nearly fatal crash in 2016, he's back on his mountain bike--and already aiming for the road. Peace, health, and happy riding forever to this wonderboy!

5. Toms Skujins. No, you can't pronounce it (or you can, smartypants, but I sure as hell can't), but boy, can you admire this kid! Social butterfly, damn hard worker, potato aficionado, and oh right, 5-stage mountains classifications holder at the Tour de France this year--you go Toms!

6. UCI's war on noncompliant--uh, socks? Because we wouldn't want to bust any superstar cash cows for *doping*, now would we!

7. Marianne Vos. Yes, there are other cyclists who've had an amazing year, and even won some races--and who were coming back from injury, as well. But all-terrain champion and Best Athlete In All Human History Vos is simply hors categorie. Allez you brilliant bad-!@#!

8. Peter Sagan. The face that launched 10,000 wheelies. Hey, forget his riding--this guy is making this broke-!@# sport *rolling* in dough!

9. It's super nice to see Alberto Contador doing so much to mentor the next generation of cyclists. Especially when he could just be kickin' back with a beer and playing with his dog all day instead for the rest of his life! Um...you sure you don't want to reconsider a comeback Alberto?

10. Alejandro Valverde in World Champion stripes. Because at least we're not all yammerin' about Froome this instant, amirite?

11. Floyd Landis. Sure, I've maybe said a few things here'n'there about Floyd over the years--and wholly merited, I might add. But Floyd gets *giant* thanks in 2018 for taking his humongous whistleblower payout
and starting a bud-based cycling squad with it, right in the eye of ol' pal Lance "I Never Tested Positive" Armstrong, who, of course, is banned for life from doing a !@#damn thing in cycling more useful'n wiping dog poo off his own wheel after a mountain bike ride. Good onya, Landis--and we can't wait to try your new team's recovery drinks!

And a Few I'm Damn Well Not:

1. Mikel Landa screwed already, *again*. What the !@#$ing !@#$, Movistar?

2. La Cour--What the !@#$, it was the single most exciting day at the *men's* Tour de France last year and now you're not only not expanding it, but making it some boring-!@# circuit crit, to boot? !@#$ you ASO!

3. Seriously, Spain and Italy--not a *single* Grand Tour victory this year? What are you, France? Now get back training and fix this ridiculousness for 2019!

Well folks, them's mine, and that's not even half the bitchin' stuff I could think of (or complain about). So let's raise a drumstick, pour some wine, and give a toast to Thanksgiving 2018!

It's Yer Tour de France Week One (And a Little More) Roundup!

Look, unless we're personally Chris Froome, or someone making a !@#$-ton of money off this farce, we've all been ambivalent about--or outright skipping--the whole damn Tour. But there was actually a lot of action amidst the 800-kilometer sprint snoozefests, so what'd you miss? This!

1. !@#$ you UCI for relegating Andre Greipel! The total unbelievable bull!@#$ you clowns allow and *this* is what you harp on? If you're trying to look *less* like wankers for kicking Peter Sagan out entirely last year, *this* ain't helping!

2. If you weren't absolutely *bawling* when Degenstache gave his tearful post-win interview dedicating his victory to his dear late friend after being smashed to pieces and utterly written off post-his terrible 2016 injury, you have no soul. NONE, you empty ghoul!

3. $%^!in' Porte, man. He can't catch a break.

4. !@#$in' Tejay, man. He can't catch a break.

5. The absurdity of a tiny baby superclimber suddenly bombarded by Next Great Talent hype having to effectively ride Paris-Roubaix in his first Grand Tour is superseded only by the ignominy of his plowing directly into the back of a team car without anyone watching out for him and folding up like a cheap suitcase. Heal up quick, Egan Bernal, and FFS Sky, let this kid develop somewhere a little safer first!

6. I'm not sure it was a great idea for Lawson Craddock to keep riding after his bloody faceplant--I'm a lowly couchpeloton denizen, not a doctor--but the caretaking EF's riders have shown for him as he recovers and perserveres is quite lovely. And kudos to all for turning his suffering into huge charitable donations!

7. Movistar--specifically Nairo and, with one silly paved-surface mishap, Mikel--survived surprisingly well on the cobbles yesterday. But with one less key man in the mountains, and the high passes finally looming, pick a !@#damn leader (Mikel, who is still considerably ahead of Nairo) *now* and stick with 'im!

8. Anyone else feel the universe was just playing a game of freakin' whack-a-mole on poor Romain Bardet yesterday? Just *amazing* he didn't lose more time, he'd've finished that stage two days earlier if not for all that !@#$!

9. Talking smack about your own rider is *not* the way to motivate your boy to victory, Tinkoff--uh, Katusha. Lucky Marcel Kittel whanged his bike into the team bus instead of yer damn head!

10. I know, I'm the only one happy to see Greg Van Avermonster in yellow. Don't worry haters, he'll lose the maillot jaune on the road by the time both of you read this!

11. Lots of yappin' today on whether Geraint Thomas, ahead of team leader Chris Froome on GC, gets to play captain at the Tour. Given Froome attacking his own road boss Brad Wiggins against team orders, I'm gonna say, what are you, on dope?! No, I don't mean that way! Well, come to think of it...

12. Oh, Rigoberto Uran. *So* great, but your run of misfortune continues. But I do believe he's good to fight for a stage win and a reasonably decent revival on GC!

13. Vincenzo Nibali. Uh-huh, that's how this former (and eternal) Tour de France champion gets there--he's so stealthy you almost forget he's around, and then suddenly, you're chum. Watch out for Shark sightings!

14. Yeah, La Course. It's got a stellar lineup--even if half of 'em are exhausted as hell from the Giro Rosa--and it's actually a very nice route. Whoop de doo, and, by current standards, the fact the women get any race at all seems like a celebration. But a group of women are riding the entire Tour de France route *each day* ahead of the guys with--unlike the menfolk--shoestring budgets and limited, if superlative, support to prove there ought to be a *real* women's Tour de France, *and* they're killing it. !@#dammit ASO you backwards troglodytes do what's right already!

Okay, on to the Giro Rosa in Review. And the rest of, y'know, some big fussy race going on in France!

It's Yer 2018 Tour de France in Preview, Part Trois: the Fast Men, Roleurs, & Mountain Goats!

All right, people. We all know this sucks, the Tour's likely to be a three-week, uh, purely-enthusiasm-fueled farce with a preordained podium and a lifetime pass for damn near every illicit activity short of being a 49-year-old Master's racer popped for an overdose of Red Bull. But here we are, I'm carrot-bound to root for Mikel Landa, so while we're ignoring the TV coverage and begging for the misery to end, I promised both of you I'd post for the non-GC so let's go. Oh, and I forgot to mention Adam Yates in my GC preview. Like any other name but one !@#$in' matters! Anyhoo:

The Fast Men:

Nacer Bouhanni: out. Right now it's because Cofidis don't think he can win, and *do* think he's a colossal pain in the !@#. Tomorrow it'll be because he punched a two-foot hole through the side of the team bus when he heard the news. Hey, at least he didn't aim for anyone's head!

Mark Cavendish: he wants to edge up on Merckx's stage win record, *and* justify like 10 years of belittling smack talk about other sprinters for winning only "#$^& races"--too bad he's been on a downswing the last couple seasons. Still, good for a stage win somewhere, if he doesn't crash himself (or more likely some other unlucky bastard) trying to cram through a two-inch gap in Sagan's handlebars, right?

Peter Sagan: Pure sprinter? Classics man? Freak climber? I don't know which Saganator we'll be getting this month, but I'm pretty sure he'll beat the crap out of anyone he wants to when he wants to--and with his mad bike handling skills, without even having to sucker-whang anyone into the barriers to do it. *And* he'll wheelie doing it. Gosh, isn't he just dreamy?

Marcel Kittel: his year has sucked, and there's no particular reason to think it'll be much different right now, though with approximately 68 sprint stages, it'd sure look weak if he didn't manage to squeak out one or two of 'em. But cripes, will his hair look perfect!

Sam Bennett: sure, the Giro's not a sprinter's game (to the extent it ever was, say in the Petacchi years), but snagging two stages including the final day off Elia Viviani is still some pretty sweet pedigree. Bennett for the stealth win in Paris!

Caleb Ewan: oh, right--he's !@#$ed. !@#$ed, I say! What the *hell*, Michelton-Scott?

Bling Matthews: look, he is one crafty s.o.b. I often think he gets more attention for his flashy nickname than his wins. I'm not counting him out!

Andre Greipel: first, you *suck*, Lotto--how dare you jerk our big lug around so ungratefully? And despite his advanced age of "still half of Valverde's" he's having a bangin' year. So go to hell, he can so either--two for Andre, I call, so buzz off haters!

The Roleurs: between the mini-Roubaix, the gravel sections, and the days they just gotta put in to not kill the sprinters and to give the climbers a quasi-rest day, there's quite a bit of fun to be had, and, as usual, Quick Step plans to take all of it, if the ever-underrated Boassen Hagen-Dazs doesn't steal the pave. Too many to mention here, and Sky's gonna clamp down on anyone who could take one with Armstrongian ruthlessness, but Philippe Gilbert certainly doesn't intend a bunch of whippersnappers on his own team beat him, and, despite the fact it's not going to happen because the entire planet bites, I am still planning for Sylvain Chavanel to grab a late-career stage win, if a rhino doesn't come charging out the roadside and bash straight into his wheel like happens every freakin' year. Maybe armor up yer bike a little Chava, it's worth the extra weight in protection!

The Mountaineers: yeah, the entire GC. !@#$ off, Froomey! All eyes on baby Colombian phenom Egan Bernal, all the more so since their World Cup is blown, who though conscripted to the service of his twig-bug team leader ought at least be granted *one* stage Chris doesn't want so he doesn't get tempted to do to Froome what Froome did to Wiggo. Everyone else: don't count out Movistar: if Nairo Landa and Valverde manage to take each other out trying to crush the others like skittering insec--uh, helping each other so generously that no one of them can win, there's still wee high-peaks backup Soler. And right, we've also got Bardet, Zakarin, Barguil, and Martin, and frankly, if France *doesn't* pull something out of this ridiculous joke of a year, the press will be *very* peevish. But sadly, we may be just looking at another USPostalDiscovery/Skybot borefest. Me, tho' they're there for previous TdF champ Nibali, I'm all-ex-Euskaltel all the time. Allez allez Izagirreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!

Okay folks. Let's hold our noses the next three weeks, and beg for podium assistance from the Carrot gods. And no matter how much you dislike him--heck knows I'm with you there--no throwing anything disgusting on Chris Froome, you !@#damn animals!

It's Yer 2018 Tour de France in Preview, Part Deux: The General Classification Contenders!

First, stop making those infernal barfing noises. I mean it people! I'm not happy about that !@#$wit and his robot army participating either. But, as with the course, we got the field we got, and to be fair (for once in 12 years of this lowly rag) we *also* got some actual possible contenders here with a chance to win that doesn't 100% depend on a shameful sport-destroying doping scandal and an ignominious 2019 race presentation with a pic of shattering glass over the last year's winner's face and a giant asterisk next to their name for the remainder of human history. So who's in, who's out, and who's just plain ridiculous! These guys!

1. Marianne Vos: Oh wait--despite the incredible depth and talent in the women's field, they *still* don't have a Tour de France, unless you count a one-day quickie that's immediately swept away without a trace in favor of hand-scrubbing the men's course for them so the *real* race can come through. Screw you, Tour de France!

2. Vincenzo Nibali: Not only is he not tired out from riding the Giro, since he didn't (which I found horrifying, but whatever), he's actually got a bangin' squad backing him--one of the best here. New Spanish national champ Gorka. Ion. Pozzo, probably still exhausted from the Giro but who, with the exception of a day's crack, really rode masterfully there. And with Nibs' spectacular descending skills to help him off the Aubisque even if he's not in great shape up top and his all-weather/all-terrain toughness, there's actually some hope here. Of course, if he doesn't let our little carrots off the leash for at least one stage win, I'll hate his guts forever--but not as much as Froome's. Shark attaaaaaaaaccckkkkk!

3. Richie Porte: Oh, BMC. One the one hand, with your impending doom, you've got a great squad filled with talent desperately looking to lock in a half-decent contract with gobsmacking performances here; on the other hand, the hell with teamwork, it is now every man for himself out there. Anyway, they seem to think Porte can do it. I'm thinking more top 5. *Why* isn't it enough for a great rider to just be a great rider without the pressure of all this yellow-in-Paris-or-nothing on 'im?

4. Movistar: a. Mikel Landa: remember how badly Landa chafed at having to waste his own GC legs serving team captain Froome, then inexplicably jumped ship to Team "WHAT THE !@#$ LANDA IT IS GOING TO BE THE EXACT SAME THING!"? Yeah, well, Nairo's made it perfectly clear he won't take this !@#$ any more'n Froome did. Saving grace: he's no worse at time trialing than Nairo. Unsaving grace: with Piti riding 'em like Cancellara the last couple years, he's gonna have to really fight Valverde on the climbs. Don't take yer eyes off 'im for a minute Mikel, no matter what the little opportunist says!

b. Nairo Quintana: To his credit, he's *earned* a Giro d'Italia--it's certainly possible he can take the Tour. But with the more sweeping climbs of France not necessarily his best, and an enormous waste of energy the first week fighting his bull!@#$ happy "co-leaders" for captaincy all but certain, he's hobbled, like the rest of Movistar's leadership, for at least 10 stages after Froomey's already spray-painted some garish neon yellow paint job on his bike. Just try not to get obliterated in a cross-wind for the first 7 sprint stages, and maybe you've got a shot against your own best pals!

c. Alejandro Valverde: How do you rate a guy, since being popped for replacing his entire bodily blood supply with Red Bull in Operacion Puerto in 2006, has only exponentially improved each of the 12 years since then? Hey, !@#$ if I know, but, despite his impressive history of one-day meltdowns wrecking his 21-day races, whatever it is you can't count this genial 834-year-old out. And of *course* he'll generously ride for you Nairo--right up to the second he smells weakness and goes all "Call of the Wild" darwinistic nightmare on your !@#!

5. Rigoberto Uran: Well, we'll get some flashes of brilliance before he fades. We still love you, grande Rigo!

6. Chris Froome: oh, all *right*! I feel dipped in swamp-filth just talkin' about 'im. So y'know that creepy internet video of that backwards-jointed quasi-dog headless bug-robot that's been circulating and causing total end-of-humanity "War of the Worlds" hysteria like "The Terminator" was some sort of staid National Geographic documentary instead of an alien dystopian hellhole future? Yeah, like *seven* of those things, *plus* the veiny twig-sculpture himself. Ugh. I *just* *can't* *stand* it. Tell me, tell me you aren't all just itching now for the relatively benign Lance Armstrong era, I *dare* you! Anyway, it ain't *my* TV ratings in the tank over this !@@$dhow. You suck, Tour de France:

7. Tom Dumoulin: Finally, although everyone's counting him out, there's not no merit here. Weak point: team--the higher he gets, the more he'll have to leech off other teams' tactics, and wheels. Strong point: this sprinty, roll-y, time trial-ly course is waaaaay better for Dumo, even with his improbable climbing ability, than the death-by-a-thousand-hairpins peaks of the Giro. Plus, *he* can time trial (of course, so can Froome now, but what dedicated donkey can't?). Cripes Mikel, if it can't be you, and I just feel too dirty cheering for Valverde, I swear I'm gonna have to root for this guy!

All righty--there's your GC, and I remind you, *none* of this is my fault. Next up, the roleurs, climbeurs, and stage hunteurs--you know you'd rather hear about them than contemplate this year's final podium anyway!

It's Yer 2018 Tour de France In Preview, Part Un: The Course!

Look, with even our beloved Giro the source of couch peloton ambivalence due to the presence--I can barely bring myself to say victory--of that gangly gasping stick figure Froome, it's no wonder that many of my fellow cycling fans are, with his impending attendance and likely triumph, viewing the upcoming Tour de France with all the same appreciation and excitement one views, say, a strangely spreading rash. But here it is, and you're gonna watch probably at least one stage anyway even if you hate it, so if you're gonna, then you might as well know what you're getting into, and on what stage that weasel is most likely to either crack, or pull a 280 kilometer breakaway into a hurricane-force headwind and still !@#$in' win the sprint stage because we all know he's got a motor bigger than a space rocke--uh, he's better than everyone else. So what've we got? This!


The Sprinty Stages: screw deciding the race with some idiot time trial on Day One--barring catastrophe, which can surely occur--this year, we're starting right off with a treat for the fast men! 201 potentially windy K to Fontenay-le-Comte. Gorillaaaaaaaaaa--go to hell, Andre can so either! Stage two takes us more inland; Stage 4'll show us how Sagan is really doing; stage 7 gives the scrappy, on-form Caleb Ewan the chance to--oh wait, he's been completely jacked outta this race! As for stage 8--yep, flat and boring again! @#dammit, are there *any* mountains in this freakin' race? Well, maybe a few, so whoever's wussed out on the green jersey competition might as well bail well before the next sprint day on Stage 13, yer second-to-last-chance for glory on Stage 18, and, of course, yer crowning final triumph on stage 21 the Champs-Elysees. Gorillaaaaaaaaaa--go to hell, Andre can so either!

Aw, Crap, the Time Trials: okay Movistar--it's the 35k stage 3 team time trial, not tooooo long, but still yer first real chance to jack all three of yer captains outta any hope of victory. We know you're no BMC here, but can you *please* not hose dear Mikel outta GC just yet? And if you're within only a few seconds of yer nearest competitor on the podium, you're either preemptively celebrating victory in Paris or projectile vomiting in fear or despair the entire night before Stage 20, a lumpy individual 31k time trial. Aw, who says these things aren't any fun?

The Rollers: get ready, you annoyingly named Quickstep "wolfpack"--the hills-but-not-mountains get rollin' on Stage 5! Next, the 181k Stage 6 welcomes two trips up the Mur de Bretagne. Enjoy--if you don't bonk! Stage 9's yer Classics playground--15 different cobbled sectors damn near all the way to Roubaix. Pleeeeeaaaaaase don't break anything on this, Movistar? Stage 14 is a cat 4, cat 2, cat 3, cat 2 nipper to Mende; Stage 15 jams in a Cat 1 to Pic de Nore before a flat run-in to Carcassone;

The Mountains: Jaysus, are you *seriously* making us wait halfway through the race before we hit even *one* of these? After a rest day, the Tour finally begins on Stage 10, which wakes the GC up with a nice wee stroll up the Colombiere after a brief, if potentially dangerous, mountaintop flirtation with a gravel section. Tired already? Well save yer breath and quit yer whinin'--you got two hors categorie climbs in the first 57k of Stage 11, and that's before the Cat 1 stinger to La Rosiere! As for Stage 12, it's Col de la Madeleine, *and* the Croix de Fer, *and* Alpe d'Huez--so Mikel, if you wanna both completely psych out Nairo Quintana *and* claim a legendary climb, don't !@#$ this up, you hear me! Anyway, you can chill after this to Stage 16, which welcomes you back from the 2nd rest day to a Cat 1 meander up Col de Mente before a *downhill* finish off Col du Portillon. If any of you need to improve your descending skills, well, too late now, suckers! Stage 17, though mountains, is curiously a mere 65k long, but still manages to stuff in Peyresourde *and* a steep finale up Col du Portet. At least the pain won't last too long, kids! As for Stage 19--this is it, Nairo, you either solidify yer win or utterly lose it here, as you grind up the 12k Col d'Aspin before begging for mercy up the Tourmalet before conquering the Aubisque, which includes not accidentally flying off the thing as you head to the valley below. Okay now you can relax grande Mikeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!

Well, there's yer course--next up, the GC contenders to either thrill or horrify you. I'll see you all tweeting frantically on the Alpe d'Huez--you know I will, you lying lying liars!

My Fantasy Chris Froome Press Conference

Good morning. I'm here today to tell you all to feck of--(Dave Brailsford leans in, whispers in ear)--I mean, to discuss my totally believable performances in the Vuelta, the Giro, and coming up, the Tour de France, over the past year.

First, I'd like to point out that as we all know, it takes a truly catastrophically sickly athlete to win as many Grand Tours as I have. Dang, if I hadn't had my guts actually clinically liquified by bilharzia, ingested an 80 foot tapeworm, both vomited and suffered explosive diarrhea for six months straight, had a head cold, toe fungus, gout, St. Vitus' dance, cholera, high blood pressure, low blood pressure, carbuncles, tinnitus, ovarian cysts, *and* asthma, I admit, I'd pretty well suck. Thank goodness for multiple ailments, amirite?

Second, I'd like to address this "donkey to racehorse" bull!@#$ that I've been getting from all you miserable so-called cycling fans for the last three years. As to why I didn't show any particular athletic promise as a young rider, !@#$ you! I was still good enough to be in the ProTour while you were still at home bitching about Lance Armstrong's interview with Oprah swilling !@#$ beer and stale chips like a fat-!@#. * Further, to paraphrase Kaiser Soze, I was *fat.* I mean, like, *Orca* fat. So you can see how Brailsford's positive-reinforcement regimen of smacking me in the mouth every time I approached the refrigerator has really helped improve my power-to-weight ratio. That, and that weird injection I got in that alleyway behind the Sky headquarters a couple years back that's slowly been turning me into a genetic human/praying mantis hybrid. (Blinks, shakes head) !@#$, I swear I can't see right since I started growing these compound bug eyes!

Third, I'd like to discuss this marginal gains horse hocke--(winces as Brailsford kicks him under the table)--uh, the many subtle changes to my diet, sleep, training, and exercise regimes. Luckily, none of the other World Tour teams, managers, trainers, doctors, soigneurs or riders ever thought of stuff like that to help *their* GC contenders, those dummies!

Fourth, I want to go head-on against these disgusting and utterly false allegations of bike doping. I *personally* watched my bike built up, and as Dave here reassured me, all those little wires, flashing lights, whirring parts, batteries, and computer chips are just water bottle cages. To think they're mounted *inside* the frames these days, who'd'a thunk it?

Next, and perhaps most importantly for you prurient doubting wankers, I want to talk about my completely benign Salbutamol overdose poz. Sure, Alessandro Petacchi could fit like 4 of me in his breast pocket and I *still* had way higher levels of that !@#$ in a single dose than he ever did in his entire career, but how else is a severe asthmatic like myself whose symptoms only kick in whenever I desperately need to up my tempo on a critical climb in a Grand Tour stage to treat such a consistent and terrible ailment?

Now, it's time to move on to my phenomenal 80k breakaway triumph on the Finestre, particularly this stupidity how of all the climbs in Italy I totally coincidentally managed to recon that one. Not only does everyone know rumors about the race course months before it's actually announced,** but I gotta tell ya, having the ability to dictate to the race organizers *exactly* what I wanna ride and when and where for the 1.5 million euro favor of my showing up sure doesn't hurt, honey! As to my spectacular attack, of *course* I gained all my time on the descent, you idiots--how much more aero than every one of the 206 bones in the adult human body and every joint to boot flailing in completely opposite directions at all times in all wind conditions can a person get, you silly things? Hell, if *Michael Freakin' Rasmussen* doesn't think I was doping more'n anybody el--uh, was doping on the Finestre, where the hell do *you* get off, you armchair weekend-warrior ignoramuses? And while we're at it, why aren't you guys investigating that bizarro aerodynamic microgel !@#$ Lotto-Soudal was using at the Dauphine? I mean, asthma meds at least help you breathe, what kind of Cold War spy-novel stealth-technology cheating crap is this?

Lastly, I'd like to say none of this would be possible without the support of my family, friends, and teammates, the enabling cowardice of UCI and the race organizers, the kind of impenetrable legal team that can only be assembled and wielded by a team with more money than God, and truly mind-bogglingly extensive medical interven--uh, the really neato wind-tunnel testing I did in January. You know what they say, it takes a village to raise up a donkey!

Well, that about wraps things up. In conclusion, I'd just like to say YOU'RE ALL BLOCKED FROM MY TWITTER ACCOUNT YOU SLANDERING MOTHER!@#$ERS--uh, I'm *really* looking forward to watching Dumoulin try to keep up with me again at the Tour. You think Carapaz and Lopez wouldn't help you reel me in, just wait'll you see Landa Quintana and Valverde going full nuclear option internally trying to kick each other's !@#--see you at the Tour, suckers!

*Hey, I gotta be fair here!
**Hey, I gotta be fair here!

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

Look, let's face it--to my eternal enmity, and what should be the World Tour's eternal chagrin, ain't nobody sending their "A-Teams" to the beautiful Giro this--or lately, any--year, opting instead for the garish golden circus, and inevitably maillot-jaune-disgracing doping scandal, of the Tour. You *suck*, cycling! Anyhoo, the squads are contractually bound to send *somebody*, so here they are, and with any luck, the actual winner won't be *too* much of an embarrassment. Any anyway, it's the Giro--*nothing* will mar its beauty dammit, or else! So, in no particular order except the person who pisses me off the most first, the GC:

1. Chris Froome. First--shut up, Froome. Second, you're only riding this for (1) the 1.5 million euros you're getting, you overpriced ho and (2) so you've still got a Grand Tour victory this year on the (extremely) off chance the UCI shows some nuts and doesn't allow you to defile the Tour de France, which *itself* is such an insult to the perfect Giro that you don't deserve to ride it at all, you contemptible alien stick figure. Still, we're stuck with you *and* your hideous ungainly riding style. The hell with your recon of the route: can we just lock this monstrosity into a screening room with 360 degree displays of Contador, Pantani and Heras climbing so he can at least learn some grace?

2. Tom Dumoulin: Amazingly, Tom "Andre the Giant" Dumoulin has managed to turn himself into a 5-foot-2-inch, 120-lb climbing specialist, and while the whole cycling world--the sick freaks--'ll mostly be tuning in with a toxic mix of prurience, fascination, and dread to see if a graphic replay of last year's notorious Ass-Gate returns, I'll be watching wondering why I wasted my time on a stupid law degree rather'n some advanced physics crown that could enable me to figure out how his still-newish climbing ability is possible within the known or theoretical physical structure of the universe. Nonetheless, Dumo's riding, his stubble is carefully curated for maximum photo op, and he just insulted Froome today, so in my book, he's got a good possibility to win against the Evil Twig, tho' of course the winner should actually be Italian. So Forza Dumo!

3. Thibaut Pinot. Ah, Thibaut. So close, but yet so !@#$ed. The q is can he overcome his team and apparently mandatory ill-timed bad luck, illness or injury. The asnswer is, there's no shame in a podium, kid! Heck, why not be happy with a coupla stages or a lovely KOM jersey, to boot?

4. Miguel Angel Lopez. If this were the Tour, we wouldn't be having this conversation, talented as he is. But this ain't and we are. The mountains are a done deal--but can he survive the rest of the course?

5. Mikel Landa. WHAT THE !@#$ ARE YOU DOING MIKEL I TOLD YOU TO WIN THE GIRO TO GAIN UNQUESTIONED CAPTAINCY AND STREET CRED BEFORE GOING FOR THE TOUR! Now you'll just waste half of July shaking Nairo *and* that crafty little !@#$ Valverde off your wheel, not focusing on your external enemies. WHAT THE !@#$?

6. Fabio Aru: Let's be honest, the Next Great Italian Hope has seemed a little, well, melancholy at never having quite yet lived up to his potential. But you may surprise us, little flyweight--on a good day, you're still a panting, awkward, tenacious pleasure to watch, and if you can get your confidence up, your legs, I truly believe, can follow. Vai vai vai vai vai--and don't let the belittling press get you down!

7. Simon Yates: C'mon man. No matter how perfectly he sets this up, he's gonna collapsed like a 10-story house-o'-cards whacked by a bazooka. Yap, yap, Yates fans--I'm prepared to eat my words, but fairly certain that I won't have to!

8. Esteban Chaves: go to hell, can too either! So what if he can't do any of the other kinds of stages? No one cares about those in the Giro anyways!

Ok, barring catastrophe--or embodying it--there's yer GC. Tomorrow last but not least, yer sprinty-rolly-stagey guys!

It's Yer Off-to-the-Races Early Season Cycling Roundup!

Sowing the Seeds of Love/the Seeds of Love: Yep, it's quite clear the big squads are sending their A-game to the Gir--hah, that won't happen! to the Tour, dummy!--especially Team Movistar, which seems hell-bent on (1) sending Nairo Quintana, Alejandro Valverde, and Mikel Landa together and (2) ergo, self-destruction, with Movistar's formidable domestique lineup assigned to mountain suppor--uh, to break up the inevitable fisticuffs and prevent Valverde from slashing Quintana & Landa's brake cables with a pen-knife. Oh my goodness, cue the hippies bell-bottoms and flower-chains, we've got a love-in over here!

Dope-a-Dope: and, welcome to our first major doping scandal of 2018, as an impressive dozen riders from the recent Vuelta a Costa Rica--including the winner--got popped en masse for EPO and CERA. You cheap-!@# dimwits, don't you know you're supposed to pony up $100,000 for a *motor* nowadays? In other dope(ing) news, rumors continue to swirl around the horridly sickly Chris Froome's poz from truly warehouse-filling levels of salbutamol, including that he'll be subject to a retroactive 2-month off-sesason ban, that new UCI chief David L'Appartient will literally slap his wrist and sternly call him a "bad boy," or that the Giro organizers will throw him a ticker-tape parade and preemptively award him the final maglia rosa in Roma before the first stage even sets off. Harsh, man!

Pretty Is as Pretty Does: meantime, kudos to the race organizers (and graphic designers) over at Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne for their dashing 2018 promo poster portrayal of the rakish Peter Sagan as Emperor Napoleon, which is (1) not unlikely that he actually *will* rule the world someday and (2) a big step up from other official pro race posters of recent years featuring, for example, a giant blow-up photo of a woman's vajayjay and the words "WOW, DOES P***Y SELL RACES!" in 900-point bold-face all-caps. Progress!

Orange You Glad I Didn't Say Banana?: finally, it's a warm welcome (back) to the peloton to two smashing Basque squads, Euskadi-Murias and Fundacion Euskadi, who, in the approximately two races that've been ridden so far, have nonetheless managed to amass higher placing than, say, Cof--I mean, cough! cough!--has done in the last 10 years. Be patient, new little carrots--the victories are on their way!

It's Yer 2018 Pro Cycling Year in Preview (Yeah, You Read Right)!

Hung over from a hard night of partying to welcome in 2018 (or drown out the memory of 2017)? Well snap out of it! That's right, fans (and curious riders) it's officially a new year, and a new cycling season--so with the powers invested in me by Nostradamus, Baby New Year, and a good shot o' maple bourbon, let's get to it!

January: Back to team camps! FDJ to Biarritz for manscaping, champagne cocktails; Astana to daring raid at high-tech Kazakh prison to free Vinokourov after busted for buying Liege off inevitable winner Kolobnev; Movistar to Pamplona for off-season running of the bulls to determine Tour de France team leadership by stomping. Run, Mikel, run!; Richie Porte loses Tour Down Under on final stage when Chris Froome suffers bilharzia asthma attack leprosy hemorrhoids toenail fungus record-breaking tapeworm and perimenopause in final kilometer.

February: Now we're *really* getting going! Dubai Tour riders evaporate into those "sea monkey" things from the back of comic books at 96k mark of first stage, race halted as team docs attempt to reconstitute cyclists with water cannons; total media blackout of women's cycling for 2018 season as UCI too cheap to buy TV coverage, uses carrier pigeon to announce results, bird eaten by opportunistic hawk. !@#dammit!

March: Classics Season! Longo Borghini takes 2nd consecutive women's Strade Bianche after chewing, spitting out 100k of gravel to precise dimensions optimal for her current bike setup; Carlos Betancur repeats 2014 Paris-Nice glory victory after--aw, no he doesn't, he misses the start line on stage 2 due to rendezvous with 12-pack of Dunkin Donuts; Pozzato triumphs in final Milano-San Remo when blinds rest of peloton with gleaming beauty of new chest tats.

April: The scrawny little hard men come out to play! Philippe Gilbert loses Tour of Flanders after 2nd 55k solo breakaway when Alejandro Valverde spins past him at finish line 15 minutes after waking up, taking shower, making himself pancakes, and wandering down to the start line to sign autographs for fans; Valverde completes total sweep of Ardennes after--oh, who the !@#$ knows *what* that guy is on!; Van Avermaet realizes he's blown the entire Classics for 2018 when mistakenly sucked Fabian Cancellara's wheel on daily Starbucks run.

May: It's Il Grande Giro, baby! Giro pays Froome undisclosed sum to ride, Froome blows it all on new weight-loss PED, disappears into thin air; final week cancelled after defending champ Dumoulin takes 7-day refuge in roadside port-o-pot to "powder his nose"; !@#dammit Mikel why aren't you riding this I *told* you to bag one of these before going for the Tour in 2019!

June: Pre-Tour de France race prep time! Froome to accelerated PhD prgram in mechanical engineering, avers "just looking to tune up the ol' espresso maker, mate"; entire Team Sky to altitude training in undisclosed South American mountain location accessible only by llama, donkey, and Jiffy Bag; Bouhanni improves power-to-weight ratio by repeatedly punching resident peloton !@#hole Gianni Moscon.

July: What else? It's the Giant Yellow Freakshow, baby! Chris Froome's frame sawed in half by enraged Movistar team boss, motor shown to new UCI boss L'Appartient, who waives Fitbit at it and proclaims "that's some mighty nice brake cables you got there!"; Mark Cavendish relegated, removed from race for being a "whiny crybaby little !@#$"; 3 week women's Tour de France goes forward after Marianne Vos repeatedly runs new prototype studded anti-flat road tires over race organizers' face. Equality is sweet!

August: it's the fabulous Vuelta, baby! Vincezo Nibali disqualified on first day when slaughters field, found tethered to Elon Musk SpaceX rocket by near-invisible fishing line; entire peloton swallowed by melting tar in high mountains, mistaken for "really skinny wooly mammoths" when unearthed 15,000 years from now; Alberto Contador--aw, whaddaya *mean* he's retired?!

September: More Vuelta, honey! New Euskadi team takes 20 stages, points/mountain/combo jerseys, and team classification, politely arrive at start line one hour late on stage 2 to allow someone else to win *something*; 9 random strangers mistakenly replace Euskadi riders on stage 18 when team bosses can't tell own cyclists from screaming fanatics in full team kit--next year, try just selling the general public some t-shirts instead!

October: World Championships time! Men's and women's pelotons reduced to 15 apiece after worried national team captains tie up own domestiques reasoning, "after that Chantal Blaak !@#! you can't trust a !@#damn one of 'em"; Esteban Chaves takes men's time trial because "!@#$ it, none of the rules apply any more, who cares if I weigh 6 grams going into a 20 kph headwind the whole way?"

November: Giro route revealed by race organizer reading crumpled cocktail napkin from Froome's pocket titled "What I Want You to Put in the 2019 Giro"; Froome banned for 3 days in off-season for--argy-bargy in a 2004 juniors amateur race? What the !@#k is *wrong* with you, UCI!

December: Team kits revealed! AG2R gives up on trying to make kit look nice, replaces entire design with "poop emoji"; Movistar switches up navy blue theme with full-body pic of Nair--no, Mik--no, Valverde's face; Wiggins quits rowing career, announces he'll be competing in 2020 Summer Olympics in weightlifting, reveals new, all-natural not-chemically-enhanced bod:

Well, folks, it's on to an exciting 2018. Now you know--so don't come b*tching to me about it when it happens!

It's Yer 2018 New Year's Resolutions for the Peloton!

All right, you miscreants. You know what you did. And now, in this season of self-reflection, redemption, and renewal, it's time to ponder our previous misdeeds, and set out a plan for a sparklin' New Year. So here's what you're resolving--and I mean it, pal!

1. Chris Froome: I resolve to be gracious when I'm forced to hand over my Vuelta a Espana to Vincenzo Nibali. Hah, like that's ever gonna happen--suckers!

2. Vincenzo Nibali: I resolve to be gracious when Froome is forced to hand over his Vuelta a Espana to me. And then when I'm forced to hand mine over to Ilnur Zakarin after I'm busted for previously undiscovered footage of me taking a tow from my team car from the start line in Nimes to the final meter in Madrid. Hah, like that's ever gonna happen--suckers!

3. Richie Porte: I resolve to never, ever, trust any ungrateful, backstabbing piece of !@#$ ex-colleague to do the right thing by me ever, ever again. Of course, that still won't make me win the Tour. Dammit!

4. Alberto Contador: Who, me? I'm going off to play with my dog. Enjoy this year's !@#$-show, you chumps!

5. Tom Dumoulin: I vow to come up with a plausible reason why a 6-foot-10, 800-pound time trialist has suddenly become one of the best climbers in all of Grand Tour history. And not to eat "Bob's Giant Box o' Explosive Fiber" for breakfast the day before a big race. Ever again!

6. Mikel Landa: I will domestique nicely for Nairo Quintana. I will domestique nicely for Nairo Quintana. I will domestique nicely for Nairo Quin--WATCH OUT, MOTHER!@#$ER, I'M COMING FOR YOU YOU LITTLE !@!$! Aw, busted already...

7. Alejandro Valverde: I will domestique nicely for Nairo Quin--oh, screw that, you know I'm just gonna steamroll over him *and* that upstart little twerp Landa both from day one of the season!

8. Nairo Quintana: I will be humble and appreciative in recognition of Mikel and Alejandro's unquestioning and faithful service during the Tour de France. Oh, no, was that a water bottle I just accidentally rolled back down to the bottom of Alpe d'Huez? FETCH, B*TCH!

9. Gianni Moscon: I resolve to not call that !@#$%ing !@##$$ a !@#$ing !@#$%%. !@#$%ing !@#$%$. What?

10. Peter Sagan: I resolve to bash that Tour-wrecking little bastid Cavendish into the barriers so hard he'll end up with a Specialized banner sticking out of his !@# *and* his ear for 30 yards on either end. DQ me for *this*, you sniveling eejits!

11. Mark Cavendish: I vow to stay the hell outta Peter Sagan's way. But only really because I can't actually keep up with 'im.

12. Nacer Bouhanni: Right, like *I* was the problem in 2017?!

13. Women's Cycling Union: We vow to finally get a women's Tour de France, true Monuments, full and contemporaneous TV coverage on a real-not-pirate channel, and a minimum wage from the cheap misogynistic pigs who run this sport. After our lousy 3 a.m. shift at Wal-Mart is over so we can pay for gas to the start line. Paper or plastic, ma'am?

14. UCI: we vow to *really* crack down on motor doping. Hey, Team Sky, you guys use motors? No? Great, champagne's on us!

15. Roadside Fans: we promise not to shove a camera into Marcel Kittel's face in a frenetic sprint, run buck-naked into the line of a struggling (yeah, like that'll ever happen) Chris Froome, or call the start of a fox hunt with 280 slavering beagles and a cavalry's worth of amped-up horses right into the middle of a careering peloton. But boy, do we still reserve the right to throw a bottle of steaming "beer" onto any rider we don't like!

16. FDJ: come on, man. We gotta resolve to win *something* in 2018, right?

Well, riders, teams, and fans, you all know what you gotta do. Now do it--or you'll be right back here in the doghouse next January 31st!

It's Yer 2017 Merry Festivus Gift List for the Peloton!

Y'know, as cycling fans, I feel we often take for granted the fine, upstanding members of the peloton upon whom our endless twitter rants, thoughtful blog posts, and many wasted hours of our lives that we'll never get back rely. So in this season of love and giving, let's take a few minutes to show our gratitude towards these hardworking denizens of the road, whatever they celebrate and in whatever Dante's circle of hell a few of 'em likely celebrate it in, by granting them their surely most heartfelt--or at least most sorely needed--desires:

1. Chris Froome: A year of good health. Seriously, ever since this poor boy went from perfectly healthy pack-fodder donkey to multiple Grand-Tour-winning thoroughbred, he's been absolutely plagued with incredibly catastrophic health problems--from bilharzia to asthma to severe menstrual cramps to Creepy Cyclist Overprominent Limb Vein Syndrome--which miraculously only seem to improve his performance, but anyway, the sad sickly thing just can't catch a break (though he catches damn near everything else). Get well soon, Froomey--!@#$, maybe then you'll win even *more* Grand Tours next season!

2. Alberto Contador: Froome's Tour. C'mon, like he didn't already deserve the damn thing anyway?

3. Mikel Landa: Let's face it, getting outta Team Craphole, he's already gotten a pretty sweet visit from Santa this season. But here's what he needs next--the Giro. That's right, the *Giro*. Yes, you can prove it on the road bushwhacking your own teammates at the Tour, but do you *see* how in a race where every watt counts and the other teams aren't blowing them that is going to be a hugely self-destructive waste of energy? Honor the fabulous Giro first, and get the Grand Tour win you need to send Nairo to the compost pile without a fight for it!

4. Alejandro Valverde: What do you even get a guy who at age 200 has, and still wins, damn near everything? More formaldehyde, or whatever Egyptian-mummy preservative-!@#$ he's huffing!

5. Gianni Moscon: Class. Not *a* class, but *some* class. Though he could use *a* class as well, to be sure--here's yer diploma, now either show us what you've learned and act like a civilized person, or shut yer yap!

6. Nairo Quintana: A suit of shining armor. Between Valverde coming at 'im with a Viking sword and Landa trying to hit 'im with an intercontinental missile, the poor little twerp's gonna need it!

7. Tom Dumoulin: A pink jersey? Naaaah. Give that boy a giant pink bottle o' Pepto-Bismol, and keep 'im stocked for chrissakes!

8. British Cycling: A ticket. To the 21st century. Don't be scared, you retrogrades--you're not gonna instantly shrivel your enormous gonads being in the same sport with the womenfolk!

9. UCI cycling: The world's biggest telescope. 'Cause clearly that iPad !@#$ ain't working, but if this thing can see billions of years back to the Big Bang to the very origins of our universe, it oughta at least help you see into a bicycle!

10. Daniel Teklehaimanot: He was in every break that, well, broke, he worked like a maniac, and was one of the most exciting young talents of the year to watch in action. And that !@#$wit Moscon gets a gig? Jaysus--get that young man a contract!

11. Andre Greipel: let's be honest, despite his total superiority over every other human being on the planet, our lovable lug hit a bit of a rough patch this year. So to our dear Gorilla, I say go screw Sagan and let's go for the big one for Andre: I wish you the green jersey big guy, and a pile o' sprint victories at the Tour to boot!

12. Mark Cavendish: a nice box of Kleenex. FFS, will you stop crying about that crash with Peter Sagan at the Tour you caused already?

13. Team Sky: a scaffold. Cause it's only a matter of time before that whooooooooole deck of cards comes tumbling down, honey!

14. Chantal Blaak: Captaincy! *You* can bring up the water bottles to *my* World Champion-striped !@#, you peons!

15. The New Euskadi Team: Your very first Vuelta a Espana mountain-top win. Now bring on the World Tour funding for our Nuevo Carrots!

16. Vincenzo Nibali: Okay, he's popped. You *know* that Vuelta's got yer name on it, honey. Sure, it's a hollow victory--but sure as hell beats a hollow loss, amirite?

17. And Last But Not Least, Both My Dear Readers: May Alberto return to the peloton, Mikel officially kick everyone's !@#, and your Saganator post cute videos of him baking cookies *every* *darn* *day* (oh, and riding, too). Now let's raise the Festivus pole, light the lights, trim the trees, get our groove on for the Solstice, and raise a glass to dreams coming true, the lot of you!

Racejunkie's 10 Things I'm Thankful For This Thanksgiving (And a Few I'm !%#$in' Well Not)

Yes, it's almost Thanksgiving, that heartwarming time of year when we Americans celebrate the merciful saving of the Pilgrims from starvation by gorging ourselves into a revolting overprivileged stupor, dashing to watch a football game we hate to avoid doing a monstrous pile of grimy dishes, and trying not to whang our politically-offensive-yet-inescapably-loud relatives upside the head with a 25-pound frozen turkey before we even have a chance to stuff the thing. Oh right, and sit before our resplendent table, clasp our hands over our gleaming heirloom silverware, and ruminate humbly over the many things we have to be grateful for this year. So if you're a cycling fan, what's that? This!

1. #FreeMikel Landa! Oh wait--we did! Word to Movistar: Don't. !@#$. Him. Over!

2. Basque cycling rises again. Yes, they're just getting started, and no, they're not our lovely Carrots. But the rest o' you peloton can just working on those climbing drills now--you're gonna need 'em!

3. Chantal Blaak. Look, everyone knew she was good. Hell, great. But World Freakin' Champion? You *go*, you Amazon!

4. Svein Tuft. If he can take out a charging wolf with a hockey stick, he sure ain't taking any !@#$ from Bouhanni or Moscon next year!

5. Alberto Contador. Not that he's gone, but that he was here. Sure, I've slagged 'im (rightly, natch) over the last ten years--but seriously, has *anyone* else been *half* as fun to watch? Liar!

6. Team Sky. Just kidding! They're horrid.

6. Alexander Vinokourov. The gift that keeps on giving. Until you !@#$ with 'im. Then, watch out!

7. UKAD. Because Sky can sleep peacefully at night knowing that if they drop trou and jam giant needles labeled "THESE ARE PEDs" into their collective !@#es right on UKAD's doorstep, they *still* won't bust those freaks. Now that's trust, my friends!

8. The beautiful Giro. No matter what fraudulent mutant stick figure is threatening to ride it next year.

9. Andre Greipel. Shut up--he was just resting!

10. The Vuelta. No matter what fraudulent mutant stick figure is threatening to ride it next year!


And a few I'm !@#$in' well not:


1. Oh, Samu!

2. La Course. Le Tour to women's peloton: Le!@#$You!

3. Le Tour. Let's face it, it sucked. Next time you're gonna pull *that* boring crap, just hand over the final maillot jaune the first day and save us three weeks of misery already!

Well, fellow celebrants, them's mine. Happy Thanksgiving to all--now pass me the bourb--uh, apple cider--dammit!

My Fantasy Mikel Landa Press Conference

Good morning. As transfer season gets underway, I'd like to address the controversy over my relationship with Chris Froome and Team Sky once and for all.

First, I'd like to thank team management for their incredible support of me as a rider this year. There's nothing like getting B-grade backup at the Giro d'Italia & intentionally destroying my podium shot at the Tour to really improve one's morale. Hey, why allow the team's only chance at an actual *stage win* at no risk to the overall in Paris, just in case Froome needs me right there for his third consecutive bike change in a single climb? I'm also super grateful that since the Tour, they've rewarded my incredible effort and complete bodily exhaustion by working me like a donkey at every subsequent race on the calendar. Get it, a donkey?--kinda what Froome was just before he became a racehorse overnight, amirite?

Second, I want to say that while my legs were stronger than even Froome's mo--uh, motivation, I fully support the idea that the sole purpose for a domestique's existence is to be a selfless lieutenant for his captain, just like Froome was for Brad Wiggins back in his day. That idea, and not Chris hiding biting poisonous fire ants in my chamois as punishment for getting out of line, is why I was so glad to be deliberately chased down by my own teammates and made to schlep back and work for Froome instead. So when I said "I won't play second place to anyone next year," I meant "to anyone but Froomey." Love that guy!

Third, it's important to me that you all understand that I was *not* conspiring with Alberto Contador to bushwhack Froome when we broke away together. Not only does Alberto have too much class for that, we couldn't agree on how to knock that sonofa--how to knock that spectator's flag out of our way. Boy, are those things distracting when you're trying to hang back to help your team leader!

Finally, I'd like to address my plans for next year. Given my wonderful friendship with Froome and Dave Brailsford, I'm sure it's no surprise I'm giving serious consideration to--

[Froome busts in room with Geraint Thomas, shoves Landa off podium] YOU'RE *MINE*, B*ITCH, MINE TIL DECEMBER 31ST SO DON'T YOU FORGET IT YOU LITTLE PIECE OF !@#$! NOW GET BACK TO THE HOTEL AND GET READY TO RIDE FOR ME AT THE VUELTA, I DON'T GIVE A !@#$ HOW MANY GRAND TOURS YOU'VE RIDDEN THIS YEAR! I SAID MOVE IT! [swats over mic, stomps out of room]