To hell with the watts, the aeronautical carbon cranks, the quantum micro computers on the handlebars, the “control rooms” in the buses from where pseudo two-wheel scientists would like to maneuver the riders by analyzing their heartbeats.
Yesterday, the Florence-Rimini race that inaugurated the 111th Tour de France was a spectacle of harsh, pure, ancient beauty. Protagonist Romain Bardet da BrioudeHaute-Loire, who of his 33 years has spent 12 trying to realise the project that France had designated him for by virtue of his talent as a climber: to become Bernard Hinault’s heir by returning to win a Tour that has been missing since 1985. Collected a 2nd and 3rd place in 2016 and 2017, Romain then collected defeats, deep crises and intentions of retirement in the face of the frigid supremacy of the Froome of the moment. Prototype of the rider idolized beyond the Alps (losing nature, sweet and sad look, very civilized ways, excellent readings) Romain never surrendered to fate.
Bardet, the shot in the face of Pogacar
With 50 kilometres to go (fierce heat, breakaway in recession) our he had an idea that could have been suicidal: to shoot Pogacar in the face and associates to pick up 23-year-old teammate Frank Van Der Broek in advance. The two race for the Flemish DSM, with great ambitions but a modest workforce compared to the cycling battleships. Pedaling with love and agreement, Romain & Frank bypassed San Leo, Montemaggio and San Marino reaching a two-minute lead only to see them progressively gnawed away in the flat final towards Rimini where the fate of a time trial-denied featherweight like Bardet seemed to be sealed .
When the surrender seemed to be signed, on the roundabouts that enter Rimini, with the breath of 50 unleashed wolves on their necks, the two gave their all. With 50 meters to go (the hungry Van Aert, 3rd, and Pogacar 4th on his heels), Frank gave his final pedal stroke and stepped aside with a half bow while Romain — in tears — donned the first yellow jersey of his career in his last Tour. Maybe he will lose it today on the ramps of San Luca in Bologna (but that’s not certain) but “everything I had to ask for in my career I’ve now had.”
Roglic and Vingegaard are fine
Stage One of the Tour said many other things. The first is that the group gasps in the heat: after only 206 kilometers, 120 of the 176 runners are already a quarter of an hour behind, with the sprinters (above all Cavendish and Jakobsen) over 40 minutes behind. The second is that looking at them in the face both Pogacar and rivals Roglic and Vingegaard seem to pedal with disarming ease. The third is that our two heroes Ciccone and Bettiol (furious at the missed opportunity) are lively. The fourth is that with the withdrawal of Michele Gazzoli (heat stroke) the Italian team was immediately reduced to seven units. The fifth is that in cycling you get hurt even before the start: coming off the podium he signs, Jan Hirt fell and got caught in his backpack of a spectator and leaving three incisors on the ground. Toothless as an infant, he nevertheless started from Ponte Vecchio.
