From the Archives - The CarbonTech Debate

Introduction

I just read a profile in The New Yorker about Grant Petersen, the founder of Rivendell Bicycle Works, a company which makes retro steel bike frames with touring-type geometry, which are built up (generally) with upright handlebars and puffy tires. They’re the kind of bike that you’d put a big weird Brooks saddle on, from which you’d hang a hand-tooled leather bag containing perhaps an old fashioned tobacco pipe, a silk handkerchief, a pince-nez, some hand-tied fishing flies, a leather-bound book, and maybe even a beautifully crafted letter opener. You’d dress up in flannel and loafers and ride this bike to the brewpub or coffee shop where crumbs would get stuck in your beard. Myself, being someone who (somewhat) recently advocated in these pages for modern aerodynamic wheels—the better to cheat nature and ageing with—I can’t really relate to the vision of low-speed, low-intensity, woolly hipsters on kinda heavy, needlessly lugged bicycles that cost $2-5K but aren’t much faster than my $265 1981 Miyata 310 … just a lot more elegant.

All that being said, I do respect Petersen’s ethos, and bristle a bit at wealthy wannbes on excessively high-performance racing bikes wearing skintight $200 Rapha jerseys. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that these guys are supporting the bike industry, and it’s their money to spend on whatever they want (and better this than a jet ski or a $1K bottle of wine), but the sport starts to look a bit silly when it tips too far into this high-end poseur realm, and the Lycra is stretched over a pot belly. Wool both hides that belly better and excuses it, because nobody is pretending to be a pro racer.

I’ll also admit that I sometimes get a bit nostalgic for an era when cycling was more affordable, and more Euro, and cyclists were more like outlaws, or at least outcasts. I even sent an essay of my own to the Rivendell Reader, which they were nice enough to print (and which you can read here). This push-pull between tradition and tech has been with me for decades and today I offer you the below dialogue among a couple of college racing pals and myself, which had originally circulated among our bike club. I won’t share the entire thread, but here is the gist: one friend, T—, had asked about stripping the paint off of his beloved carbon fiber Miyata CarbonTech 7000 so he could repaint it. Another friend, R—, pooh-poohed the idea, saying that sentimental value notwithstanding, the expense of restoring the Miyata (hundreds of dollars) would be silly, and it would be better to buy a new, superior frame. This touched a nerve with both T— and me.

Here’s a picture of the bike in question, from the catalog, with the laughable thou-doth-protest-too-much opening line, “Put any misgivings about the reliability of carbon fiber out of your mind.”

The CarbonTech Debate – October, 2007

On October 23, 2007, at 6:33 PM, T— wrote:

Yeah, but your so-called “new far-superior modern” frames are fugly and not worth the price. Watching the peloton these days is like watching the detritus from a McDonald’s garbage can blowing down the street in a wind of eau de cologne.

And repainting the Miyata certainly isn’t silly for a few hundred, or even twice that, frankly. I know this bike rides well, damn well, because I raced it for two years, to quite a few significant victories (a few of which I believe you were taking up space as pack filler [sorry guys, this what R— likes to bring out in me, thus his use of the words “silly” and “modern,” and I am sure he is giggling near-uncontrollably (there are innocents reading this one R—, so behave ourself)]).

Are you telling me I can find a decent frame for $3-500 that will ride as well? In an industry that is increasingly pre-fabbed and preoccupied with production costs and experimental methods, where riders are more likely to be listening to 50 Cent than anything else, where frames are offered in S, M and L, and with bad angles, I doubt there is much out there that would fit the bill without breaking my little bank. In fact, triple that amount and I might only be getting close to something in steel, and double it again to get something close in carbon.

Also, R—, what “modern” bikes today capture the imagination like the ones mentioned in the recent exchanges? Sorry, rhetorical question, but you knew that.

T—

On Oct 23, 2007, at 11:58 PM, Dana Albert wrote:

Well, I don’t know about the rest of y’all (though I can guess), but I for one am giggling like crazy. Sizzling stuff. If I had a “pleasure vein” in my forehead like Dr. Shimano (aka G—, cc’d herein) it would be ready to burst. Naturally I couldn’t stay away from such a delightfully bombastic fray.

Can you really strip a cawbun fibuh frame? I thought it would damage its fontanel or something.

Given the most impressive of T—’s victories on that Miyata (national collegiate road race in ‘90, for those on this distro who weren’t there), I would personally have the frame bronzed if it (and that achievement) were mine, except that the bronzing process is almost sure to damage cawbun fibuh. Sentimental value is too rare these days, especially with regard to bikes. And as I’m about to get to, only the irrational, emotional part of our minds could conscionably champion the modern bikes.

To love a modern bike is to abandon your senses as would a fool-for-love. Why? Because they’re just whores, that’s why. First of all, you can’t count on them. They’re not designed to last, because the pros they’re designed for all have multiple bikes they jettison at the end of the season, if not mid-season. These bikes are not designed to withstand crashes, because that’s what the spare bike on the team car is for. Remember stage 17 of last year’s Tour [de France], when ‘Roid Landis soloed, and flatted at one point? He dismounted the bike and just dropped it on the ground like a piece of trash. I didn’t necessarily expect him to set it down carefully or hand it to his mechanic, but he could have at least winced or something.

And yet ... I did love my Orbeas. Both of them [though actually I ended up having—and breaking—four before I gave up]. To the very end, each time, I was just smitten. I’d be working in the home office down here and glance over at Fava [my late Orbea] leaning there against the wall, and I would sigh. Why? Sheer good looks? Well, it did look cool. And had flair. But no, it was more because I’d immediately remember what it’s like to ride that bike. Man. T—, you really would have to ride a modern bike to appreciate what R— is talking about. They’re amazing. That first ride on Spentje [my nickname for my first Orbea]... I’ll never forget it. I swept up Spruce two minutes faster than I ever had before. Two minutes! All I could think was oh my GOD, I can’t believe this! It was like having a 40 mph tailwind or something. And then on the basically flat section of Wildcat before South Park? Man, the bike just accelerated like nobody’s bidness, and those modern wheels, you feel like you’re just slicing through the air like, well, like a Ginsu steak knife or something. (T—, I know you’ve had some pretty trick time trial wheels, so maybe that part wouldn’t be quite as noticeable to you.) And on the downhill? More plush than any steel bike I ever had. As far as the riding experience goes, they’re simply better in every single category—except that you can’t get attached to them.

Because they break! What a drag that is! Going back to my old steel bike, Full Slab, after each Orbea broke and I had to wait for a warranty replacement ... those were dark, dark days. And Full Slab was full Dura-Ace, hollow crank, hollow BB, titanium here and there—not like some ancient thing (other than that godawful frame). Even with the modern wheels, I was miserable. Just miserable. It was like salsa made in New Jersey, or wearing a beige shirt to a bank robbery, or trying to get good tech support from some offshore guy making his developing country’s paltry minimum wage. You might as well just bag it. Now, I’m not saying your Miyata CarbonTech 7000 would be like that, but it would be on that side of the coin. (My backup bike, an aluminum/carbon Salsa, is very much of the modern era. It’s fast, really fast, kind of O-Thank-God-fast after Full Slab, that wretched thing of evil.)

But these modern bikes ... they break! It’s ridiculous. I didn’t even get 10,000 miles or two years out of either bike. They break for no other reason than they’re not made to last. Now R—, I know what you’re going to say—it’s just Orbeas that break. Bah. The only reason you don’t hear of other bikes breaking is because the modern riders treat them like the whores that they are, discarding them out of boredom before they ever have a chance to break. The modern cyclist has the fickleness that only wealth can bring, like an investment banker who trades in his wife every few years for a younger, hotter model. Nobody wants to keep a bike long enough to get attached to it (people don’t even name their bikes anymore!). Modern bike consumers are like junkies building up a tolerance—they can’t wait to have that exhilarating feeling again, the one I described a couple paragraphs ago, and they’ll buy and buy and buy to try to get more of it. They’ll never get it again, of course; you can only jump bike eras once. They’ll shave off a few ounces each time, but they won’t drop five pounds while picking up extra stiffness and yet comfort. They’re just tinkering, at that point, and if they ever quit doing that and tried to love the same bike year after year, that bike would give out like a faulty boob job, quickfastinahurry, I don’t care what company made it (or, rather, had it made under the auspices of their brand).

Now, you make a pretty good point, T—, about bad angles in the modern frames. I assume you’re talking about the compact geometry, that makes an expensive road bike look like a BMX bike, with two feet of seatpost showing and a stem with all that rise (and/or gobs of headset spacers). But even beyond the aesthetics, I have a problem with the epidemic of cawbun fibuh frames out there (or “plastic bikes” as my pal P— calls them). What’s wrong with cawbun? As a material, nothing—I think we owe most of the comfort of a modern bike to cawbun. But you don’t get to pick your geometry anymore! And let’s face it, the stock geometry for the American market is about as reasonable as the stock ingredients in an American deli sandwich. All these short top tubes, steep seat angles, ultra-short chainstays, high bottom brackets—it’s garbage, pure garbage. Specialized made a big to-do this spring about how they spent all these millions (!) to get Tom Boonen a longer top tube, because the poor guy was having all these back problems. S, M, and L indeed. Straight-up pure garbage. And you get these new Time bikes (I think it is) where the seatpost comes built-in, and you gotta cut the top off to fit. Well, what if you guessed wrong? Or decided you hated your saddle (and who wouldn’t, these new things with the big valley down the middle, for paranoid stockbrokers whose prostates are shrunken by bad living, with so little leather you couldn’t make a child’s coin purse out of it) and bought a new (or better yet, old) one with taller or shorter rails? Screwed, simply screwed—go drop another three grand. For all that money, you get stock geometry ... somebody forgot about ergonomics somewhere along the way. It’s like buying a suit at the factory outlet store and they won’t tailor it for you. That’s my gripe with full cawbun. Certain modern frames, Cyfac and Orbea among them, offer custom geometry because they’re made out of metal tubes that can be cut to the perfect size by a human who knows what he’s doing, instead of you having to settle for a frame that seems to have been extruded somehow, like a giant robot taking a dump.

[This is the frame geometry I came up with for my Orbeas, which was absolutely perfect, but which is why the warranty replacements took so long. The name “Fava” refers to a joke I made to T— once about compact geometry … I said of it, “I think if it kind of how I think of lima beans. They have a right to exist, but I don’t know why anybody would want them.” After my first Orbea, the company adjusted my design to be semi-compact, as you see below. All the important characteristics were maintained with an only slightly sloping top tube. I told T—, “I wouldn’t call it a lima bean. A fava bean, maybe.” Click the image to study it at length.]

Oh, Lord, who needs caffeine? I’m ready to brawl! Against whom? Anybody! Everybody! Like D— W— rushing onto the soccer field because a fight had broken out ... did he know who started it? Did he care? No! He just started swinging! Full of the spirit, like when he won that sprint in training, sat up, and yelled “FUCK!” (By the way, T—, that’s what it’s like to ride a modern bike, if I haven’t made that clear enough.)

The question is, what is the bike for? To appreciate aesthetically, as a connoisseur? Or to go as fast as you can, to defy the ageing process and deny that your glorious youth is behind you? Both are worthwhile pursuits. Spiritually speaking, though, this dichotomy is worthless. Now, I’m not sure if rhetorical questions are ever supposed to be answered, but I’ll take a crack at your last one, T—, about which modern bikes capture the imagination like the glorious bikes of yore. My answer is, precious few. I hear people rave about Cervelos. Meh. And Felt ... that’s not even a real bike company, that’s somebody’s silly made-up brand. Scott? Please. A marketing company trading on their good reputation for skis. Skis! I’m offended. What else? R—, I know you love the way Treks ride and I’m quite sure they’re brilliant. But let’s face it, they’re the Dell Computer of the bike world. Next. Ridley? Ugly and terrible. And what’s with these pro teams riding Cannondales? Have they no shame? Nuff said on that sad topic. Man, I’m actually starting to get depressed. Even Orbeas, that weird Spanish brand we’re probably mispronouncing, are starting to get a bit trite. I can only hope the ugliness of their cawbun versions scares off the new enthusiasts by the time I get my new [aluminum] one, if I’m even that lucky.

Okay then. Needless to say I have more I could say, in response to the other excellent points made in this long and growing email chain, but it’s waaaaaay past my bedtime.

Dana

P.S. I’m not going to proof this thing and I’m sure it’s riddled with clumsy mistakes. I grant you permission to heckle me one time, in aggregate, for all the mistakes.

Epilogue

In case you’re wondering, my lengthy tirade about modern bikes ended up being kind of a last gasp. My best friend rides a Cervelo, with hydraulic brakes and electronic shifting no less, and it hasn’t even occurred to me to give him a hard time about it. I myself have—and love—a carbon fiber Scott mountain bike. I rented a Felt for a week of cycling in the French Alps and liked it just fine. The modern, carbon frame I have now is a Giant (the second-best-selling brand in America) and has lasted for over ten years and about 50,000 miles. On top of all this, T— himself, unable to elegantly repair a knackered rear dropout on the Miyata, eventually succumbed and has a carbon Trek that he bought from R—. Oh well … at least we put up a fight.

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Major League Baseball FAQ - A Guide for Foreigners

Introduction

I am no expert on Major League baseball. That might make me seem like a poor authority to consult about the sport, but most Americans are far too steeped in its lore to be of much help to a foreigner. Ask almost any baseball fan what “the count” means, and you’ll get an answer like, “Oh, it’s simple. If it’s like, 3 & 0, that’s ahead of the count, and 0 & 2 would be behind the count. Very basic.”

I recently attended an MLB game with a variety of family members including my Dutch nieces and nephew, and it occurred to me that this seemingly simple game is actually pretty complicated. As a service to foreigners trying to wrap their brains around our national pastime, and for native-born Americans who could use a chuckle, I offer this guide.

Major League Baseball Frequently Asked Questions

Is baseball modeled after cricket?

No, baseball and cricked both descended (or, you might say, ascended) from other games, and though the history is murky, the sports of “rounders” and “stoolball” are the most direct antecedents. “Stoolball” holds the distinction of being the most disgusting name ever applied to a sport.

I get that the point is to hit a ball and try to run around the bases, which seems straightforward enough. But why does the language of the game have to be so complicated?

I don’t know what you mean.

Come on. When the batter swings at a pitch and misses, such that there is absolutely no contact between the bat and the ball, that’s called a “strike.” And when the batter just stands there doing nothing, it’s called a “ball,” even though the baseball is involved throughout every activity of the game including a hit. How is that not confusing?

Gosh, I guess you got me there. I guess it’s only perplexing if you haven’t been immersed in the culture of the game since childhood. I’d speculate that the weird terminology serves as a shibboleth. We like it better because we’re in on it.

How come the batter can get a strike called against him when he doesn’t even swing?

That is an excellent question, and I learned the answer the hard way. I was playing baseball in elementary school gym class, and was absolutely terrified of striking out because in those days, at least in my hometown of Boulder, Colorado, mercilessly mocking a fellow student was not only tolerated by the gym teacher, but expected and even encouraged, as part of our education. I figured as long as I didn’t swing, I couldn’t strike out and be teased about it, and walking to first after four balls seemed entirely civilized. And yet the umpire, who was not the gym teacher but my regular teacher (whose very attendance during gym class was a mystery to me) kept calling strikes. I thought I wasn’t holding the bat still enough, and concentrated harder and harder on holding it absolutely still. My teacher kept yelling at me, with unconcealed disgust, “What is your problem? That was a home run pitch!” It would have been helpful if she’d explained the strike zone. It’s the area of space above home plate, at a reasonable elevation, meaning the batter has no valid excuse not to swing. If batters weren’t required to swing at pitches in the strike zone, I suppose the game could get pretty boring because lousy batters could just walk all the time. Like I’d dreamed of doing.

I gather a foul ball counts as a strike, but if a batter has two strikes already he can apparently hit as many fouls as he likes. What gives?

There is a special rule about this: you cannot strike out on a foul ball. As with the strike zone, I had to be corrected on this. A bunch of us kids were playing baseball in the street, and David K— hit a foul after two strikes and I declared him “out.” He protested, and we argued, and I told him not to be a baby, and he ran home literally crying to his mom. She stormed up the street in her apron and her horn-rimmed glasses and gave me a good scolding. “You can’t strike out on a foul ball!” she shouted. “Everybody knows that! What’s wrong with you?!”

(Was David’s father similarly supportive? Well, sort of. He did frequently host pickup baseball games for all the neighborhood kids at a nearby park, so his son could get extra practice, but Mr. K— also had a “house rule” that it was permissible to get D— (and only D—) out by throwing the ball at him like in kickball. This looked painful, and one time D— started bawling, and his dad gathered everyone around the poor kid and said, “Who wants to see a crybaby?” That was Boulder in the ‘70s.)

What exactly is stealing a base? How does a player decide to do it?

Normally, a runner can only advance to the next base after the batter has hit a non-foul ball or a pop fly that has been caught. But when the pitcher has started the wind-up to his pitch (and is committed to it such that he can’t change his mind and throw to a base), the runner can try to run to the next base because it takes time (though not much!) for the pitch to reach the catcher, who will throw the ball where needed to try to get the runner out.

You mentioned a “pop fly” just now as though I had any idea what that is.  So … what is it?

A pop fly, also called a pop-up, is a ball that goes really high and really far but isn’t that hard to catch, and has so much hang time any player in the outfield is allowed to catch it. The runner has to “tag up” (i.e., return to the base to tap it if he’d advanced a few feet beyond it, which is called “leading off” and is legal), and can do so only after the pop fly is caught. Interestingly, advancing on a pop fly isn’t technically stealing.

This is so terribly arcane. How am I supposed to know and keep track of all this?

You’re not. It’s really not that important. The real point of the game is that these players can hit and throw a baseball incredible distances, and that fans in the stands can sometimes catch (and keep!) the ball, and there’s food and beer and it’s all very pleasant in a distinctly American way that other sports, like soccer, are not.

What is the World Series?

This series of games (the number of which depends on how things unfold) determines which MLB team is the world champion for the season.

Is it like the Olympics where the best players in each country play for their national team?

No, it’s the normal league trade teams competing. It wouldn’t work to have national teams because all the teams playing are American.

You mean other countries never qualify? How is that possible?

Actually, they simply aren’t invited. Our national pastime, our rules.

Have foreign teams ever participated?

Yes, the Toronto (Canada) Blue Jays played in 1992 and 1993.

How did they do?

They won, both times.

Did they ever qualify again?

No. (Which I find a bit fishy.)

Cuba has won more Olympic medals for baseball than any other country but they have never played in the World Series. How can MLB baseball call it this the “World” Series?

Because America.

What is the seventh inning stretch?

This is when all the fans in the stadium stand together and stretch, since they’ve been sitting so long on those uncomfortable bleachers.

So it’s like yoga or Tai Chi?

No, just stretching out your arms a bit, and singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

Is it always the same song, across the nation?

No, in Boston they sing “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond.

Why Boston? Why don’t they sing “Sweet Caroline” in North or South Carolina?

Nobody knows. That is to say, I don’t know.

Why are the benches called bleachers?

According to Wikipedia, the uncovered wooden boards that traditionally comprised these benches were so named because they got bleached by the sun.

What is the “nosebleed section” of the stadium?

These are the bleachers that are so high up and so far from the action, you can barely see anything. The nickname derives from how mountain climbers can get nosebleeds at very high altitudes.

Why would anybody want to sit that far from the action?

Because it’s cheap. MLB baseball is actually a sport that you can afford to watch live, for as little as $4 for a whole game (which lasts, on average, over two and a half hours). This sets it apart from, say, football, which is far pricier (averaging about $150 a game).

Do baseball fans look down on other sports?

I don’t know for sure, being only a cycling fan (whom the fans of other sports all look down on). But at a Colorado Rockies baseball game I attended recently, I happened to wear (along with my brothers, as shown above) a University of Colorado (CU) Buffaloes t-shirt. (The Buffs are a football team.) Lots of people called out to us (“Go Buffs!” etc.) and made some hand gesture resembling horns. It was as though our modest show of support for a local football team elevated us somehow, even at a baseball game. Maybe it was the beer talking.

Speaking of which, are there baseball hooligans?

Violence at baseball games isn’t nearly as common as at soccer games in Europe. Maybe it’s due to the different energy in general. Baseball games don’t seem nearly as intense as soccer (or even American football), perhaps because there are so many games, and so many opportunities to score points. I almost get the impression that the spectators aren’t actually that focused on the game.

Seriously?

Yes. At the game I attended, I had a nice conversation with my niece’s husband about our fathers’ deaths, while watching the Rockies pitcher strike out several Cubs batters. Having something to focus my gaze on made it a lot easier to have this dialogue than if we were, say, across a table having coffee.

Are you suggesting that most baseball fans are just using the game as a foil to have deep heart-to-hearts?

No, I am not saying that. Honestly, I’m not really a fan and really have no idea what most fans do.

Is baseball cooler than soccer?

Hard to say. Soccer requires more physical stamina, but then it has the problem of flopping, which is disgraceful.

Is there doping in Major League baseball?

Yes, of course. There have been many highly publicized cases of steroid use. Even more prominent is the use of chewing tobacco, a known stimulant, which—though it’s legal, and not technically doping—is completely disgusting.

Is Major League baseball as dangerous to players as pro football?

No, not at all. There’s no tackling, and each player kind of has his own territory, so other than getting beaned by the ball or accidentally colliding with another player, there’s not much risk of major injury.

Is “bean” a technical term?

Actually, yes. The verb “bean,” and its noun form “beanball,” refer to the pitcher deliberately throwing the baseball at the batter’s head.

Wow! Does the pitcher get arrested and booked for assault?

No. As with hockey, the rules of the game supersede the law of the land. In all cases, the batter who’s been beaned is allowed to proceed to first base, to punish the pitcher’s team. In egregious cases, the pitcher can be ejected from the game. But the assault is not treated as though it were criminal.

Why do baseball uniforms have belts? Surely these teams can afford trousers that fit?

There is a rule stipulating this, which goes all the way back to 1882. It’s not clear that this rule is still in effect, but I guess these traditions die hard.

Given how hideously ugly modern cycling helmets are, particularly those worn in time trials, couldn’t it be said that baseball is actually far more elegant and tasteful, in its adherence to tradition over whatever-works?

Yes, it could be said.

What is a switch hitter?

Baseball players are typically expected to do two things well: 1) whatever position they play on defense, and ) batting. Some players suck at batting, so they get to have somebody else hit the ball for them. As a former bike racer, I find this ridiculous. Cyclists have to be good at pretty much everything: climbing, descending, sprinting, cornering, and tactics. Imagine if a rider with poor bike handling skills could just tag in a teammate for a descent, or if a pure sprinter could have somebody else tackle the big climbs for him. It would be a mockery of the sport.

So it could be said that you’re more elitist than the baseball fans who openly celebrate the CU Buffs football team?

Guilty as charged.

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Biased Blow-By-Blow - 2024 Vuelta a España Stage 20

Introduction

Perhaps you don’t have time to watch the Vuelta a España. Or maybe you don’t want to pay for coverage. Maybe the sport isn’t entertaining enough for you unless somebody mouths off a lot. Well, that would be me. Read on for my no-punches-pulled report on a bunch of starved Lycra-clad athletes bashing themselves against giant mountains and trying to destroy each other, for money.

Vuelta a Espana Stage 20 – Villarcayo to Picón Blanco

As I join, they’ve got just over a kilometer to go on the third-to-last climb, the Portillo de la Sia, a Category 2. It looks like Mark Soler (UAE Team Emirates) is solo, or maybe chasing the break. It’s hard to tell. My morning is in disarray – all out of ground coffee, had to grind some beans by hand, then somehow poured boiling water on my hand. So I’m suffering more than these riders, believe me. Adding insult to injury, Peacock is showing a commercial now. Let me go get some ice.

Okay, I’m back and it’s definitely Soler in the lead. I don’t think this is so much a let’s-win-this-stage kind of break as a let’s-get-all-the-KOM-points break. Soler has the KOM jersey but it looks like his teammate Jay Vine picked up some points earlier because they’re now tied in the virtual standing. Here’s Vine, all bandaged up from a terrible crash last week, hanging on the back of the group.

As a new feature of this blog, today I have a man on the ground in Spain, giving me live updates.

He sends this nice shot of Soler leading the race.

My correspondent predicts that the GC group, only 1:20 behind the breakaway, will overtake them on the last climb, so the penultimate climb will decide the KOM. He also gave me some Lotto numbers but I’m keeping those to myself, thank you very much.

Here’s a cool photo of one of the climbs, courtesy of my man on the ground. Not shown: Don Quixote, tilting.

In the GC group, a teammate of Richard Carapaz (EF Education - Easypost) makes a sweet move to launch his leader into a stage-winning move. Alas, this guy apparently never told Carapaz of the plan, or Carapaz forgot, because he’s several riders back staring at his thumbnail and man, this is just embarrassing.

The announcers are saying that some of race leader Primoz Roglic’s Red Bull – Bora Hansgrohe teammates are sick. I’m not getting very specific info, though. The riders I see look okay to me. Maybe they’re homesick, or lovesick. Not sure how that might affect Roglic’s GC bid. I mean, homesick isn’t that big a deal, but if the lovesickness is, like, chlamydia, that could be serious.

Speaking of the GC, Roglic has chased the red leader’s jersey for almost three weeks and only yesterday finally took it off of the back of Ben O’Connor (Decathlon AG2R La Mondiale Team) and now leads him by almost two minutes, which is kind of a lot since Roglic has been riding better than O’Connor for most of this Vuelta and has won it three times before. But victory is not assured, as pointed out by this Roleur article which helpfully points out, “Roglic still has to stay on his bike, a non-flippant comment rooted in the fact he falls on average once every 18 race days.”

Well, I guess I spoke too soon, or maybe too late … Roglic is now past the last real descent, so things should be fairly safe for him for the remaining 37 kilometers which are mostly uphill.

The breakaway comprises Soler, Vine, Pablo Castrillo (Kern Pharma), Clément Berthet (Decathlon AG2R La Mondiale Team), and Marco Frigo (Israel – Premier Tech).

Wow, Soler has looked pretty good on the front but now totally detonates!

Within seconds, he’s way off the back!

Now it’s all up to Vine. Not sure how deep the points go for the next KOM opportunity, but Vine might end up winning the overall KOM with this ride (and I guess it’s possible they could stay off and win the stage but that’s almost no more likely than my correspondent’s Lotto numbers winning big for me).

O’Connor’s team has changed its uniforms so many times over the years, I have a bit of trouble spotting him in the group now that he’s not in the red jersey any more. Isn’t it weird how we don’t generally translate “maglia rosa” or “maillot jaune,” but we always use the English phrase “red jersey”? Have you ever heard it called the “camisa roja”? The Vuelta gets no respect, I tell you.

The chat with my on-the-ground correspondent is a bit confusing because there’s some other guy in the texting group only identified by his phone number. I assume it’s a mutual friend or a guy on my road team, but it’s a little odd that he keeps asking for my credit card number. Anyway, he asks, “Will [Vine] make it or will the peloton catch?” I reply, “Peloton will catch, I predict. And my Visa is 4388-4972-2949-7732, exp. 02/26.”

Vine has dropped everyone but Berthet.

Okay, this is sad. My little cat was trying to get my attention and did that thing where she reaches up and hooks a claw into my leg, but the claw got stuck and now she’s kind of hanging there while I try to unhook the claw. Poor little beast!

And in the time it took for that little maneuver, the GC group has suddenly closed their 20-second gap and catches the remaining duo from the breakaway.

With about 4 kilometers left in this climb there’s a hellacious attack!

It’s Pavel Sivakov (UAE Team Emirates), who sits tenth on GC, about 7 minutes down. So Roglic’s team wouldn’t exactly be panicking about this.

Sivakov’s move is pretty cool, whether or not he can make it all the way to the finish solo … at least it takes any pressure of Vine, who I hope can hang tough in this group for the rest of the climb and maybe get those KOM points.

You’ll be happy to know that my cat has recovered from the snagged-claw episode and is now comfortably situated on my lap.

Enric Mas (Movistar Team) takes the summit of the Puerto de Los Tornos, which causes commentator Bob Roll to giggle and wonder aloud why Mas would want KOM points. His fellow commentator Christian Vande Velde patiently points out that there were bonus seconds available as well, which could help Mas in the GC. Just to catch you up since my last post, O’Connor trails Roglic by 1:54, Mas sits third just 26 seconds behind O’Connor, Carapaz is another 34 seconds further back, and David Gaudu (Groupama-FDJ) rounds out the top five 4:33 behind Roglic.

Vine picked up a KOM point or two on that last summit, so he has the KOM lead and, with just one climb left in this Vuelta, unless something dramatic happens he’ll wear the jersey into Paris.

Here’s an aerial view of the final climb, the dreaded Picón Blanco.

Mikel Landa (T-Rex – Quick-Step) attacks, sort of. His attacks are more like little jabs, and one of Roglic’s teammates easily chases him down, practically yawning with boredom. This is kind of hard to watch because once again, Landa’s teammates did a lot of work to set him up for this. They’re like Little League parents shouting at their children out on the diamond, to no effect.

Sivakov is riding really well, taking his lead out to about a minute. But man, this upcoming final climb is kind of a beast, 7.9 kilometers at 9.1% average grade.

With 14 kilometers to go, Sivakov now has 1:13. Perhaps his chances of a stage will win depend on whether, this far into the Vuelta, anybody has enough energy left to mount a real attack on Roglic.

Sivakov’s shoulders look a little tense. I get accused of this. My wife tells me I need to do yoga or some such shit, but honestly I think it’s just the stress of middle age. Imagine how much tension Sivakov will carry in his body when he’s in his fifties, running a bike shop or tour group or something to try to fund his remaining years. Damn, I’m getting depressed now and he hasn’t even been caught yet!

Okay, this is noteworthy. I have two separate chat threads going and both of them include a doctor who is at work right now and hungry for updates. What does that say about cycling fans? Probably nothing, though I would like to think most football fans work at, like, accounting firms. Does that make me a snob? No, probably more like a wannabe snob. I am not myself a doctor, after all.

I would love to see Carapaz launch a hellacious attack and take three minutes out of Roglic on this climb. And then a geisha would bring me a platter of lasagne, and my kids would phone.

Sivakov is starting to show his age. Well, actually, he’s a young buck, just 27 years old … maybe he’s starting to show my age. His lead has dropped to just 38 seconds in a matter of a couple kilometers.

Some guy attacks and nobody cares. It’s Eddie Dunbar (Team Jayco Alula).

Everyone just sits there, as if Dunbar didn’t matter. He’s just rolling away. He doesn’t even look like he cares. It’s like they’ve forgotten where they are, maybe they think they’re at a roller rink or something.

The GC group just pedals away as though this were a sightseeing jaunt. Roglic, finally frustrated at his teammates’ pace, now takes the front as if to say, “Damn it … let me do it.”

Adam Yates (UAE Team Emirates), who won a stage solo earlier in this Vuelta, is dropped. I’m okay with this. Yates looks just a bit goofy on the bike. I can’t tell what it is. It’s like his body is pointed uphill like a hyena’s. Does that make any sense?

Sivakov is hanging tough, holding on to his slender lead for now. Even his shoulders look a little more relaxed … maybe his sports director gave him some advice through his earpiece. “C’mon Sivvy, you’ve got this, you’re the best, eh, lower those shoulders, remember what we talked about, breathe like a kettle now, relax that jaw, Namaste.”

In the GC group Roglic goes to the front and drops the hammer again, Mas glued to his wheel. Now Gaudu pulls through pretty forcefully and you can see Ben O’Connor going out the back, paced by his super-domestique Felix Gall.

Now Gaudu flat-out attacks, and so far only Carapaz can respond!

Up the road, Dunbar (remember him?) catches Sivakov.

Gaudu has a decent gap on the GC group.

And now Dunbar drops Sivakov. Sivakov vanishes from my screen, just straight-up gone, like he was levitated away by a UFO or sucked into a sinkhole. Dunbar is now solo but perhaps Gaudu is gaining?

Dunbar looks really disassociated, like his mind is somewhere else. He almost seems bored. It’s strange.

Roglic is smashing the pedals going after Dunbar, surely wanting yet another stage win. Even so, Mas goes to the front and drives the pace even higher. Mas is having the best grand tour of his life, he’s been en fuego practically every day. They overhaul Gaudu.

Behind, Gall is doing a great job helping O’Connor to limit his losses.

OMG! In the final 500 meters, Dunbar is dying! And the GC group isn’t far behind! C’mon, man! Go go go!

And now Landa attacks again, this time for reals!

Was that photo even worth posting? Look, I’m sorry about the shockingly poor quality of these images. Peacock blocks screen captures because, you know, every time somebody saves a still shot from Peacock’s footage (which by my calculation totals something like half a million frames), God kills a kitten.

But Landa’s attack is like all Landa’s attacks, it accomplishes nothing. It’s actually starting to look like Dunbar could hang on for a win!

Wow, Roglic actually just doesn’t have it! He never launches the cruel final move that usually dooms a humble breakaway rider! In fact, Mas is distancing him! And now, Dunbar is out of the saddle, grunting his bike along, totally dying but still going kind of fast, and the meters click by, 50 to go, 25 to go, still no sign of the chasers and—he’s got the win!

That is as close to a smile as I was able to get, even with my camera’s burst mode. Dunbar looks satisfied, perhaps, but not exactly elated.

Surprisingly enough, the next rider across is Mas, with a pretty good gap back to Roglic.

Gall is a baller. He brings O’Connor home with only a handful of seconds lost to Roglic, and more importantly to those who would knock him off the podium.

Here is the stage result.

And here is the new GC.

Not much change … Mas took nine seconds total out of Roglic (seven at the finish and the two bonus seconds), which won’t exactly jeopardize Roglic’s chances since he’s the better time trialist anyway. The big loser was Carlos Rodriguez (Ineos Grenadiers), who came in 2:34 back today and drops from seventh to tenth overall. Last year’s winner, the American Sepp Kuss (Visma – Lease A Bike), had a bad day today and drops from 11th to 13th overall.

They’re interviewing Dunbar.

INTERVIEWER: You’re practically smiling, which I find unusual. What’s going on?

DUNBAR: Well, I never expected to win a grand tour stage, and now I’ve won two.

INTERVIEWER: Do they have Pop Rocks action candy in Ireland?

DUNBAR: I felt pretty good, and I knew this climb from 2020, I knew it leveled out in places which isn’t shown in the profile, so I’d have a chance to rest here and there and go harder on the steep bits.

INTERVIEWER: You didn’t answer my question about the Pop Rocks.

DUNBAR: When Sivakov went, nobody reacted, so I figured no point wasting bullets on a climb like this. I’m a ways down on GC, so I knew I’d get a bit of leeway.

INTERVIEWER: “Wasting bullets” … what does that even mean?

DUNBAR: I want to thank my team for this. The guys did good keeping me out of trouble over the last few days.

INTERVIEWER: What kind of trouble, can you elaborate?

DUNBAR: We were at the salad bar, and the guys were like dude, don’t eat the marshmallow-and-Mandarin-orange salad, it’s looking really manky. I was totally gonna eat it, too, before they spoke up. And just look at what happened to those [Red Bull] Bora-Hansgrohe guys. They ate the salad and then blew chunks all last night, I could hear it through the wall.

INTERVIEWER: Thank you for finally answering one of my questions. That’s what I was getting at, with the Pop rocks thing. The way they fizz is similar to how fermented fruit feels on the tongue, which could have tipped you off.

DUNBAR: Yes. Except, like I said, my teammates had my back. I never even tasted that salad. Nor your silly “action candy.”

INTERVIEW: Touché.

If this is your first albertnet blow-by-blow, I should come clean about something: I don’t try very hard to record these interviews accurately. Much of what I “quoted” from Dunbar above was real, but I freestyled the rest of the exchange. That is a service to you, because these interviews can be really dull.

Speaking of which, now they’re interviewing Roglic.

INTERVIEWER: This had to be a stressful stage, with your teammates projectile vomiting all last night.

ROGLIC: Yeah, I mean uh, anyway, yeah, uh, luckily  I am quite fine for the moment, so uh, yeah.

INTERVIEWER: Eddie [Dunbar] was saying it was the Mandarin-orange-and-marshmallow salad that poisoned your teammates, is that correct?

ROGLIC: Uh, yeah, uh, maybe it was that, I thought, uh, yeah, maybe really the pineapple-and-cottage-cheese salad, so, uh, I ate neither, and yeah, maybe that’s why I’m good.

INTERVIEWER: These salads sound disgusting, what a crappy hotel were guys must have been at. I mean, what kind of salad bar is so badly maintained that it has riders puking their guts out and shitting like minks all night before the queen stage of the Vuelta?

ROGLIC: Yeah, well, I am not so sure, and uh, I don’t know much about minks, whether they really shit like this, so, uh, yeah.

INTERVIEWER: Are you starting to believe that you can actually hang on and win your fourth Vuelta?

ROGLIC: Well you know we uh you know, uh, I am one day closer but tomorrow, it’s another GC day.

INTERVIEWER: Come on, man, I was just taking the piss, you’ve gotta know you got this race in the bag.

ROGLIC: Uh, taking the piss? Whose piss? You mean doping control? Blood bags?

INTERVIEWER: Has anyone ever told you you’re the most boring rider to interview in the entire peloton?

ROGLIC: Yeah, a couple of times, so, uh, yeah.

INTERVIEWER: Well, anyway I want to thank you for not shaming the race, and the sport, by being absolutely dominant like [Tadej] Pogacar or [Chris] Froome. The times you’ve faltered in this Vuelta, like losing time to Mas today, showed us you’re still human, which made the race worth watching, and that’s a nice change. So … thanks.

ROGLIC: Uh ... you’re welcome?

Several words from that transcript were faithful to the actual interview, including “uh,” “yeah,” “so,” and “one day closer.” I stole “shitting like a mink” from the late Anthony Bourdain. The interviewer’s final sentiment is 100% my own opinion.

Well, that’s about it for this Vuelta. Tomorrow’s final stage, a short, flat time trial, will be totally boring and probably won’t change much about the GC. Check back next April because the next race I cover will probably be Paris-Roubaix.

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Biased Blow-By-Blow - 2024 Vuelta a España Stage 15

Introduction

The best Grand Tour is upon us. No, the Vuelta a España hasn’t surpassed the Giro d’Italia or Tour de France in prestige, but with the super-lubed Tadej Pocagar being insultingly dominant in those two, making chumps out of the rest of the peloton and all the fans, this year’s Vuelta has been the better show. Just 1:21 separates race leader Ben O’Connor (Decathlon AG2R La Mondiale Team) and Primoz Roglic (Red Bull – Bora - Hansgrohe) in the general classification heading into today. Read on for my blow-by-blow of the live action of what is probably the hardest stage yet this year.

Look at that final climb … it’s a beast. The profile lacks any scale, but it’s rare for the Vuelta to call a climb “ESP” (probably for “Especiale,” their equivalent of Hors Categorie, which means “beyond the ability to categorize because this one doesn’t go up to 11”).

Why do I call this a “biased” report? Well, look at what I wrote about Pogacar. You won’t get that kind of candid reporting—okay, speculation—from professional journalists.

Vuelta a Espana Stage 15 – Infiesto to Cuitu Negru

As I join the action, they’re interviewing Richard Carapaz (EF Education Easy-Post). I like Carapaz, but it’s a pretty boring interview. He predicts that today could be the day Roglic (a three-time winner of the Vuelta and the odds-on favorite) passes up O’Connor on GC. OMG, an oracle! Way to go out on a limb. Sheesh.

So, I’ve been watching for about 30 kilometers so far and not all that much has happened. A breakaway has formed, split, reformed, lathered, rinsed, and repeated. After all that, they only have something like a minute and a half.

Riley Sheehan (Israel – Premier Tech) is dropped from the breakaway.

Why do I report on this guy, of all riders? Well, for one thing he’s a baller, having played a pretty big role getting his teammate Michael Woods into a breakaway to set him up to win a major mountain stage a few days ago. Second, and more importantly, I used to race with Riley’s dad, Clark. And finally: ‘Mer’ca!

For some reason, T-Rex – Quick-Step is driving the pace on the front of the peloton. I guess they’re setting up their leader, Mikel Landa, who sits fifth in the general classification. It’s so cute that they put their faith in him, despite his tendency to fail to deliver. His career showed early promise but that was so long ago, I can’t even remember the year.

Stephen Kung (Groupama-FDJ) is dropped from the break. He’s way too big for the high mountains, though somebody should mention this size-does-matter thing to Wout Van Aert (Visma – Lease A Bike) who has won three stages through his sprinting, wears the green points jersey, and yet also somehow has the lead in the KOM competition.

Well, even though I’m paying actual money for my Peacock Premium “TV” channel (I mean, what do we call this over-the-top cable-cutting-whatever video service that has replaced TV?), they have the audacity to show commercials. While they’re doing that, here’s what you’ve missed if you’ve ignored the Vuelta so far. O’Connor achieved a massive solo victory in Stage 4, taking an unbelievable 6:31 out of race favorite Roglic. The fact that Roglic’s team let this guy have that much leash is simply unfathomable … disrespectful, even. O’Connor was fourth in the 2021 Tour de France and also fourth in this year’s Giro d’Italia. How could they discount his GC potential? My best theory is that the race organizers paid Roglic a special bonus to lose a bunch of time early in the Vuelta, to make the race more exciting. (Race organizers should do that with Pogacar … maybe give him some handicap like having to race barefoot.)

So anyhow, since that stage, Roglic has been ascendant, winning a stage and taking time out of O’Connor on several others. It’s been kind of painful to watch, like death by a thousand cuts. The interviews with O’Connor have been interesting, because he’s been resolutely cheerful and philosophical, never showing frustration. I think this is because he knows he came off as a bit of a drama queen in the Netflix documentary “Tour Unchained,” and wants to make amends. Also worth noting: O’Connor looks a bit like Waldo (as in Where’s Waldo).

Rounding out the top five, we have Enric Mas (Movistar Team) in third place 1:40 behind Roglic; Carapaz 12 seconds behind Mas; and Landa another 7 seconds back in fifth.

The breakaway now has about three minutes, so I guess I’ll give you some of the guys’ names. I kind of hesitate to do this because of all the typing required, since the team names are so long these days, now that we have gobs of small sponsors instead of one big one. If I were writing about the racing in Merckx’s day, I’d be typing simply “Bic” instead of “Decathlon AG2R La Mondiale Team.” It’s funny, the sponsorship changes so much, even the racers can’t keep up. In interviews riders keep referring to Team Visma – Lease A Bike as “Jumbo,” because it’s easy to say, even though Jumbo no longer sponsors the team. Oddly, though Jumbo is easy to say, every rider has said it wrong: they pronounce the J as the letter in Jell-O, whereas it’s actually pronounced like a Y, i.e., “Yumbo.” No wonder that sponsor pulled out.

Okay, where was I? Oh, right, the breakaway. It’s got Jay Vine (UAE Team Emirates), Pavel Sivakov (UAE Team Emirates), Aleksandr Vlasov (Red Bull-Bora-Hansgrohe), Pablo Castrillo (Kern Pharma), Quentin Pacher (Groupama-FDJ), Bruno Armirail (Decathlon AG2R La Mondiale), and Kung, who has managed to claw his way back. And in the time it took me to type all that, this group lost 17 seconds. They’re probably doomed. What a waste.

There are 44 kilometers left, most of them uphill once this final descent is over. I need to show you a better course profile, that first one was a joke. Here:

This climb is a beast. It gains like 6,000 feet! It averages 7.4%, and some pitches are well into double digits including the final three kilometers. A 2:45 gap could be closed just like that (imagine me snapping my fingers). On the plus side for this breakaway’s efforts, Vine is now tied with Van Aert for the KOM competition. So he’ll likely get to wear that jersey tomorrow.

Damn, this road is crazy steep!

It’s 24% right here, a fricking wall. And as steep as it looks, the camera really makes these climbs look flatter. (In this case there are two cameras: the movie camera actually “filming” the riders though I’m sure there’s no film, and my smartphone camera since Peacock is blocking screen grabs, the bastards.)

Wow, it really looked like O’Connor was peeing just now, but the camera discreetly turned away. Gosh, right at the base of the climb … that’s actually kind of the most exciting thing that’s happened all day.

The more T-Rex – Quick-Step hammers at the front for Landa, the more I worry about him. I don’t think he can handle the pressure. I’ve seen this before … whenever they sacrifice for him, he folds up like a house of cards. Maybe today will be his breakthrough. (Yeah … maybe.)

Okay, this is touching: look at the EF rider (in pink), with the bottle dangling from his teeth, pushing along his teammate who is either peeing or adjusting his junk.

And now, what’s this? Roglic is getting a new bike! Did he have a mechanical? He had one yesterday and had to do the last 10 or 20 kilometers on his teammate’s bike.

His teammates pace him back up. The commentators are saying it looks like Roglic switched from an aerodynamic bike to a lighter-weight pure climbing bike. If so, that’s pretty rich.

What’s next? Will riders start changing into a lighter weight jersey for the final climb? Maybe swap out for a helmet with more vents? A fresh pair of sunglasses that aren’t grubby yet? This sport has changed a lot since the earlier years when riders didn’t get any support at all and we're in fact prohibited from accepting it. In fact, in the 1913 Tour de France, a rider named Eugène Christophe was given a three-minute penalty because when he was welding his broken fork back together, the blacksmith’s son worked the bellows. (The fork on Christophe’s bike, I hasten to add. Nobody rides with silverware, that I’m aware of.)

Groupama-FDJ has two guys in the breakaway, but honestly, given the brutality of this climb I can’t see tactics making a very big difference here.

Roglic’s teammate Daniel Martinez goes out the back. If he spent a lot of energy getting Roglic back to the GC group after the bike change, and is now too knackered to pace his leader anymore, I’ll bet he’s pissed. The commentators are saying Roglic’s new bike has a one-by (aka 1x) setup, meaning only one chainring up front and a giant cassette in back, like mountain bikes have. I can’t imagine why Roglic would make special arrangements to get this because the same setup almost cost him victory on the last day of the Giro d’Italia last year, when he hit a bump and his chain fell off. So there’s something to be said for front derailleurs. Damn, are you bored yet? I’m reminded of something my wife once said to me: “Don’t ever talk about bike gearing to me again.”

The breakaway is coming apart as Vine drills it on the front, which he’s been doing pretty much the whole climb. Kung is dropped. I feel a little bad because I’ve been spelling Kung’s name wrong. The “u” is supposed to have an umlaut over it, but I’m just too lazy to bother finding that character. This laziness, along with a complete lack of talent, is why I never made it into the pro ranks of cycling.

The break still has three minutes, but given the considerable size of the GC group, it’s clear they haven’t really put the hammer down yet. It’s still 14.5 kilometers to go, and probably no rider wants to launch too early given how steep the final kilometers are. Hmmm. Actually, O’Connor only has one teammate left, so maybe they’re going harder than I thought.

The commentators keep talking about how O’Connor is like “a big diesel.” They’ve been saying this all week. It’s so funny—I mean, the guy is totally wispy, nothing about him suggesting a long-haul semi tractor-trailer. Yes, his legs are a bit longer than Roglic’s, and the cylinders of a diesel engine do tend to be on the longer side, but is this really such a great metaphor? Diesels have more hauling power, true, but how much cargo is O’Connor actually dealing with here? I just looked up his weight and that Google A.I.-generated summary feature says 187 pounds. Yeah, right. Investigating further I see they’re talking about some hockey player with the same name. Okay, the cyclist is about 148 pounds, so four pounds heavier than Roglic. Enough with the diesel thing.

The leading trio still looks good, but the lead is down to 2:26. I think Vlasov got himself in the break mainly so he could drop back and help Roglic with the attack that is sure to come. In fact, if Roglic is going fast enough, Vlasov may not even need to drop back … he’ll just be waiting for his leader to catch up, so he can provide a nice tow for as long as possible before totally detonating.

Man, Castrillo is totally dying. His head is swinging around like crazy. Could he be … dancing? Is there upbeat house music coming through his earphone? Or is it music in his head? Or have his neck muscles all but given out?

And now Landa attacks the GC group!

It’s not such a bad attack, though Landa needs to stop looking back and just go all-in. The peloton immediately explodes, riders going out the back with a quickness.

Just like that the GC group is down to nine riders and the gap to the break is under two minutes. Sepp Kuss (Visma – Lease A Bike), last year’s Vuelta winner, is still in the group. Kuss hasn’t really had it this year … probably residual fatigue from the COVID he suffered in July. He’s all the way back in 15th overall, 7:28 down, but maybe he can do something today.

OMG! Up in the break, Castrillo launches a massive attack! I’m not talking about the ‘90s trip hop group either, but an actual attack. He just opens this crazy huge gap in seemingly no time!

And now, in the GC group, instead of Roglic attacking, it’s his teammate Florian Lipowitz who sets down a blistering tempo! Nobody can hold his wheel except Roglic and O’Connor!

And now O’Connor is dropped! Lipowitz just goes and goes!

Finally he pulls off and Roglic takes over, embarking on his long-expected big move to finally take the GC lead.

Castrillo is on the 24% section and his head, which had somewhat stabilized, is now swinging around more than ever.

Mas has clawed his way back to Roglic! The gap to O’Connor is growing, but not that quickly. The Australian (oh, maybe I forgot to tell you, O’Connor is Australian) is still looking pretty good!

And now Vlasov has caught Castrillo but is clearly suffering terribly!

Behind, Mas has passed Roglic and almost seems to be putting the hurt on him!

OMG, Castrillo is putting the pussy on the chain wax! Vlasov had closed the gap but Castrillo won’t give up!

Mas is getting a bit of a gap on Roglic! If he really has the legs, he could finally move up on GC!

Castrillo has got the win! It’s the worst photo ever because it’s so foggy!

Not so long after, Mas comes in, just ahead of Roglic.

Carapaz rolls in, then Kuss, and after just a short bit, O’Connor gets over the line. I’d say he lost only about forty seconds today, which is kind of a coup, really.

Castrillo is super happy, needless to say. They interview him right past the finish line, before he’s even had a chance to compose himself.

INTERVIEWER: [unintelligible]

CASTRILLO: [translated by Bob Roll, who I think speaks no Spanish] It was really satisfying for everybody, including me.

INTERVIEWER: You really think it was satisfying for Vlasov? I’d say he’s actually super bummed.

CASTRILLO: Did I say “everybody”? I meant me.

INTERVIEWER: You had us all on pins and needles for the last few kilometers there. Mainly we were worried that, the way your head was swinging around, you were going to lose your sunglasses.

CASTRILLO: I wasn’t thinking much about my sunglasses. In fact I kind of forgot all about them.

INTERVIEWER: Do you think that single-minded focus is why you’ve won two stages in this Vuelta?

CASTRILLO: No, it’s more about me just being hella fast.

Okay, you got me: there’s no Spanish word for “hella,” and yes, I did make up that entire transcript. Only one line of the actual interview was translated for me and that didn’t sound accurate, either.

Roglic has made a U-turn at the summit and appears to be riding down the mountain, not wanting to sit around at the summit and freeze his ass off. I guess this is his silver lining for not getting the red leader’s jersey today … no boring podium celebration to wait around for.

Here is the stage result:

I missed the nicely formatted result page somehow and had to grab that from cyclingnews. Note that they spelled the winner’s name wrong, sheesh.

Here’s the top 20 since there were some sizeable gaps today. You’ll probably have to click this to zoom in so it’s legible, and if that doesn’t help, call tech support.

For all the work Landa’s team did, he only ended up with ninth, and lost another 20 seconds to Mas and 14 seconds to Carapaz. He might have done better just to sit in … I mean, what did all that tempo-setting really gain him? But then, I guess you gotta try…

Here is the new GC:

They’re interviewing O’Connor now.

INTERVIEWER: People thought you’d lose the jersey today.

O’CONNOR: I’m happy to prove them wrong again. It went well, though that was a horrible ending to the climb, it was disgusting.

INTERVIEWER: How did you deal with the attacks?

O’CONNOR: There was only one attack but it was very impressive, then I couldn’t see anything with the fog, it was rough.

INTERVIEWER: You still have 43 seconds, what do you think about that?

O’CONNOR: I’m just happy to still be in the lead.

INTERVIEWER: You have a new record for an Australian: number of days leading a Grand Tour.

O’CONNOR: [surprised, delighted] Really?

INTERVIEWER: Yes, [Phil] Anderson led the Tour [de France] for 9 days, you’ve now exceeded that.

O’CONNOR: That’s great. Good day today, I’m happy with the boys, happy with myself.

INTERWIEVER: Thank you.

O’CONNOR: No worries. [He always says this at the end of an interview and kind of rolls it into one truncated word, “nworr’s.”]

INTERVIEWER: uiyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

Okay, I did something rare just now: I transcribed the interview as accurately as I could, and I think I got most of it. That’s what can happen when people actually have something interesting to say. Alas, I couldn’t stick the landing at the end there because my cat started walking on the keyboard. Dang it!

Well, that’s about it for today. Tomorrow is the final rest day, then O’Connor has six more days of suffering as he attempts to defend his jersey. He’s probably doomed, but then that’s what they said about Don Quixote….

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