Biased Blow-By-Blow - 2025 Vuelta a España Stage 14

Introduction

The Vuelta a España is kind of the Dr. McCoy of the three Grand Tours, with the Tour de France being Kirk and the Giro d’Italia being Spock. That’s why the Vuelta might seem grumpy. (Dang, this metaphor is already starting to get away from me.) This race usually isn’t the boring blowout that the Tour is, and with Tadej Pogacar—a rider so dominant he’s the first one I mention when he’s not even here—not here, it’s actually an exciting race, with less than a minute separating the top two contenders. If you haven’t been following this Vuelta, check out my coverage of Stage 9 last week, and as I give you this biased blow-by-blow I’ll gradually catch you up on the stages in between.

What do I mean by “biased”? I’m not a journalist, I’m not neutral, and I tell it how it is, which either means pointing out obvious doping—which so far I happily haven’t noted in this Vuelta—and poor behavior of any kind.

Vuelta a España Stage 14 – Avilés to La Farrapona/Lagos de Somiedo

As I join the action, there’s a very large breakaway a little over five minutes ahead of the red jersey group. There are about 60 kilometers (35 miles) to go, meaning the riders still have two major climbs ahead. The commentators on my Peacock coverage, Christian Van de Velde and Bob Roll, are talking about a heroic feat achieved by Victor Campenaerts (Team Visma – Lease A Bike) today, which was to bridge up to this breakaway mostly by himself, scooping up Gijs Leeimreize (Team Picnic-PostNL) in the process. Actually Campenaerts had been in the break but punctured and lost almost two minutes and had to chase back on. This last detail I gleaned from cyclingnews.com and their blow-by-blow report. Which begs two questions: 1) am I cheating? and 2) why wouldn’t you just read the cyclingnews coverage, instead of this? Answers: 1) yes, of course, and 2) because they don’t give updates often enough, and they don’t even try to be funny. Whether or not I make you laugh, I will always try, which means you can silently mock me when I fail. Which is even better than laughing.

So, who is Gijs Leeimreize, and how do you pronounce his name? And, will I continue with this question-plus-response format? Answers: 1) who knows, I’ve never heard of him; 2) I have no idea but I’m guessing it’s pronounced “jizz”; and 3) yes, probably.

Imagine going through life with a name like “jizz” in a country where pretty much everybody is fluent in English. That can’t be easy. No wonder this athlete is so driven.

With about 52 kilometers (32 miles) to go, the breakaway is on the foothills of the fearsome Puertu de San Llaurienzu, a Category 1 climb. Here’s the profile of that bad boy.

The breakaway has 6:25, which is starting to look like a big enough gap to produce the race’s winner. It’s a pretty big group, two dozen souls, almost all of them complete nobodies (which is why they’ve been allowed to go up the road like this). There are only two riders in this group I’ve heard of before: Campenaerts and Marc Soler (UAE Team Emirates-XRG). These two are heavy hitters whose main job is to support their team leader. For Campenaerts that means supporting the current GC leader of the race, Jonas Vingegaard, and for Soler it means Joao Almeida, who sits second, only 46 seconds behind Vingegaard. So what are these two domestiques doing up in this breakaway? Well, I’ve been waiting for one of these commentators to use the word “satellite,” and bingo—one just did.

What is a satellite rider? It’s a rider who has achieved such a high speed he’s gone into low earth orbit and will probably be purchased by Elon Musk, possibly in a hostile takeover. Ow! Damn! My fact-checker just punched me in the neck! No sense of humor, that guy. (Full disclosure: I have no fact checker.) Actually, “satellite rider” is one of these  terms that the American announcers have invented and that they use so often, we viewers are expected to know what they’re talking about. This is a big step forward, mind you, from the early days of cycling coverage when the viewer was assumed to know nothing, and commentators would explain things like, “Near the finish line everyone will go even faster. This is called a ‘sprint.’” I am not making that up, and you could call it mansplaining except it was the former Olympic champ Connie Carpenter who actually said it. Anyway, other terms these American announcers have come up with are “daylight,” “back on terms,” and “the cat is among the pigeons,” all of which I will explain in due time, after I (finally) tell you what “satellite” means and how it pertains to this situation.

But wait, something is actually happening on the road! They’re interviewing Sepp Kuss (Team Visma – Lease A Bike). Or, rather, they’re playing a previously recorded interview with him, which arrangement they don’t bother to explain. How confusing this sport must be to the newcomer, who is already confused by all these strange terms and is now looking at a rider just standing there while a race is on. The newb must be like, wait, did they get this guy to stop and stand in the road for a bit to do this interview? And then the rest of the racers have to go around this cameraman? Is that even safe? Anyway, here’s the interview.

INTERVIEWER: Today is another big mountain day. Will you get the victory Jonas tried to get yesterday?

KUSS: Do you mean will I get the victory? Or do you mean Jonas?

INTERVIEWER: I don’t know. Either, I guess. I confess I didn’t really plan what to ask you; a staffer was just running around trying to find a friendly person willing to be interviewed, and came up with you.

KUSS: Friendly? Me? Really? Did he say I was friendly?

INTERVIEWER: Not in so many words, but yeah, he must have decided you seemed friendly.

KUSS: I ask because not everybody thinks I’m friendly. I try to be, but my girlfriend’s BFF said I was kind of a dick. Which my girlfriend decided was worth bringing up to me.

INTERVIEWER: What’s going on? How did I get here?

KUSS: I have no idea. This is the weirdest Vuelta stage ever.

If you’re new to albertnet, I guess I should disclose that I don’t try very hard to capture these interviews verbatim, especially when they’re boring, which they typically are. I’m forced to invent things, such as everything you just read other than the opening question. Kuss’s actual response was some roundabout way of saying, “We’ll try.”

Gianmarco Garofoli (Soudal-QuickStep) attacks the breakaway, quickly establishing a huge gap. This doesn’t warrant an exclamation mark because he has no chance, no hope.

See? Look at this, mere moments later: the breakaway has reassembled itself, loosely, though a handful have fallen off and will gradually get scooped up by the peloton.

Okay, so, a satellite rider is a domestique who gets into a breakaway so that when his team leader needs his help, he can just drop back and provide it. Since dropping back means loafing, he’ll be pretty fresh and can then bury himself for his leader. This is a lot more feasible than a domestique who’s been sucking wind on the back just trying to keep up who is now expected to go to the front and put the hammer down (or whatever else his leader needs). Why does this satellite tactic work, when presumably the breakaway riders had to work pretty hard to be in the breakaway in the first place? Simple: politics. Breakaways gain time when the peloton is loafing. So it’s circumstance, not heroics, that lead to their big gap over the field. (Note that there is brutal work involved in establishing the breakaway, and in the case of Campenaerts, catching back up after his bike problem.)

With about two kilometers (1.2 miles) to go on this climb, the GC group has shrunk to maybe a dozen riders, with UAE Team Emirates-XRG driving the pace on the front. Leading is Juan Ayuso, which is somewhat remarkable because it’s really the first time he’s actually worked for his team leader, Almeida. Ayuso will be leaving this team after this season and has evidently lost his desire to support it, riding instead for himself (to good effect, it must be said, as he’s won two stages). He’s gotten a lot of well-deserved bad press for this, and maybe he finally read the memo. (Do you like what I did just there? Tweaked the cliché to be “read the memo,” suggesting it’s been sitting on his desk the whole time? You won’t get that on cyclingnews.) Just behind Ayuso in this group is Jay Vine, in the silly polka-dot KOM jersey and (unfortunately) matching shorts. Vine won a stage here in truly badass fashion and gave a great interview afterward … I really like that guy.

So here’s what’s happened since Stage 9 (i.e., since my last report). Stage 10, which featured a Category 1 mountaintop finish, is the one Vine won, solo. In stage 11, a lumpy circuit starting and finishing in Bilbao, Vingegaard and the rider sitting third overall, Tom Pidcock (Q36.5 Pro Cycling Team), broke away together and it looked like a very exciting showdown was brewing until a bunch of damn protesters wouldn’t get out of the road and the officials had to end the stage early, taking everyone’s time with three kilometers to go. (Needless to say the protestors had zero influence on the world affairs they’re concerned about.)

The breakaway is over the summit of this penultimate climb. It’s down to ten riders. I can’t get a good photo because I’m too slow on the draw. Peacock, in addition to showing endless ads (for products I will now boycott, on principle), blocks screen grabs. An anonymous commenter on my last post suggested I switch to a monthly FloBikes plan (requiring a VPN that makes it look like I’m in Canada), and I might investigate that, but a) I already paid for Peacock and am the world’s cheapest man, and b) that sounds like a lot of hassle. On the other hand, this commenter added, “No ads and you can join me in speculation about whether Hannah Walker and Koen de Kort are an item.” That certainly sweetens the pot.

The GC group (what’s left of it, that is) crests the summit, just a little over three minutes behind now.

Getting back to my recap, Stage 12 had a couple big climbs, and Ayuso broke away with Javier Romo (Movistar Team). If Romo took the stage it’d be the first for his Spanish team in years, but at the end Ayuso outsprinted him pretty easily. Then, yesterday, on the queen stage of this Vuelta that finished atop the fearsome beyond-category Angliru climb, Almeida and Vingegaard broke away, with Vingegaard sitting on Almeida’s wheel the entire way, as poker-faced as a mannequin. Almeida took the stage with absolutely no victory salute because it was a sketchy finish stretch and he was completely knackered. He took some bonus seconds and shrank his gap to Vingegaard in the GC. And then it was now.

This is amazing: I’ve seen more ads during the two weeks of this Vuelta than cumulatively all year. It’s like five minutes of coverage, then five minutes of ads. Maybe I will look into this FloBikes thing. In the current ad, some redneck-looking football player is sitting on a deer in a living room eating Little Caesar’s pizza with some fans. Weirdly, the pizza doesn’t even look good in the ad. Couldn’t they use CGI to make it more appetizing? This will be an easy boycott for me.

With 20 kilometers (12.4 miles) to go, Ayuso goes out the back. At least he did his job today and can feel good about that. When Almeida won yesterday, it must have felt weird for Ayuso at dinner, not getting to celebrate with the others because he hadn’t helped. Maybe that’s why he finally stepped it up today.

The breakaway is on the final climb. Everyone is grinding away at a steady pace right now so I’ll define some more of these made-up American commentator cycling terms. “Daylight” simply means a gap big enough that you can see daylight through it, which isn’t really that descriptive (though it alludes to how closely these riders draft one another). I would say “getting some daylight” isn’t among the most useful cycling terms we have, but I suppose it engenders camaraderie between the announcers to throw it around together. “Back on terms” simply means to catch up and regain the pace of a group you’d been briefly dropped from, and I can’t even hazard a guess as to its etymology. It reminds me of a frequent feature of my horoscope when I was a teenager, when the astrologer, Omar, would advise me, “Define terms.” What did it mean? I never knew.

With 17 kilometers (10.6 miles) to go, two riders have attacked the breakaway and have—wait for it—daylight!

It’s Soler and Johannes Staune-Mittet (Decathlon AG2R La Mondiale Team). Hard to see what their gap is but—wow, look at this, Soler accelerates again, and drops Staune-Mitttet!

At some point Campenaerts dropped back to the GC group, and now he’s fetching bottles for his teammates. In terms of the satellite metaphor you might say he’s splashed down.

Soler continues his solo effort, his hips rocking like he’s some kind of dancer. Kind of an odd looking rider, honestly. Gangly. He has no bottles and nobody to bring them right now.

I thought once the final climb was underway I’d get respite from the ads. But it’s yet another commercial intermission, this time an ad for the Ryder Cup, some golfing event I was already boycotting (because it’s surely much less interesting than, say, a documentary about how golf balls are made).

This final climb is a beast. Not as steep as the last one, but hella long:

I can’t see how this is a very smart move for Soler. First of all, he’s probably doomed, because once the GC battle gets going, that three minutes isn’t likely to be enough. Second, he ought to be focusing all his effort on supporting Almeida, who will need all the help he can get to unseat Vingegaard. Third, given his own well-earned reputation for riding for himself instead of his team (famously, in a 2019 Vuelta stage when he was on Movistar and threw a tantrum when told to sit up) and within the political climate of his team, he should be extra careful about looking selfish. So by the end it may well be a case of trying—if not failing—to do the wrong thing. So I’ll employ another commentators’ cliché: it’s like dogs and cats living together. (Okay, no Peacock announcer has ever said that. It was Bill Murray.)

With 10 kilometers (6 miles) to go, the GC group is still at steady tempo, with Vine on the front. More and more breakaway riders have been diapered (to coin a new cycling term of my own).

Soler takes a bottle from his team car. Depending on how organized the team staff is, that bottle may contain a powerful laxative, to put the self-serving rider in his place.

Peacock now shows two Capital One ads in a row. Can they do that? I wish I could boycott this bank twice. Fortunately, Peacock isn’t advertising its own coverage of this race. That would present quite a conundrum.

Who knows, maybe the UAE team management is on board with this move. (After all, their director, Mauro Gianetti, is a complete maniac.) Maybe they’re thinking hey, we’re already known as a cesspool of infighting, we might as well go all-in with that. It’s pretty funny to see Soler off the front while his team leads the chase group behind. Of course they’re not really chasing, but just setting up Almeida for a big attack. So … if Almeida “gets daylight” on Vingegaard, then will Soler drop back?

Given how awesome a rider Vingegaard is, it does seem unlikely Almeida could actually beat him in the GC, but then Almeida is fresher because didn’t ride the whole Tour de France this year (having had to abandon after a crash), and you never know when a relatively young rider like him will find a new level. And yesterday, he put down such a high pace, Vingegaard couldn’t do anything. The Dane might not have shown it, but he must have been on the rivet. Almeida well deserves the full sacrifice of every teammate, like Vingegaard has been getting. (Not that his team has always done the right thing…)

Vine pulls off and it looks like he’s done for the day, cooked.

Felix Großschartner is taking up the effort for UAE. He has the hardest name to type in all of cycling. Most of the time when I see it onscreen it is represented as “Grossschartner.”

I opine, to my online correspondent, that I think Soler is being kind of an idiot. My correspondent replies, “UAE are dipshits.” I have to agree. They should call Soler back because even if he does get this stage win, he’ll be too fried from the effort to support Almeida very well in the final week. UAE needs to run their tactics as though Almeida actually had a chance. It can’t be good for his morale to have the team authorizing all these stage win efforts.

Vingegaard has two teammates with him, Kuss and Ben Tulett. Whoa, maybe I spoke too soon … Tulett is now blowing chunks at the back. (That is a standard cycling term, but not one these commentators ever use, oddly enough.)

They keep showing the gap between Soler and his next closest chaser. Which is totally irrelevant. What’s the gap to the GC group?

OMG, look at this climb.

Back in the GC group, Giulio Pellizzari (Red Bull – Bora – Hansgrohe) is driving on the front for his leader, Jai Hindley, who rode really well yesterday and sits fourth on GC, three minutes behind Vingegaard.

Presumably Hindley will attack soon. I’m surprised Almeida hasn’t. Once one guy makes a big move, though, this détente should finally get blown to bits. I long for that.

And there it is, Hindley busts a move!

Only Vingegaard and Almeida can respond! Hindley is flying! He’s left Pidcock in the dust and may overhaul him on GC!

Wow, we’re closer to the finish than I thought. Soler approaches the line and has now got the stage win. He does a weird victory salute where it looks like he’s trying to nibble his friendship bracelet. Maybe trying to chew it off, because Almeida gave him the bracelet and Soler knows they’re not friends anymore?

The GC group comes in not long after. Vingeegard and Almeida duke it out for second!

Vingegaard takes the sprint and another few bonus seconds.

Almeida needed to take time today, not lose it. It’s hard to know what the UAE leaders are thinking, if they even are.

Here’s the stage result. Kind of remarkable how close the top ten was, given this hard a stage it was and this far into the Vuelta.

Soler gives an interview.

INTERVIEWER: We are 14 stages into this Vuelta, and UAE have won seven of them.

SOLER: Unbelievable. I cannot explain. Fifty percent of the stages we’ve won, so, yeah.

INTERVIEWER [withdraws, without asking a single additional question. Presumably he only collared Soler to settle a bet: is this big dumb jock able to do arithmetic?]

Tomorrow’s stage has a couple categorized climbs but they’re in the first half, so it most likely won’t be an important GC day. And here is the new GC.

Check it out, three Americans in the top 10! It’s been an interesting fight for the white jersey of best young rider, with Pellizzari and Matthew Riccitello in virtual lockstep, finishing sixth and seventh today and staying just over 30 seconds apart on GC.

Here is Soler on his phone, probably ordering some Little Caesar’s pizza.

As a special treat, Vingegaard, when getting his red jersey, gets to interact with a podium girl, the first I’ve seen in this Vuelta.

Now Vingegaard poses with the former Spanish champion Sammy Sanchez.

Instead of flowers, Vingegaard gets a stuffed bull. I wonder if it has testicles. Probably not. So it’s technically a steer. Why give a rider a stuffed steer? There’s no such thing as steerfighting, no Running of the Steers. This animal represents nothing, expect perhaps castration. Is that any way to honor the race leader?

They interview Vingegaard.

INTERVIEWER: So, is today’s second place sweeter than yesterday’s?

VINGEGAARD: No, second place is never sweet.

INTERVIEWER: How would you describe the flavor, then?

VINGEGAARD: It’s a complex flavor, redolent of gauze and young moss, that initially caressed my tongue, but then took an unexpected detour into light fizz, like fermented peaches at a salad bar, with just a hint of bong water.

INTERVIEWER: So not such a good taste, then. How do you think the victory tasted for Soler today?

VINGEGAARD: Sweet as honey, of course, but the taste in his team’s mouth must be like hard, bitter scab.

INTERVIEWER: Who eats scabs?

VINGEGAARD: Exactly.

I somehow missed Soler’s podium ceremony. That’s okay. I’m tired of that guy.

And with that, my coverage is almost complete. All that’s left is, as promised, to define the last US-commentator-buzzphrase: “The cat is among the pigeons.” To be honest, until Bob Roll said it today, I’d never actually heard it. Looking it up, I see “throw the cat among the pigeons” is a British phrase describing an outsider causing a disturbance. I’m delighted to discover there’s a similar expression in Dutch, “De knuppel in het hoenderhok gooien,” which literally translates “Throwing the bat into the chicken shed.” I love it. Who has ever done such a thing and what would a bat even do among chickens? Granted, a bat is a predator, but chickens are so much larger! But then, if it’s a vampire bat? I’m going to start using that expression constantly.

For various reasons, I probably won’t cover next Saturday’s final mountain stage, but you should check back here anyway. There will surely be something for you to read.

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Biased Blow-By Blow - 2025 Vuelta a España Stage 9

Introduction

Of the three cycling Grand Tours, the Vuelta a España gets the least respect. And yet, it can be among the most exciting, since the Tour de France insists on being a blowout, year after year. The Vuelta, or I suppose I should say La Vuelta (though that sounds pedantic, doesn’t it?) is often a chance for a top rider who missed out on Tour glory to have another crack.

So it is with Jonas Vingegaard (Team Visma – Lease A Bike), the favorite here, who keeps losing the Tour and is wise to try to win something else just to remind his sponsors he’s still capable. And we’re all in luck: his nemesis, Tadej Pogacar (UAE Team Emirates-XRG), who is so dominant in this sport he’s turned it into a joke, is not doing this race. I guess he felt like leaving some scraps for the others. Maybe his mom chided him for not sharing. The official story is that he needs rest, but that’s ridiculous. Pogar is so endlessly strong, some commentators still consider him a favorite for this Vuelta despite his non-participation … he’s that good.

Anyway, I’m here to give an unvarnished, no-punches-pulled  blow-by-blow report, where I’ll cast aspersions as I see fit about a rider’s cleanliness, dorkiness, etc. I’ll also provide a brief recap of the first eight stages.

2025 Vuelta a España Stage 9 – Alfaro to Estacion de Esqui de Valdezcaray

As I join the action, the riders have about 70 kilometers (43 miles) left in the race, and it’s starting to rain. Looks like pretty miserable conditions.

Trigger warning: I might say some things in this report that could be upsetting to vegans. I want to be clear that although I respect the position of vegans, and cede them the moral high ground, and am even pretty sure my bike saddle is made of pleather, I do sometimes make a meat-loving comment.

There’s a breakaway of five riders with a lead of 2:26. I’m not sure I want to share their names. That’s kind of like naming the lambs that you’re going to feed to your family. Arguably tasteless. The practice, I mean, not the lambs. They are very tasty. Among land animals, I think they’re my favorite. I had antelope once. I ordered it rare but even still, it was so lean it wasn’t that good. Stick with lamb, or beef.

They’re interviewing Jonas Vingegaard.

INTERVIEWER: Consider this photo we just took of some fans basically panhandling along today’s route. What do you think of this practice?

VINGEGAARD: Well, they’ve done a pretty nice job on the sign. The heart is a nice touch and would naturally incline riders to donate. Also, I like the specificity of “water bottles” even though it reduces the size font they can use. Because you wouldn’t want riders throwing, say, beer bottles. That could be dangerous.

INTERVIEWER: That’s a great point. In fact, I’m guessing you speak from experience: did someone throw a glass bottle at you? Is that why the bridge of your nose is bandaged?

VINGEGAARD: No, I just put this tape on my nose so I’ll get really weird tan lines.

INTERVIEWER: Why pink? Why not a flesh tone, like band-aids have?

VINGEGAARD: I don’t think you understand: I’m trying to look as goofy as possible.

INTERVIEWER: Got it.

Full disclosure: it’s so rare for riders to say anything interesting in these interviews, I typically take some liberties, such as fabricating the entire dialogue as I’ve done here. Strangely enough, Vingegaard actually did say something interesting in this one—namely, that part of why he and his team declined to defend his red jersey (more on this in a moment) is that he doesn’t like all the ceremonies that the leader has to deal with after the stage, which can take like 45 minutes during which he could be resting. But by the time he said this, I was committed to my alternative narrative and saw it through.

With 60 kilometers (54 miles) to go, the breakaway’s gap has dropped by about 20 seconds. Probably it’s better you don’t bond with them.

Here’s what’s gone down in this Vuelta so far, while you were too busy watching the Great British Baking Show or the Great American Barbecuing Show. Stage 1, a flat one for the sprinters, duly went to Jasper Philipsen (Alpecin–Deceuninck), who seems back on form after crashing out of this year’s Tour de France. In Stage 2, there was a dramatic crash with almost all of Team Visma – Lease A Bike going down. (There was some concern that their leased bikes had been damaged until the director assured us they’d bought the optional no-fault insurance.) Vingegaard was among those who crashed, but obviously wasn’t hurt because he ended up edging out Giulio Ciccone (Lidl-Trek) for victory in the hilltop finish. Needless to say Vingegaard took the leader’s jersey in the process. In Stage 3, David Gaudu (Groupama-FDJ) took the win ahead of Mads Pedersen (Lidl-Trek) and Vingegaard.

Back to the coverage: the breakaway’s gap is down to 1:44 with 38 kilometers (23.6 miles) left. The Peacock commentators, keeping up a lively banter despite having basically nothing to report, are arguably working harder than the racers right now. Christian Van de Velde is talking about somebody getting a cease-and-desist order from AC/DC. I’ll confess I’m a bit lost here.

Getting back to my recap, on Stage 4, Ben Turner (Ineos Granadiers) won and weirdly, the red jersey changed hands because Gaudu and Vingegaard were the same on time, but Gaudu finished higher in the stage.  It’s certainly possible that Vingegaard could have worked a bit harder to hold on to the jersey (since Gaudu was only 25th on the day, after all) but based on what Vingegaard (actually) said in his interview, he purposely gave it away. Stage 5 was a team time trial, and though Visma – Lease A Bike lost by eight seconds to UAE Team Emirates-XRG, they took enough time from Groupama-FDJ to put Vingegaard back in the red jersey, against his wishes. Vingegaard filed a restraining order against the jersey, and it worked: in Stage 6 the jersey stopped harassing him and jumped onto the shoulders of Torsten Træen (Bahrain Victorious), who was in the breakaway with stage winner Jay Vine (UAE Team Emirates-XRG). In Stage 7, Juan Ayuso (UAE Team Emirates-XRG) soloed to a stage win and Træen held on to red. Yesterday was another sprint stage with Philipsen winning again, and no change in GC. And then it was now.

The break is doomed, their gap plummeting, now down to 1:11. The peloton isn’t even playing cat and mouse, they’re just thundering toward the leaders. Why do cats toy with their prey? Easy: because mice just aren’t that tasty, even to a cat. I’ll bet a cat would sooner eat day-old ground beef than a fresh, still warm mouse. As would the peloton. If you think this metaphor is getting away from me, you’re right. But what can I say? The road is straight and long and flat and nothing of note is happening in this stage. But fear not, it’s a Category 1 climb at the end, and it’s looming nearer.

OMG! Something actually happens—it’s a crash in the main peloton!

It’s Victor Guernalec (Arkéa  – B&B Hotels), somehow finding a way to stack along a perfectly straight, flat, well-paved road. Amazingly, nobody crashes around him. So we get to see both sheer incompetence and expert bike handling showcased together in the span of just a few seconds. You know what else? His sponsor, B&B Hotels, is an oxymoron. As we all know, a B&B (i.e., Bed & Breakfast) is an alternative to a hotel. Idiots.

As the breakaway hits the big climb the peloton overwhelms them. Just like that. Aren’t you glad you didn’t learn their names? It would be so sad.

With 12 kilometers (7 miles) to go, Lidl-Trek takes the front to set up their man Giulio Ciccone so he can have another crack at a stage win. It made me wince to see him lose that earlier stage despite having launched a hellacious sprint. He lost by inches. At one point during the sprint he looked back to see if anyone was matching him, which was his fatal mistake. Looking back not only isn’t aerodynamic, but gives your rivals more hope. It’s a terrible misstep. But I like Ciccone’s style, and even his name. You know what’s weird about his name? It always makes  me think of charcuterie. Isn’t that strange? Does his name do that for you, too?

Matteo Jorgenson (Team Visma – Lease A Bike) attacks! It’s a brilliant move! Why do I say it’s brilliant when actually it’s a fairly predictable thing for the top team to do? Because America!

Man, it is so hard to get good photos for this report, thanks to Peacock blocking screenshots. Why do I even bother? Sheesh.

And now Vingegaard attacks! But he’s blatantly defying my sage advice from just a few sentences ago, by looking behind him!

Then again, it’s 11 kilometers (6.8 miles) to the finish so this is a lot different from a final sprint. Only Ciccone can respond and tucks himself in behind the great Dane.

And now, like it’s nothing, Vingegaard saws off Ciccone. Ciccone’s open-mouth frown is so pronounced, he looks a bit like Darth Vader.

So the race is finally heating up, figuratively speaking. In terms of actual temperature it’s cooling down as the rain starts up again.

Now that it’s finally getting exciting, Peacock goes to more ads. It’s really annoying—I mean, I’m already paying for Peacock Plus or Peacock Premium or whatever. Thieving bastards.

Speaking of bastards, it’s raining like a bastard now! Behind Vingegaard is the chasing duo of Thomas Pidcock (Q36.5 Pro Cycling Team) and Joao Almeida (UAE Team Emirates-XRG), 24 seconds in arrears. I had a boss once who didn’t realize that “payment in arrears” was the expression—he’d say “payment in the rear,” a serious gaff unless (or especially if) he was trying to be funny.

Speaking of “the rear,” Vingegaard is hauling ass, and his lead is growing. He may even take the red jersey again, as he started today only 2:33 behind. Træen is out the back and hemorrhaging time.

Almeida and Pidcock are working pretty well now, after having bickered earlier, but it’s not helping. The gap is up to 32 seconds.

Everyone in the peloton is big-ringing it up this climb.

Pidcock flicks his elbow and Almeida pulls through. What is this weird Q36.5 team? Where the hell did they come from and how did they manage to sign a talent like Pidcock? Answers: Q36.5 is an Italian clothing brand and nobody knows where this team came from; its only rider besides Pidcock I’ve even heard of is David de la Cruz who hasn’t won a major race since 2017. And how did Q36.5 get Pidcock? Three words: HOT CASH MONEY. (I guess I could have pared that down to one word.) According to one source, the team is paying him between 7.5 and 8.5 million euros a year ($8.8 to $9.9 million), making him the second highest-paid cyclist in the world (after Pogacar, of course).

Vingegaard has got the win. Man, that climb was over in seemingly no time.

Pidcock outsprints Almeida for second. The two managed to make up some ground by the end there, losing only 25 seconds, so they’ll consolidate their standing in the GC.

Pretty sweet sprint, but the bikes are ridiculous. Pidcock’s bars, the way they flare out, look like something from an ‘80s touring bike, and Almeida’s are worse, like they’re trying to look like a ram’s horns. Heaven will take note.

And now, 1:36 after Vingegaard’s finish, the much depleted chase group crosses the line. Check it out, Træen is just visible in the back there, on the right … he chased hard and managed to regain contact, thus rescuing his red jersey!

They’re interviewing Vingegaard.

INTERVIEWER: When I talked to you earlier you said this stage wasn’t hard enough for the GC riders to try anything on. And yet you just made a big move. Were you lying earlier?

VINGEGAARD: No, I never said that. You’re putting words in my mouth.

INTERVIEWER: I have video footage of that interview.

VINGEGAARD: You mean you have a deepfake of that interview. Nice try.

INTERVIEWER: A commentator referred to you earlier as “the great Dane.” Do you like this nickname and do you think it’ll stick?

VINGEGAARD: That wasn’t a commentator, that was a blogger. And a failing one. Complete disgrace.

INTERVIEWER: What gave you the edge today?

VINGEGAARD: I think it was the pink tape on the bridge of my nose. It’s a game-changer.

INTERVIEWER: Do you think the entire peloton will have pink tape on their noses tomorrow?

VINGEGAARD: Could be, but just you wait … I have even more up my nose. Er, my sleeve.

Here’s the stage result.

And here is the new GC. Almeida and Pidcock limited their losses but the way things are going, they’re not looking like much of a threat to Vingegaard.

Vingegaard mounts the podium to celebrate his stage win. Oddly, the Vuelta is not following the Tour de France’s lead in gradually bringing back podium girls (or at least one girl, with a handsome dude to balance things out). Instead they have three random dudes, none of them attractive, all dressed very poorly, whose role is completely unknown. They’re not dignitaries, and nobody even presents a bouquet, perhaps due to the risk of allergy. And no champagne, because underage kids could be watching. It’s the most stripped-down, awkward podium presentation I’ve ever seen.

Træen mounts the podium—wait, that’s overstating it, he’s not mounting it because it’s not a proper 3-tier podium, it’s just a crappy little box to step up on—to get his red jersey. They have another random dude now, just as poorly dressed. One of the randos is wearing a medal, as if they literally forgot who is supposed to be honored here. Træen gets the same dumb Lucite plaque Vingegaard did, nobody’s even pretending there’s a precious metal involved.

Træen doesn’t look that happy, and I can’t blame him. This award ceremony is a joke. He really looks like he’d rather be just about anywhere right now. I can see why Vingegaard is willing to give up the red jersey just to avoid this.

Now they interview Træen.

INTERVIEWER: Did you expect to be able to keep the [red] jersey today?

TRÆN: In the climb I was thinking I would not be in the jersey so I’m glad to hold on to it.

INTERVIEWER: Were you expecting Vingegaard to make such a big move?

TRÆN: I did not expect him to go that fast.

INTERVIEWER: Your name sounds like the word “tryin’.” Are you relieved that no commentator tried to make a stupid pun around that, like “at least he’s Træen?”

TRÆN: I had been, until just now, you dork.

INTERVIEWER: Where did you find the energy to close the gap by the end?

TRÆN: I think the Jumbo [sic; i.e., Visma] guys held back, they did not want Jonas to have the jersey. So I’m thankful for that.

Remarkably, much of what I’ve recorded from that interview is real—everything but the “tryin’” bit. I’m pretty impressed at Træen’s humility in acknowledging that it was Visma’s tactics, not his own strength, that let him keep the jersey. If I were ever in such a position, leading a Grand Tour into the second week, I’d be yelling, “WHO’S THE MAN? I’M THE MAN! BOW DOWN BEFORE ME! I AM A GOD!”

Well, that’s about it for today. It’s tempting to say this could be a close Vuelta, given the strength Almeida and Pidcock showed today. But how can their teams possibly match the amazing support Vingegaard gets from Visma – Lease A Bike? There are problems within UAE Team Emirates-XRG with Juan Ayuso, who was supposed to be a co-leader, not only losing almost seven minutes to the GC favorites during Stage 6 but then pulling a Pee-wee Herman by saying, effectively, “I meant to do that.” And Ayuso was nowhere to be seen on the big climb today when he should have been supporting Almeida. As for Pidcock, his team is so rinky-dink, its next highest-ranked rider on GC is Damien Howson, who is all the way down in 41st place and has more grey hair than I do. Howson was similarly useless during today’s stage, finishing almost five minutes down. Nevertheless, Almeida and Pidcock are less than a minute behind Vingegaard overall, so it’s still pretty close. Check back on Saturday because that’s another mountain day and I may decide to cover it…

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From the Archives - Lake Tahoe & Mount Rose Epic Ride

Introduction

If I still raced, I’d file race reports with my bike club and then post them here. Since I don’t, I like to do epic rides instead, and report on them. Lately I’ve done nothing epic at all, so I’m running a very old ride report from my archives. You should treasure this as a rare glimpse into the exclusive inner sanctum of an elite cycling community. (Full disclosure: it’s not so different than my typical bloggage, but man, I gotta try to keep your attention lest you wander off to watch “reality” TV.)

Pre-Tour-of-California Lake Tahoe/Mount Rose Ride Report – May 18, 2011

Since I didn’t even race Mount San Bruno this year, much less anything else, I’ll have to make do with a ride report. Three of us (C—, N—, and I) did a fairly epic ride near Lake Tahoe the day before what would have been Stage 1 of the Tour of California had it not been abruptly canceled literally at the last minute, with all the pro racers staged at the start line. (Why was it canceled? You’ll just have to read on to find out.)

The tale begins, of course, with dinner the night before. On the way up to Tahoe our family dined at a rather good taqueria called Talavera Cocina Mexicana. It’s on Solano Ave. Yes, you read that correctly: the little place like half a mile from our house. We got such a late start, we ended up setting a new record for how soon into a road trip we stopped for food. I had a carnitas burrito with cheese and guac. It was big and, well, tasty enough. Alexa had the mushroom quesadilla which was really the star of the show. Happily, the mandatory Parental Tariff policy stood me in good stead.

The morning of the ride, at 6 a.m., I had a PBJ: Alvarado bread with Adams organic peanut butter, the salted kind of course—not like the heinous, inedible Deaf Smith unsalted brand I grew up with, which came in like a 5-gallon drum and was so runny we called it Quicksand because you’d lose knives in it, so every time you got to the bottom of the drum there would be like six knives—and my mom’s homemade apricot jam, which is nirvana.

It was pretty chilly when we started at seven, and the spray from riding through several large puddles got my leg warmers wet. So I was cranky (like Hank with his diaper from that old TV ad). We tooled clockwise around the lake for a while and then headed into Nevada and took a left on Highway 431 at Incline Village. This highway took us up over Mount Rose, the summit of which—at almost 9,000 feet—is the highest pass in the Sierras (and higher than the Col du Galibier in France, though you shouldn’t for a moment think that Mount Rose even deserves to lick the Galibier’s foothills). My form was, as we in the suffering industry say, “El Crappo Grande.” I think that’s partly because I never seem to ride at my best in the cold, and partly because I’d donated two units of red blood cells about two weeks before and my marrow hadn’t yet replaced them all. Also, I suck.

N— dropped us climbing Mount Rose, and his reward was to have to wait around in the cold wind for us, all the heat leaving his uninsulated body. C— and I added insult to injury by asking him hang out a bit longer to snap our photo. He seemed just a bit tetchy about this, which warmed me from the heart outward. I’m small like that. It was 41 degrees up there but at least it wasn’t raining. You can see it was windy, though: look how the wind is puffing out our jackets (I hasten to point this out so you won’t think we’re just fat).

Happily, it warmed up a bit as we descended. We stopped somewhere to take a leak and fill our bottles, and I asked a friendly-looking fellow traveler for directions. He looked strangely familiar, so I gave him a big smile just in case I’m supposed to know him, but he totally gave me the silent treatment. He seemed really distracted and in fact wouldn’t even look at me. I peered over his shoulder into his road atlas for a bit before realizing it was just a book.

Naw, I’m just messing with you, I never thought it was an atlas. Of course nobody would rely on me for directions; C— had mapped out the whole thing beforehand. He said to watch for Joy Lake Drive, onto which we hung a right. This was supposed to connect us to … well, I never actually got to find out how it was supposed to connect up, because at the gate to a, well, gated community we encountered a stubborn security guard who wouldn’t let us through. He had a walrus moustache and a walrus physique and immediately made me think of the Pink Floyd lyric, “It’s too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw around.” He gave an impassioned speech about how the filthy rich people living in the McMansion compound were so tired of the thousands of cyclists streaming through their community, burning their homes to the ground, enslaving their wives and children, and littering, that they closed the gates and won’t let any more of our kind through. He said there was a great bike trail, though, and gave us directions that showed him to be either dyslexic, stupid, right/left colorblind, or maliciously faux-helpful.

So we had to backtrack, up the No Joy road we’d come down, and then continued on to Highway 395, where we headed south into a brutal headwind (surpassed only by what C— dragged a few of you through last week). I would provide a map of our route but C— won’t grant me permission to follow him on Strava. [Note: over fourteen years later, he still hasn’t granted me access.]

My strength by this point had decayed from hopeless to lugubrious and it was all I could do to suck C—’s wheel, shamelessly and parasitically. It was inhumane how little work I did, but that’s okay because C— has been training a lot and seemed to be punching through the wind just fine. We got into Carson City and C— had a general idea there was some really cool bike route to take, but we couldn’t find it, and then we happened upon another cyclist. “Which way do we go?” C— asked him. The guy responded, “Where are you going?” If there’s a such thing as the polar opposite of a tautology, this was it … a notion I pondered stupidly for the next hour or so.

Thus, we ended up riding right through the main drag in Carson City, and a drag it was. The wind was ripping the flesh off our faces. As we passed a used car dealership with all its dumb balloons straining against their strings in the wind, I wondered if there were a convenient way to end my own life. Falling off C—’s wheel would have probably done the job, but not swiftly nor mercifully. Plus, I’d have died hating doing something I loved, which just seemed wrong, so I chose life. Life without parole, it seemed like. We stopped at a mini mart for water and some guy said, “You guys heading over 50? You got a long haul there.” We acknowledged that indeed we were totally screwed (though we used a more polite term). As the guy headed out the door he said, “Have fun in the race tomorrow.” As if.

So we headed west on Highway 50 over Spooner Pass, which those familiar with Spoonerisms might call Pooner Spass, thinking they’re funny or clever. It started off pretty badly because the wind still seemed to be in our faces, but then it shifted and we had a tailwind. Wow, what a relief. It didn’t help so much, but it left me free to drop off both N—’s and C—’s wheels without dire consequences. I’d have liked the company, of course, but at least I didn’t have to hear the squeaky chain that one of their bikes had, which was almost loud enough to drown out my wheezing. At one point I had to turn around because I accidently littered. Eventually I reached the top. Don’t we all? Here we are at the Spooner summit.

There’s not much else to say except the ride went on and on. I started to feel okay by the end, probably only because I knew I was almost done. I was barely coherent. When I tried to talk, often I would say the same word twice, like a strange form of stuttering. C— pointed out that on this bike path were painted instructions saying to ride right, walk left, which he felt was a very poor idea as it would lead to head-on collisions if heeded. At first I didn’t even know what he was talking about—I thought he was warning against slime in the puddles—but when I finally heard him right I thought his point was that it was backwards, that you should ride left and walk right, and only after several minutes did I finally grasp the lunacy of the instructions: it wasn’t a single rule applied to both directions, but actually one lane dedicated to riding and one two walking, regardless of direction. Dang. Anyhow, at 117 miles, with 8,400 feet of climbing, this was my hardest ride of the year.

During the ride I consumed four large bottles of energy drink, two energy bars, and four doughnut holes. The doughnut holes I bought on a whim at 7-Eleven at our last stop. By definition doughnut holes have zero calories, being nothing but a void, but I bought them anyway because they looked kind of tasty in a grotesque guilty-pleasure—nay, shameful-pleasure—kind of way. N— had totally bonked and actually looked sick (in fact his skin was slightly green, like a Vulcan’s) so I can’t tell if it was in the spirit of helpfulness or schadenfreude that I offered him some of the doughnut holes. He declined. I offered again. He declined again. I saved a couple for my daughters, along with the two Hostess fruit pies I’d bought but didn’t end up needing, probably because I’d just pounded a 20-ounce Coke.

Dinner was the gastronomic equivalent of an extended hip-hop mash-up where every single rapper on the planet jumps in to freestyle on the mic. While the men were out riding, the womenfolk had spent the entire day cooking. (This probably sounds sexist, and it’s an exaggeration, but after the beating I took on the road I need to take steps to rebuild my masculine dignity.) There was spinach lasagne, two kinds of enchiladas, salad (though I didn’t eat any), fruit salad (ditto), a big ham, and some other stuff. Then there were individual pumpkin pies with whipped cream, two kinds of ice cream, those weird cookies that have big chocolate disks pressed into them, and the mandatory parental tariffs I took of my kids’ Hostess fruit pies from earlier. I just sat there for like two hours straight eating plate after plate. (My wife has rightly pointed out that if I weren’t so thin, this kind of eating would be a truly disgusting spectacle.) As if C— hadn’t done enough work on the ride, he did the dishes while I just sat there. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank him for organizing the weekend and doing all the work.

The original point of this trip was to watch the opening stage of the Tour of California, but the strangest thing happened the night after our ride: it freaking snowed. As in, hard, and for a long time. In fact, Highway 80 was closed for a while. Look how much accumulated on my car, and how surly this has made my daughter. (Actually, this is her default expression. In fact she’s stoked because our cabin came equipped with sleds.)

The racers nevertheless assembled at the start line, but the snow showed no sign of letting up and they managed to organize a revolt. The organizers made noises about changing the start time and location, but ended up just canceling the stage entirely. Someone needs to remind Mother Nature that it’s May, and this is California. Oh well … at least my pals and I got a good ride in.

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