Biased Blow-By-Blow - 2021 Giro d’Italia Stage 9

Introduction

You don’t have to wake up at 5:30 a.m. to watch the Giro d’Italia. Come to think of it, I don’t either, but I’ve already started drinking coffee so I might as well stick with it. I’m here to give you an unvarnished, ungarnished report of what’s really going on in the race. I don’t bite my tongue, at least not on purpose.

Giro d’Italia Stage 9 – Castel di Sangro to Campo Felice

Here is the starting line:

Ha. Ha ha ha ha ha. Of course that’s not the start line—we haven’t seen mobs like that since well over a year ago. Just making sure you’re paying attention.

As I join the action, the riders are tackling the third of five categorized climbs, the Forca Caruso. There’s a big breakaway, over a dozen guys, with about three minutes on the peloton. The climb doesn’t look very hard, but a) these climbs are always steeper than they look onscreen, and b) who am I to say this, sitting in an upholstered chair with a cat on my lap?

Unsurprisingly, the Ineos Granadiers team is swarming at the front to set up their leader, Egan Bernal, the strong favorite for this Giro despite his being too young to shave. The name “Grenadiers” is so inappropriate … this is not a team to cause chaos by lobbing a grenade. They’re more like carpet bombers, wiping out the field through an endless, sweeping onslaught.

Eurosport is doing a little prerecorded bio sketch of the Belgian rider Remco Evenepoel (Deceunick-Quick Step) which you don’t care about, so I’ll give you a quick synopsis of what’s gone down in the first week of this Giro. The young Evenepoel sits second on GC, a mere 11 seconds out of the maglia rosa. (For those newcomers, “maglia rosa” is Italian for “maglia rosa.”) The race leader is Attila Valter (Groupama-FDJ) whose wife thinks it’s funny to greet him by saying, “Hi, Hun!” There haven’t been any big moves from a GC perspective, but the American Joe Dombrowski did carry off a brilliant solo victory in Stage 4 (only to crash out of the race, alas, the next day).

Getting back to the race in progress, they’re showing some super-slo-mo of some rando and one of the announcers says, “Hashtag jealous.” Either the racer is the announcer’s boyfriend, or the announcer actually meant to say “envious.” A common mistake, far less annoying than the even more common mistake of saying “hashtag [whatever]” which expression should be reserved solely for embarrassing one’s teenage children.

Were now at 57 kilometers to go so the break has got to be close to the top of this climb. Their advantage is up to 3:19. Leading the group at this moment is Geoffrey Bouchard (AG2R Citroen Team), who suddenly takes the sprint for the KOM points.

Bouchard has been having a great Giro, figuring in breakaways and sitting second in the KOM competition. That said, he must have blown sky-high in some stage because he’s down in 53rd on GC, over 25 minutes behind Valter.

Speaking of the GC, behind Evenepoel and Valter are Egan Bernal, only 16 seconds down; Aleksander Vlasov (Astana-Premier Tech) at 0:24, and, rounding out the top five, Hugh Carthy (EF Education-Nippo) at 0:38.

Earlier in today’s stage, Matej Mohoric (Bahrain Victorious) had a terrible crash on a descent … here are a couple snapshots from the replay.

Mohoric is in a bit better shape than his bike, but will not be able to continue. He is moving very slowly in the way of somebody who is not okay. As detailed here he is suspected of having a concussion, though at least he stayed awake and alert and is clear-headed enough to remember his girlfriend’s phone number. I sure hope she hasn’t been watching on TV…

It’s a little hard to tell, but I think this complicated chart on the screen (when the hell will that coffee kick in?) is saying race non-favorite Vincenzo Nibali (Trek-Segafredo) is all the way back in the third group and putting up pretty unimpressive numbers.

Nibali, a past Giro winner, isn’t even in the top 20 so far this year. I really admire a guy willing to continue racing far past his prime because he’s still able to command a decent salary. That’s professionalism.

It has been brought to my attention that my translation of “maglia rosa” was not very helpful. I guess fans like me are so used to these expressions—“maillot jaune,” “maglia rosa,” “bidon”—that we don’t even translate them in our heads, not even when we’re trying to be helpful. The actual translation of “maglia rosa” is “pink sweater.” I don’t know why anyone would race in a sweater, much less a pink one, but then, these are no normal athletes.

OMG, they’re showing footage of the finishing stretch of this race, on a gravel road. I just drooled on my keyboard in anticipation.

The breakaway’s lead is down to 3:04 with 43 kilometers to go as the riders descend toward the penultimate climb, the Ovindoli (which is Italian for “sweater”). Okay, the break actually has 17 riders. Besides Bouchard, it features Tony Gallopin (AG2R-Citroen Team), George Bennett (Jumbo-Visma), Luis Leon Sanchez (Astana-Premier Tech) and Bauke Mollema (Trek-Segafredo). These are all great riders who nevertheless aren’t in the top 20 on GC.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Fashion bulletin! I take you away from the action for a moment to report on a sartorial choice that the EF Education-Nippo team has made this year. Gone are their horrible Pepto-Bismol-pink Energizer Bunny jerseys. They’ve got kind of a weird plaid pastel thing going. I’d say it’s a huge improvement.

The break rolls through the only intermediate sprint of the day, which isn’t much of a prize for all these climbers. It’s taken by either Gallopin or Bouchard, I can’t tell … those guys are dressing alike again.

Speaking of team uniforms, the AG2R jerseys (like you see above) are incredibly boring this year, aren’t they? Such a shame, since the original white/blue/brown design was so classic and tasteful.

The gap is down to 2:18 now, with 30 kilometers to go. Not looking so good for the break. Speaking of which, the break now breaks, as four dudes attack. Not sure who they are except Bouchard sitting fourth.

Okay, it’s five dudes. I’m not sure who the EF guy is, perhaps Simon Carr.

Okay, it’s definitely Carr because now he attacks and gets his name on the screen!

It’s getting ready to start raining. Carr is getting a good gap, with Bennett leading the chase.

This would be a very long solo move for Carr, but then much of the rest of the race is uphill so wind resistance won’t be such a factor. And now Bouchard closes the gap to Carr like it was nothing and takes the front. The two are pulling away!

Bouchard is either superstitious or wants to fit in with his superstitious colleagues, given his upside-down number. Not all riders observe this silly tradition, as detailed here.

The breakaway is over the summit and because I blinked at the wrong moment I didn’t see who took the KOM points. (Okay, it was more than a blink. I just went to turn up the thermostat because watching the rain start up onscreen is making me cold.) I think Bouchard will take the climber’s jersey after today regardless of whether he was first or second in this sprint.

Ah, here’s the official KOM standings and indeed, Bouchard has the lead.

By the way, Gino Mäder (Bahrain-Victorious), sitting second in the KOM, won solo in Stage 6, which must have been gratifying after he had a solo victory mercilessly snatched from him this year’s Paris-Nice, as detailed here.

Hard to say if this break could survive. The gap is coming down to the two leaders, and the peloton is only 2:33 back. If the GC battle picks up that gap could vanish. You can tell the peloton isn’t going very hard yet because they’re still gutter-to-gutter despite it being a windy day.

The announcer has just mentioned that there is no Sunday paper in Flanders. This will definitely be a crucial factor in how this race unfolds.

Whoah, Evenepoel takes the front, flanked by a teammate! Wouldn’t that be awesome, if they actually put the hurt on Ineos? And if there really were a Santa Claus?

Is that rain coming off Bouchard’s nose, or snot?

I’m going with snot. It could be due to the cold, or allergies, or even non-allergic rhinitis. I don’t think it’s raining hard enough yet to drip down like that.

The chasing trio—Mollema, Koen Bouwman (Jumbo-Visma), and Michael Storer (Team DSM)—can probably just about see the leading duo. Their gap is down to just ten seconds, but the peloton is closing as well. If I had to guess I’d say the break is doomed, though one or two riders might spring from it and stay away.

Now Bouchard attacks Carr! Whoa!

Carr, suddenly going backwards, is quickly caught by the chasing trio.

The road is really twisty, with off-camber turns, so that favors the breakaway riders. The peloton will be clumsier through them, if it’s still intact in two minutes.

Movistar mass at the front. I guess they’re working for Marc Soler, sitting 13th on GC, 1:14 down.

The peloton is closing the gap to the chase group, but not to Bouchard. He’s really suffering and sneaks a look behind him, pointlessly.

Now Ineos goes to the front to do their thing.

Bouchard looks pretty miserable. You can’t tell from this still photo, but he’s doing that bobble-head thing.

Damn, he’s going fast though! His lead is up to 31 seconds!

Bouwman takes off after Bouchard and he looks pretty good. He’s still in the big ring, for crying out loud!

And just like that, the peloton sucks down the rest of the break like a cold cola.

Bouchard slogs through the tunnel just a couple klicks from the finish. I have never used the word “klick” before and had to look up the spelling.

Bouchard is out of the tunnel and still in the lead.

Bouchard is on the dirt!

But Bouwman is getting close!

And Bouwman has got him! But the peloton is closing in! Bouwman goes to the front and drills it!

In the peloton, Valter is dropped and Bernal sits second behind a teammate, poised to attack. In the last 300 meters, the gap has dropped from 40 seconds to just 18!

Now Vlasov and Evenepoel come toward the front and look ready to try something. It’s time for Bernal to show his stuff. Gap is now down to just 10 seconds.

Bernal attacks! It’s so blistering it’s sending shock waves so huge that they’re messing up the satellite linkup and making everything blurry!

OMG, Bernal is absolutely shredding it! He’s scattering the peloton to the four winds! Only Guilio Ciccone (Trek-Segafredo) can hang with him! Vlasov cannot hold the wheel!

And now Bernal and Ciccone totally overhaul the leading duo! How savage! How merciless! Poor guys had just 400 meters left to hang on but it was not to be.

And now Bernal drops Ciccone and is all-in for a solo victory!

Bernal is putting the pussy on the chainwax! The gap to Ciccone yawns out massively!

Bernal’s got the win! But there’s no victory salute or anything, all he seems to care about is taking maximum time!

He doesn’t even smile! It’s his first grand tour stage win but he’s decidedly non-jubilant! He’s the Nadia Comăneci of cycling!

Back in the whirling confetti of what had been the peloton, Valter falters!

He’ll lose the pink sweater for sure! Which was inevitable! But still! He’s gonna miss that big pink puffy handlebar tape tomorrow when he’s just another bike racer!

As the camera pans out, you can see Valter way back there, gradually approaching the line, with 39 seconds already having elapsed to Bernal. Valter will definitely slide down the GC today.

Here’s Valter getting some water. Does his name rhyme with anything else useful? I don’t know. The bigger question is, can Valter solder his GC ambitions back together again? Okay, sorry, that was bad … I’m just a little punch-drunk here.

At least Valter is still on his feet. Look at Bouchard, who’s so fried he can’t even stand anymore. His whole body is heaving … is it because he’s crying, or just shivering in the cold? I can’t tell.

Here’s the stage result. Evenepoel faded a bit at the end but managed to basically hold things together. The ever-dependable Dan Martin rounded out the top five.

And here’s the new GC. The top ten are all within a minute of one another, so the race is far from over.

For some reason they’re interviewing Alexander Vinokourov, the director of Astana-Premier Tech. “Bernal was the strongest today,” says the sage. Asked if the GC race is basically over, he says, “No, there are a ton of hard stages left.” Is there anything interesting about this interview? Well, yes. Vinokourov is a Kazakh but is speaking perfect French, which the British announcer is flawlessly translating into English.

Now Bernal is on the podium celebrating his stage win. He’s really struggling with the champagne bottle. He’s been untwisting the wire for over a minute now. Maybe his hands are really cold. Or maybe his bike racer arms are buckling under the weight of that magnum. It’s starting to get absurd. Surely one of the podium ladies would have come to help by now except for, of course, the need to socially distance. Bernal is on his own.

Finally he gets it but fights with the cork and then barely has the strength to spray the champagne. Not shown: Bernal’s second struggle with a second magnum of champagne during the maglia rosa presentation. Here he is pretending to be happy up on the podium. Of course it’s harder to perceive facial expressions given the masks, but look in his eyes. They’ve got that dead look to them, like they’ve seen so many horrors, he’s just kind of inured.

Here’s Bouchard getting his KOM jersey. He’s not smiling either, but then he’s just had his heart broken.

Now they interview Bernal. “I was not sure to take the stage today,” Bernal says, “but my teammates, they really like me. They tell me I’m good enough, and smart enough … so I did this big beautiful win and it’s possible I might even manage to smile about it at some point. By the way, it may look like I’m crying right now but those are just raindrops. Or maybe snot.”

(Full disclosure: I paraphrased that interview. It was hard to hear because Bernal was speaking while the announcer was translating. Okay, fine, I didn’t make out a word of it.)

Now Bouchard takes the mic.

INTERVIEWER: Are you okay?

BOUCHARD: Yes, I will be okay, but it’s never good when somebody comes flying by with 400 meters to go and ruins your life. I hear Bernal has been sleeping with my girl as well. My dad just texted me: “You’ve always been a loser, son.” My disappointment is absolute and my pride irrevocably shattered.

INTERVIEWER: Is the KOM jersey any consolation?

BOUCHARD: Well, I do like the color. Better than that bland-ass white AG2R kit, anyway.

Well, that’s about it for today. Come back to albertnet on Saturday, May 22 for my Stage 14 blow-by-blow … it’ll be epic, finishing atop the legendary Monte Zoncolan!

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From the Archives - HAZOP Blues

Introduction 

Ages ago, before beginning the career I’m in now, I worked for a chemical engineering firm. That’s how it described itself, anyway. I never saw actual engineering take place; the day-to-day work was safety audits of refineries and chemical plants. It supposedly paid really well but I didn’t experience that firsthand.

What follows is a report I sent around via email, before blogs were a thing. This was almost before email was a thing … it was still pretty new and required me to plug my laptop (a prehistoric thing the size of a phone book—if you remember those) into a modem about the size of a pack of cards, and plug this into a phone jack in my hotel room. The bandwidth was 2400 baud, which was almost indescribably slow, as in 1/42,000th of what modern networks deliver. What’s more, you paid by the minute and had to be online the whole time you were composing your message, because it was a terminal emulator that didn’t support copy-and-paste. All this privation is surely why life expectancy was so much shorter then. It’s a good thing I lived through that dark period, so I can look forward to a long life ahead of me.

Okay, enough of this. It’s time to put up your feet, crack a beer, and enjoy this tale from my archives. It’s a sad one.

HAZOP Blues – September 16, 1995

I’m in Pasadena, California recording a Hazard and Operability study, which is interesting only to the extent that I can understand it. (Which I basically don’t.) The HAZOP process is really about as pedantic an exercise as I’ve ever been through. A team of six or eight people from a variety of engineering backgrounds sits around systematically brainstorming potential deviations from the design intent of a process (in this case, a gasoline field in Colombia, which is supposedly the largest construction project in the world right now). The team brainstorms the potential consequences of deviations, what safeguards are in place, and whether or not recommendations need to be made to improve the safety of the system.

It’s not as exciting as it sounds. The only consolation is the food: top-notch restaurants, every meal. Fortunately the Doubletree hotel here has a gym; unfortunately I have yet to take advantage of it. Instead I sit here, in my glorious new paisley boxers, with the rush of L.A. coming through the window. Still my guitar gently weeps.

The HAZOP team here (among whom I sit, pounding on the keys like a court stenographer) is made up of three local engineers (one a mad-scientist looking guy; one right out of Dilbert; an Indian American; a sporty fellow from BP in England; and two Colombians). Over lunch (lobster ravioli with lemon cream sauce, $15.95), I talked to the Colombians about cycling. They were very enthusiastic and knowledgeable, and were thrilled that I remembered that Jose Patrocinio Jiminez won the Coors Classic in 1982, and that Luis (or was it Lucho?) Herrera won the KOM in the Tour. They speak very highly of Andy Hampsten. They knew about the fistfight that resulted in disqualification of two riders a few days ago in the Tour of Spain. They understand that small front wheels do not result in increased aerodynamics in individual time trials. Finally, I’ve found some common ground with these fellows, since I don’t have anything interesting to say about chemical engineering.

While working down here in Pasadena I am continually faking an attitude of enthusiasm. This constant façade is difficult to maintain, so I’ve decided to vent all over you.

I’ve having a very hard time with the sessions. I don’t understand the chemical engineering aspects of the HAZOP, so witnessing the brainstorming is about as exciting as waiting for my wife at the cosmetics counter. At least I get to sit … otherwise I’d suffer a severe case of museum knees. As it is, my hands get sore because I’m typing like a madman the whole time, with my computer screen projected on the wall via a nifty (and expensive) LCD datapad. This means the team gets to find fault with what I’m typing. It’s not that I make typos; it’s that I don’t actually know what words to type. Everybody’s talking at once and I lack the knowledge to successfully synthesize and combine all of their various thoughts. It’s kind of like a psychiatrist attempting to simultaneously analyze both halves of a split personality. Except it’s worse: there are six engineers on the team, comprising four different accents and usually about six different points of view.

The worst part is, when they recommend a double-failsafe trip on a check valve, I’m supposed to know what check valve it they’re talking about (UVV-493012-001, for example) and type the number into the worksheet. This is difficult because all I have to go on is a fifty-page, 11x17” Piping and Instrument Diagram that has about 1,000 valves on each page, the depictions of which would collectively fit on the head of a pin.

The end result is that I’m simultaneously overwhelmed and bored, which means I have a hell of a time staying awake. It’s just like college in that regard. Today my eyelids actually closed several times, each time for a dangerous and terrible one or two seconds. I may have to resort to double espressos if I’m to continue this for two more weeks.

I do derive some small solace from the hotel here, which is fabulous. I have a real furry bathmat, instead of just an extra-thick towel. Maria, my maid, leaves new bottles of shampoo and new soaps every day, even though I’ve obviously just pilfered the ones I already had. I left her a dirty shirt this morning with a note, and by the time I returned to my room in the evening, the shirt was cleaned and neatly pressed and returned to the closet, left hanging of a fine stout wire hanger that, like the soap and shampoo, I get to bring home with me. But that’s not all. The maid not only took care of my shirt, made my bed, and cleaned up my room, but she also got on my computer and repartitioned my fragmented hard drive. I tell you, the service here is fantastic.

Perhaps the best thing about this room is that the windows have giant wooden shutters that, when closed, are absolutely opaque. At night, the room is as dark as a cabin up in the mountains on a moonless night, which is to say, pitch black. This kind of darkness is about the only way I can really submit to an utterly complete and delicious sleep (a depth of sleep that I rarely even get at home).

Of course, this degree of submittal is very dangerous. I become so tranquil, and sink into such a heavy slumber, that almost nothing can awake me. However, if something does—for example, several cars outside my window defying the odds by backfiring simultaneously, or an anvil being dropped on the floor in the room above me—I do wake up. And when I do, I experience a sudden and terrifying shift from the sacred slumber to a state of alarm—head jerking back and forth, eyes darting around in vain for some kind of visual data with which to supply my information-starved brain. Basically, it scares the daylights out of me (a problematic metaphor, I know, since this happens in the black of night).

I bring up this awful phenomenon because it happened last night. I have no idea what awoke me, except for my own blood-curdling scream. The scream is an automatic part of the whole experience. The last time this happened at home was on the night of a power failure which rendered even San Francisco completely dark. I was awakened when a giant framed and glassed picture fell off the wall, hit the hardwood floor, and shattered into a million pieces. Although I woke up screaming, I had no memory of the sound, and no idea anything had fallen. (I do have a memory of my wife asking, when I’d finally stopped screaming, “What fell?” I was utterly bewildered. Something fell?)

This time was no different, except that I never did find out what initially woke me up. I just know that my own screaming scared the crap out of me.

I think you know full well how loud my voice can be, especially when I’m greatly excited; now imagine a scream. It would make Hannibal Lecter’s blood run cold. Perhaps what the most terrifying thing about hearing my own scream is that in a way, I’m a spectator to it; I don’t know why I’m screaming, but have a pretty good idea that I sure as hell must be in some kind of real danger to scream like that.

After the scream was finally over, and I was done shaking on the bed, spinning blindly in a black void, I gradually calmed down enough to consider the scream objectively. Then, I had the unsettling realization that the police could burst in at any moment to find out what was going on. I also was afraid to fall back asleep—and indeed, even in my greatly troubled psychological state I was quite close to complete unconsciousness—since whatever had awakened me, I feared, would repeat itself, and I would scream again and this time for sure somebody would come arrest me. It really ruined a good night’s sleep … sleep I badly needed before today’s HAZOP.

Today went exactly as I described above, except that I was extra tired, and the team was grumpy and argumentative. Somehow, I got a dumb old Journey song stuck in my head (“She took a midnight train going a-ny-where . . “) which only made matters worse. The breaks were also a drag because last night my boss checked his voice-mail and the last of his senior engineers had left a message announcing his resignation. (Such is the boon of high technology: you don’t even have to have a backbone anymore.) Well, that engineer had supposedly been my direct supervisor, the Group Leader, so his resignation is causing a shakeup in the company hierarchy, as can be expected. But what’s especially dismal about this shakeup is how half-hearted all the shakeup is: there’s simply nobody left to supervise here anyway. Our office now has a grand total of three engineers, including my boss. Of those three, my boss fully expects a certain one to quit shortly, leaving an absurd two engineers total.

This total engineer count is down from about ten when I started here, not all that long ago. I mean, we’ve always wanted a project backlog, but not like this! Now, we have all these projects (business was actually in the process of taking off) and no staff to do them. I expect to spend four hours tonight working on another project for another client, and tomorrow we have to drive down to Long Beach to meet with said client. It just never lets up.

I cannot tell you how relieved I am that I don’t have a chemical engineering degree. I’ll never have to step up and be one of the overworked engineers. The only other silver lining I can think of is that I get paid time-and-a-half for all my overtime, which means by the time this HAZOP is over, I’ll be ready to retire and buy a $6,000 house in Claflin, Kansas, where my wife and I can live out the rest of our days as clerks at the AM/PM Mini-Mart. If we save enough, we might even buy a carpet cleaning franchise and be bona-fide business owners. Stranger things have happened!

To be continued...

This tale continues here with HAZOP Blues II: The Spawning!

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