For the first time in its history, the Italian broadcasters have televised the 300km Milan-Sanremo in its entirety, from starting city Milan to finishing town Sanremo on the Mediterranean Coast near Monaco and the French border. The announcement made the cycling world scratch their heads, “As much as we all love the Milan-Sanremo, do we really need to have all 300 km of it available? Surely there are other more productive uses of our time than watching the whole thing.” From my perspective in America this broadcasting decision had little effect on me as the race would be half over by the time I awoke in the wee hours of the morning before the dawn. But the Italian organizers took this action to compensate for the fact that amidst the pandemic the tifosi—the Italian fans—were encouraged not to show up and cheer on the roadside for the second edition of Milan-Sanremo in a row. Sad circumstances, but let us dwell on the idea of this full 300km Milan-Sanremo broadcast.
The Milan-Sanremo is arguably the greatest finish in cycling, the last 30km are if not intense, at the very least extremely tense. The last 10km are an amazing feast of finely-balanced variables, and in addition to giving it their best effort the winner needs quite a few things to fall into place for the race to go his way. But what of the first 270km of this race? Ah! It is the slowest of burns, surely the longest and perhaps even the most exhausting warmup cycling has to offer. At first, I liken it is to a massive 30-gallon cauldron filled to the brim with water needing to be brought to a boil on a regular kitchen stove that can support the cauldron’s weight. But this analogy is appallingly poor: for when the cauldron is finally brought to a boil, all one shall have is 30 gallons of boiling water. Not good enough, not good enough indeed. If we are to metaphorize the Milan-Sanremo’s slow burn, its finish must be compared to something far more extravagant than plain boiling water. Thus, let us begin the best extended simile I can contrive as Homer did of old to devastating effect.
Though in the past Milan-Sanremo has been associated with Beloved St. Joseph, and it was his Solemnity celebrated just yesterday that is still fresh in many people’s minds, I dare stretch our minds back a few days further to another celebrated Sanctus’ feast day: the one of Irish fame. Yes, March 17th is still a day of high international acclaim for the missionary and apostle of Ireland, St. Patrick. On such a day, in many households, one among them arises early just as the peloton did this morning for the Milan-Sanremo. The one who arises early on St. Patrick’s Day does so with a special purpose in mind: already he or she is thinking of and preparing for a traditional evening Feast to properly celebrate this great Feast Day of St. Patrick with others all over the world. Packed away deep in the cabinet—many pots and pans must the preparer move to get to it—the preparer finds it stored away in the back because of its infrequent use. With some effort and care, the preparer pulls out and places the slow-cooker—the Crock Pot I name it—onto the kitchen counter. Out comes the cutting board and the vegetables to be chopped, just as the team buses arrive in Milan for the race’s start. The potatoes, the onions, the carrots, and of course the cabbage are chopped up and dumped into the basin of the beautiful pot—let us consider these vegetables the bit players, the servant-domestiques of the Milan-Sanremo lined up at the Startline. And then it is time to break out the main course of the meal whose weight the vegetable-domestiques below shall literally support. Yes, you know of what I speak: the Corned Beef—the traditional meat of choice on St. Patrick’s Day, as synonymous with the Irish day as turkey is with Thanksgiving. Yes, the Corned Beef itself symbolizes our contenders, our top favorites of the day: not only our Mathieu Van Der Poels (Alpecin-Fenix), or our Wout Van Aerts (Jumbo-Visma), or our Julian Alaphilippes (Deceuninck-Quickstep), but the pure sprinters too like Sam Bennett (Deceuninck-Quickstep) and Caleb Ewan (Lotto Soudal) who hope the race stays together for a sprint, and the dark horses who hope this is the year they shall not be marked: men like Philippe Gilbert (Lotto Soudal) who needs only this Monument to have won all five, the Corona-recovering Peter Sagan (Bora Hansgrohe), and veterans and youngsters like Greg Van Avermaet (AG2R) and Tom Pidcock (Ineos Grenadiers) who want to be underestimated. The spice packet poured onto these Corned Beef contenders is their extra motivation and peak for this Monumental race that all hope to win. The couple cups of water poured into the whole basin symbolizes all the water and vitals the riders must consume before and during the race. With those elements in place, the Crock Pot is turned on to a warm setting for the longest time duration possible, and in Milan the riders clip in and pedal their first strokes towards Sanremo. And fear not, I have not forgotten the last element, the Crock Pot concoction is not completed until half-a-bottle or half-a-can of Guiness or whatever fine dark beer the preparer has on hand is poured over the meat to add one last glorious layer of flavor—just as an early breakaway of 10 or so men with little hope animate the race from its infancy by going on the attack from the start of the 300km race.
Perhaps you say such an analogy would be more fitting if the race were directly on St. Patrick’s Day itself. And you would be right, but they are rather comparable, are they not? Or are you not yet convinced? Let me extend this extended simile further then. With the feast prepared, there are still hours until it is properly ready, much like how it shall take Sanremo hours to become exciting. Slow burn, slow burn. Just as the vegetables and Corned Beef must be tenderized slowly in the stew for hours and hours, so must the legs of domestiques and contending favorites over hundreds of kilometers. With all the early preparations done for the Corned Beef, the preparer can go on with their St. Patrick’s Day: prehaps it involves parades and one too many perfectly poured Guinness—a three-fingered foamy head on all. During such events, the preparer and the rest of the future-feasters forget the Feast cooking away for their pleasure to come this evening. Similarly, though this 6-hour 38-minute Milan-Sanremo may have been on playing the background, it was not attracting any attention in its early hours. Meanwhile for our hypothetical St. Patrick’s Day celebraters: after many hours, the sun begins to sink towards the Western horizon, the temperature begins to drop, the cows start to consider coming home. And thus, when the preparer and those who shall share in the Feast come back home and into the kitchen, they are greeted by quite an alluring aroma that surely makes all the mouths water—yes, yes their sense of smell alerts them that they shall have quite a meal this evening! I tell you this is the same feeling we, the viewers, get when more than halfway through the race, the Milan-Sanremo peloton reaches the Ligurian Coast on the Mediterranean Sea. On a sunny day, the beauty cannot be rivalled, all the scenery is gorgeous and shall not let up all the way to Sanremo itself and beyond. The clear and deep blue water, the pristine and tranquil beaches, the picturesque juts and outcrops of rock and stone and cliff, the snaking coastline road without blemish, the fantastic small island getaways forested with green treetops all over within range of the helicopters’ cameras, the riders pass in and out of the basking evening rays of light and the flickering shadows appear to dance before the riders’ views; to simply see such things on television delights the eye just as the smell of the cooking Crock Pot aroma delights the nose. It is for this reason, I find this Instant Pot craze an abomination. For convenience of time, some heathens sacrifice the hours-long mouthwatering build up that is enjoyable in itself, and makes the slow-cooked meal even more tasty and rewarding. Those who opt to skip such a process are the same who might only watch the last 10km of Milan-Sanremo, the people whose favorite sport is American Football because they can check their phones every 6-seconds between plays, they are the people whose attention cannot even be held for the entire 10 seconds of the Olympic 100m Dash. But yes, as the aromas of the Crock Pot permeate throughout the home and the Milan-Sanremo travels along the picturesque coast, we know the end approaches and we eagerly await the finish.
Around 250km into the Milan-Sanremo, with only some 50 kmto go, the race comes to the Tre-Capi—the Capo Mele, the Capo Cervo, the Capo Berta—three short climbs in quick succession. Think of this part of the race as the part in the slow-cooking process where the preparer unfastens the Crock Pot lid to release into the room the same delicious smells with five-times the potency. Though the preparer does this exercise mostly to tease themselves and those with any sense of smell premptively, the preparer also pokes at the Corned Beef a little bit to gage its tenderness. This is the purpose of the Tre-Capi in the Milan-Sanremo: how do these little climbs effect the top favorites? Not tender enough yet, the meat still needs a bit more time, the contenders all still have too fresh of legs even if the vegetable-domestiques are mostly well cooked by now. But when the lid is closed again, the eager anticipation will not abate until the meal has been tasted, the same is true of the Milan-Sanremo: we have thus entered the crush-time of the race! It was full speed ahead for the peloton today, and the breakaway was reeled up faster than a squirming fish on the line. It was all hands on deck, it was time for the domestiques to earn their wages, all left must fight for the front into the Cipressa climb. Yes, yes, as is always the case, when the peloton turned right onto the Cipressa the Finale was really finally begun with 90% of the race complete. Just as all the riders always lift off up that climb, so the preparer of the Irish Feast once more lifts off the lid. And this time, with fork in hand, battling the scalding hot vapors rising and the floating flotsam and jetsam amidst the boiling liquids, the preparer breaks off a corner of the Corned Beef to test its taste and flavor. That corner of meat the preparer rips off and tastes symbolizes the pretender contenders not on top form this day if they are already being shelled out this early. Alas! This year in that taste-testing bite of meat were Alberto Bettiol (EF Education-Nippo) and Fernando Gaviria (UAE). O! Truly if the pace was too high for these great ones, then this shall be another tasty meal! Wout Van Aert’s Jumbo-Visma team set a relentless pace up the Cipressa so that not even a fool could attempt to attack. On the descent it was an armada of Grenadiers snaking their way down the sinuous road. And with that, the finale was begun and the singular taste test was over—yes, yes, both the meat and the legs were by then well tenderized. At this point, the lid must go back onto the Crock Pot and Feast for a few more minutes only while the dining-room table is set, and meanwhile this 112th Milan-Sanremo hit its last 9km flat stretch.
After 9 flat kilometers of ferocious pace that involve lead out trains as well-drilled and powerful as the trains seen in the Grand Tour sprints, what remains of the peloton swung right onto the iconic Poggio climb for the decisive final moves: the moment we have all waited for! Yes, this is when the lid is lifted off the Crock Pot for the final time and the flavorful smells are restrained no longer. A fork is stabbed into the meat, just as pace was injected into the peloton and the contenders were on high alert looking for a race winning attack. The Corned Beef is placed onto the cutting board, while the cooked vegetables are ladled out onto the Feasters’ plates—just as the domestiques five by five were shelled out the back with their tanks emptied and jobs done for the day in service of their leader and meaty contender for the victory. After three or four minutes of the Corned Beef resting—three or four minutes of Poggio climbing having commmenced for the contenders—the butcher’s cleaver arrives. Who were at the front, in position to be the first sliced and separated? The Ineos Grenadiers and riders of Lotto Soudal with Caleb Ewan, their crown jewel sprinter, nestled into their front formation ranks. Behind Quickstep’s Alaphilippe, Jumbo’s Van Aert, BikeExchange’s Michael Matthews, and AG2R’s Van Avermaet were all placed well. Ah! But Alpecin’s Van Der Poel, Mathieu Van Der Poel who wearing his Dutch Champion’s jersey with the famous flamboyant and daring white shorts—could anything be a better symbol of this man’s audacity—was further down the strung out line of contenders and potentially out of position still too far back. At this point in the race, after so many hours of cooking, such an intense butcher’s blade is overkill for by now the meat and legs are O! so tender—a butter knife could suffice. And there, at the front of the meat, against the grain, the first slice is cut, and the first rider launched a race winning attack. For the third year in a row, the fireworks were lit off on the Poggio by the Musketeer Julian Alaphilippe, the Champion of the World, and instantly on his wheel was the adeptly placed Wout Van Aert, the defending Sanremo champion. Bora’s Max Schachmann took it upon himself to spend all his energy bridging up to the two rockets launching away, behind him was the out of place Van Der Poel with his white shorts who seemed to be doing a full sprint to catch the leading pair as well, the consequence of his poor position. Behind five more men hung in their slipstreams by a fingernail…one of those men: pure sprinter Caleb Ewan. Knowing he had not the talent to match the explosive uphill attacks of the Classics Men and hilly puncheurs: it was for this very reason Lotto Soudal had their Aussie Pocket-Rocket Caleb Ewan as close to the front as was possible for the whole Poggio climb so that he would have the shortest possible distance to close once the decisive attack was launched. Caleb Ewan was the most impressive rider of the day, he climbed out of his pure sprinter’s skin to stay with this front group. Van Der Poel and Schachmann connected the bridge to Van Aert and Alaphilippe—but how energy did the effort take? Latched on behind were five to six men including Ewan, with more possibly bridging over too if any sort of let up transpired.
Over the top of the Poggio, in addition to those already named, Matteo Trentin (UAE), Jasper Stuyven (Trek-Segafredo), Soren Kragh Andersen (Team DSM), Michael Matthews, Greg Van Avermaet, Tom Pidcock (Ineos Genadiers), Sonny Colbrelli (Bahrain Victorious), Michal Kwaitkowski (Ineos Grenadiers), and Peter Sagan were still in contention for this win. No matter who was part of which Corned Beef slices, it seemed these tender slices appeared the choicest ones and were placed on the plate of the guest of honor. Caleb Ewan the Pocket-Rocket slid up to be in Van Aert’s wheel as Van Aert took over the front to inject more pace—what fantastic form Ewan was showing this day! Down the descent it was Wout Van Aert leading and getting a clean look at every turn with Caleb Ewan glued to his wheel in second position. Down they descended like stones, but it was the small in stature and light in mass Tom Pidcock that shimmied his was to the front of the group trying to find separation on this ultimate of descents. Pidcock noticeably raised the pace, but skillful Van Aert did not let his cyclocross rival get any sort of gap. It was a leading group of a dozen men together at the bottom of the Poggio. Yes, at this point in the metaphorical Feast, the slices of Corned Beef are now placed in front of the guest of honor. That honorable one gingerly cuts up the slices into bit sizes pieces symbolizing the remaining riders as individuals who shall now launch the last fast and furious attacks. Whichever piece the guest first selects shall be the winner of this Milan-Sanremo. With 3km to go, 99% of the race finished, an opportunist—one who knows he is no match for Ewan or even Wout and Mathieu in a sprint—rolled his dice and took his chance at glory: Trek’s Jasper Stuvyen launched an attack. Pidcock tried to latch on, but could not and he sat up and so did the rest of the group of contenders. Such a piece as this was what Stuvyen needed to fall into place should his attack have had any chance: solo-Stuyven was now free to empty the tank in a couple kilometer pursuit to the finish, while the others started the cat-and-mousing game-theory behind. None wanted to attempt to lead the bridge to Stuvyen, for it would be suicidal for their chances in the final sprint to transpire some two minutes later. Bora’s Max Schachmann was the only one to attempt a chase, for he had fast-sprinting teammate Peter Sagan in this group to sacrifice himself for, and yet Schachmann sat up when he had no support at all. And just like that there were only 1500m to go, DSM’s Kragh Andersen launched an attack that no one covered—had they all learned nothing from last year’s Tour de France or was Kragh Andersen simply that good at launching perfectly-timed solo attacks? Pidcock tried the same seconds later, but Van Aert latched onto him and weighed him down like an anchor. Under the Red Kite, Kragh Andersen latched onto race leader Stuyven’s back wheel, the two had a three or four second lead on the dozen or so chasing favorites behind who still showed no signs of cohesion. Van Aert was stuck on the front sucking the wind and openly looking over his shoulder, Ewan was still on his wheel surely knowing it was his best path to victory, Van Der Poel in his white shores came next looking weary, and Peter Sagan looking poised was behind him—perhaps even enjoying not having the weighty pressure of race favorite for the first time. With 600m to go, Trentin snaps and bit the bullet and played his hand as he dared to bridge to the leading pair where Kragh Andersen was on the front sharing the pace with Jasper Stuvyen. With 500m, Trentin swung over to make another in the long line behind him takeover the bridge, it was Alaphilippe the Musketeer next in line who would have to do the bridging. Alaphilippe began frantically sprinting hard with ten riders still inline behind him. Certainly he knew this effort would be in vain, but there was nothing else left for him to try, alas! the race had not fallen his way. Alaphilippe got the leading group within 20m of the leading pair and then Van Der Poel in his audacious white shorts launched his final sprint, while Jasper Stuyven came out of Kragh Andersen’s wheel with only 150m to go to launch his own. Van Der Poel, that titan of this generation, was closing hard, and shoulder-to-shoulder with him now sprinting at full gas as well was the Pocket-Rocket Caleb Ewan. Kragh Andersen was defeated as soon as Stuyven launched his sprint, he had not the energy to even hang on for second place. And despite the telling white shorts, neither did Van Der Poel this day, out of his slipstream on his right came Wout Van Aert who almost drew even with the aerodynamic bullet that is Caleb Ewan. Perhaps it was Van Der Poel’s massive efforts to correct for his poor positioning on the Poggio that caused him to not have the ultimate sprinting-speed this day. And perhaps the chips just did not fall Van Aert’s way as he had ended up working too hard on the front for much of the last decisive 10km. And even though Ewan rode the craftiest Sanremo he possibly could and did everything right, always to win Sanremo not only must one ride a perfect race: so many toss-up variables must fall their way as well. Caleb Ewan the Pocket-Rocket from Australia came within a length of the winner, but it was Jasper Stuyven of Trek-Segafredo who had rode his own best possible Sanremo to take the victory in the only way he could. Like the retired champion Fabian Cancellara who was once on this same Trek team, Stuyven had attacked on those last flat kilometers, the metaphorical “chips” all fell the way he needed, and he ended up perfectly measuring out his last effort just enough to take the victory.
And thus, it was another Sanremo done-and-dusted. Jasper Stuyven’s piece of beef was the first to be picked out almost at random by the guest honor. And thus, the guest of honor would chew the meat, and then turn to the preparer of the fine St. Patrick’s Day meal to say “Many hours ago, you arose so early in the morn to prepare this Feast. In eager anticipation we have all awaited it as the sun rose and sank. Now that I have tasted it, I can assuredly say this was well worth the wait. It was perfectly cooked, and pulled not a moment too soon. Had I a hat on for this meal I would tip it to you. You have won my highest of praises.” Thus too, all viewing yet another 300km Milan-Sanremo applaud with similar highest praises this slow-cooking race whose finish always delights us so. The Sprinters’ Monument ended in a fine sprint once more. Such a fine sprint and thrilling finale would not have been possible had the legs all been just even a little fresher. Limits were pushed, anticipation was built up, heartbreak and victory both came about, and it is for those reasons we love every edition of the enduring and endearing Milan-Sanremo.
Cycling Odysseys 