Tirreno-Adriatico Musings

And once more, it is time for the Italians’ premier weeklong World Tour stage race. The race in direct competition with France’s Paris-Nice. What is the competition? Why, of course the races partially overlap and thus both compete to have the more prestigious Startlist. Which has attracted more top General Classification (GC) riders who shall later wrestle for control of the Pink, Yellow, and Red Jerseys of the Grand Tours to come later in the Summer? Which attracts more headliner and flashy sprinters who dazzle the fans with their speedy wheels and powerful legs? But whereas Paris-Nice was founded in the 1930s, Tirreno dates back only to the 1960s, what were some ambitious Italians thinking going up against the mighty French Paris-Nice? Whether this is the exact story, let me say what must be the most logical for the daring overlap. From its creation, the weeklong Paris-Nice—remember for most of its history it was consider an early season warmup race—was ideal preparation for the long 300 km Milan-Sanremo Monument a week after it, the first massive objective of the season for many riders. Though in the 1960s Tirreno was started by a relatively small cycling club, it quickly grew in prestige as it attracted Roger De Vlaeminck, Monsieur Paris-Roubaix, one of the greatest Classics riders of all time, throughout the 1970s; and then the Italian archrivals Francesco Moser and Giuseppe Saronni always contested another battle here in their careers-long war in the 1980s. These larger-than-life characters helped put the race on the map…and provided alternative and warmer Italian training grounds before the Italian Milan-Sanremo Monument. More or less, in the late decades of the 20th Century all the big French races were bought up by the ASO Company that owns the Tour de France, while all the major Italian races were bought up by the RCS Company that owns the Giro d’Italia. Thus yes, to this day there is a Cold War between the French ASO and the Italian RCS. Each own a Grand Tour over a century-old, each own the respective newspapers that is linked with the founding of that Grand Tour, and each now own the top Classics, Monuments, and World Tour stage races in their domains. Thus perhaps now you can see the indignation that RCS and the Italians must feel when they scoff at the idea of moving Tirreno-Adraitico from its ideal Sanremo preparation spot; RCS do not want some French ASO owned Pari-Nice to be the ideal preparation race for their Milan-Sanremo.

Thus with the overlap explained and the feud exposed, which race proves better preparation for Milan-Sanremo, Paris-Nice or Tirreno-Adriatico? The answer is not completely conclusive, for the past decade the winner of Sanremo has about equally come from Paris-Nice and Tirreno. But Tirreno has pulled out a few more advantages over Paris-Nice beyond producing about an equal amount of Sanremo winners. Let us put on our geography spectacles as all cycling fans must often, and should love to, do. Tirreno-Adriatico is nicknamed “The Race Between the Two Seas.” Yes, Italy is of course a peninsula surrounded by one continuous body of water called the Mediterranean (literally “In the Middle of Lands”), and to the old Masters of Italy, the mighty Romans, it was called simply Mare Nostrum (literally “Our Sea”) for eventually they owned every land around it. But truly, truly, the Mediterranean is too big, for the Romans hunting enemy or pirate fleets, to say they were seen on the waters of the Mediterranean would mean nothing—more specific divisions must be bestowed on its regional parts. Hence, the body of water between the east coast of Italy and the islands of Corisca, Sardinia, and Sicily has become known as the Tyrrhenian Sea. Meanwhile the almost cove-sea that is formed on Italy’s west coast, from the bottom of the Heel up to floating Venice, and the coastal countries of what was once Yugoslavia form the Adriatic Sea. Hence, from the Tirreno to the Adriatico, The Race Between the Two Seas. And hence the race has a fetching Blue Leader’s Jersey symbolizing those seas. And hence the trophy that is one of the rare coveted prizes in cycling that are not a jersey, for the trophy presented to the winner of Tirreno-Adriatico is a massive golden Trident—search out pictures for yourself, this masterpiece is worth a gander. All of this necessary geography lesson not only explains the name, but also tells us the race is further South than the Northern Paris-Nice. Thus, Tirreno usually has fairer weather than its French counterpart which can be a perk to attract better competitive fields. Additionally, the RCS master-stroke of the past decade was to place Strade Bianche on the Saturday before, have Tirreno start four days later midweek, and finish midweek three or four day before Sanremo on the next weekend: this fortnight of Italian racing forms a compact racing or training block of minimal travel and attracts many big GC and Classics men to attend all three Italian races. And in addition to the location perks of the race’s Southern geography and cozy position on the calendar, the race is a more controlled affair than the French Paris-Nice.

For better and worse, the seven-day Tirreno-Adriatico has a constricting and traditional route and lay out. It truly is better for the riders, mild weather can be bet on for all the days except one, two at most. The pattern of the race is not so dynamic, and that actually provides better racing conditions for all the men with an eye or two on Sanremo only a few days after this race’s completion—the racing can be a healthy hard but it will not leave them wrecked for the Monument to come. This unfortunately is where the race proves worse for the fans. Were I rider who wished to perform well at both Strade and Sanremo, you can certainly bet I would be attending Tirreno-Adriatico over Paris-Nice for all the already stated reasons. But as a fan, the Tirreno route usually seems to be too controlled, never dynamic enough, and more is to be desired—especially compared to the wild and spectacular finishes that have been seen at Paris-Nice. As stated, this race starts on the coast of the Tirreno, the starting latitude varies year to year but it is always north of Rome. In the past the first stage was either a flat short Team Time Trial or an extremely flat sprint—along the coast of course is the best hope of finding entirely sea-level roads. One of the second or third stages is usually also a flat sprinter’s affair, whereas the other stage usually finishes into one of the many hilltop villages that provide the Classics men with an interesting little couple of kilometer climb finishing test. On the weekend that abnormally comes on Stages 4 and 5 of this race, the top GC men get to come to the fore. Usually, one of the stages is rather hilly—hilly enough to shell out the sprinters and even most of the Classics men who are big of build and have difficulty keeping up over a climb longer than a handful of kilometers. The other weekend stage is usually a proper mountain stage in the Apennines of Italy. The Apennines are the mountain range that form the spine of the Italian boot; they are not as beloved as the ranges far in the North of the country, but these are the major mountains that are crossed in this race, and are usually the only range hopefully not snowed in at this time of year. Yes, usually the Queen stage in the Apennines would be worthy of the title of a proper Giro mountain stage, but in March the stage is often under threat of cancellation due to inclement weather. Across the Apennines, the race sniffs the Adriatic Sea and beholds its coast. It is usually another flat sprint or hilltop finish for the penultimate stage. And the final stage has become a traditional 10km Individual Time Trial around the coastal town of San Benedetto del Tronto.

Perhaps you are asking: “From what you just described, this race has everything. Truly it must take a well-rounded GC rider to win the race Overall. Why do you say as a fan you love the Paris-Nice more than the Tirreno-Adriatico?” Yes what I have described is a truly balanced race, but it’s flaw is that its stages are too predictable—too cookie-cutter perfect. As soon as the profiles are perused, one can tell: this stage will be for the sprinters, this stage for the Classics men that can do a steep little finishing climb, this day will be the only big GC appointment, one of these two or three time-trialing masters will take the final stage. There is never a day where crosswinds rip up the scripted large bunch sprint finish to come, there is never a day where a breakaway specialist pulls off the day long coup, there is only ever one big GC day to decide the race and the only possible rebuttal is the final day Time Trial. Perhaps it is because everyone at Tirreno is so overtly fixated on Sanremo to come, the riders and even the organizers want the race to play out in a predictable way. But for the fan, that is never what we want to see. Unpredictability, multi-dimensional, and dynamic racing is what I always love to see: this is what Paris-Nice achieves more often than not as it is plagued by bad weather and crosswinds in the North, and multiple decisive GC mountain days in the South. This is not to say Tirreno-Adriatico is not worth a watch, it surely is to see how the best sprinters and GC men and even Time Trialists are stacking up to their competitors—usually in a more controlled setting where there are less circumstances beyond the racers’ control to excuse a bad performance, and additionally there are usually on average one or two very exciting days. But compared to Paris-Nice, you often know what you are going to get; alas! there is never any hope this race will ever be turned on its head. It is best that way for the riders, but alas! not for the fans. But let it be excused, because a few days after the conventional Tirreno-Adriatico wraps up, all those riders suit up for Milan-Sanremo which always proves to be one of the most unpredictable races on the calendar; and for many of the riders, Tirreno-Adriatico provided the final tune-up for them to be pinging on top form for that thrilling Monument to come.

Strade Bianche 2021: A Dream Final Selection (WRITTEN)

With some 50 km to go, give or take a kilometer or two. It was the young bearded American Quin Simmons (Trek-Segafredo) who initiated the final selection on a steep section of the famous White Roads, the famous ones composed of the treacherous gravel. Defending champion Wout Van Aert (Jumbo-Visma) and World Champion Julian Alaphilippe matched his pace, and with them was not Mathieu Van Der Poel (Alpecin-Fenix) in his Dutch Champion’s jersey, but instead Kevin Geniets (Groupama-FDJ) in his Luxembourg Champion’s jersey…confusingly similar to the Dutch Champion’s jersey: only a slightly lighter shade of blue separate the two. By this point the race had already covered some 130 km, and the leading peloton was not more than 50 riders strong. But the other huge pre-race favorite, the one of Kuurne shenanigans fame, Madman Mathieu Van Der Poel was further down in the pack. Was he on a bad day? Surely he had to make this one count off the back of his Opening Weekend antics: his team managers were not happy with his performance last weekend, for it was so strong surely he should have turned up a “W” for the team. But then the other Opening Weekend showman, Julian Alaphilippe the Musketeer made a full strong attack, and all viewers rubbed their hands together and licked their lips because all knew a race defining selection was beginning.

Wout Van Aert was in Alaphilippe’s wheel immediately and even offered a turn of pace. The peloton was already halved and now strung out in one long line. O! How dusty and wild and treacherous are these bouncy and rolling White Roads in the Tuscan Hills. Truly, truly, this is a special race. Alaphilippe put in another big effort again, and once again Van Aert was ready to push the pace again as well. And now the gaps were really starting to form, Quin Simmons was still with the pace-pushing pair, and also, yes, in the right position now: Mathieu Van Der Poel. There were stragglers behind, but surely some would still catch back on because it was still too far out for Wout and Alaphilippe to continue throwing down an all-out assault like this. And within an instant, it was clearly down to only 10 riders. No, 9 riders, alas! consistent Greg Van Avermaet (A2GR) was cracking already. Alas, alas, for this current Olympic Champion has such a consistent record at this race, and yet has never won it. Alas! He shall have to wait another year for his next opportunity. And alas! a kilometer later, the Luxembourg Champion Geniets fought tooth and nail to hold on to the group, but like a cliffhanger holding on by only a fingernail finally he fell off the pace and out of the leading group. Thus with 47 km to go, 8 men were left. Behind there would be some chasers who gutted out riding within a stone’s throw for many more kilometers, but to make a long story somewhat shorter: they were not catching back on this day. This was the final selection…and O! what firepower was up front!

By this point Van Der Poel the Madman was doing some of the pacing, and the impetus of Alaphilippe and Van Aert and even Quin Simmons has already been stated. But who were the remaining four to make the strong break with such heavyweights as Wout, Mathieu, and Julian? There were two Ineos Grenadiers, one Qhubeka rider, and the last was a UAE rider. Now one the Grenadiers was recognizable by his smaller build and riding style I have seen for months already this winter. Yes, after his stellar Opening Weekend, his very first pair of World Tour Classics, where he nabbed a podium in Kuurne, the British superstar of top cyclocross prowess Tom Pidcock had made the leading group—ready to square off with Mathieu and Wout once again, the only two ‘Crossers in the world who can consistently get the better of him…and yet, on his best day, the younger Pidcock has occasionally gotten the better of them as well. Now, for those listening who know not the results, please clear your mouth of food and drink for if not you are about to do a spit-take in disbelief. The other Grenadier in this group was Egan Bernal. Yes, the 2019 Tour de France champion who was unable to defend his title in 2020 due to ailing back pain had made this final selection. And the UAE rider? I must say there is something about their kit, glasses, and helmet that makes them all difficult to tell apart…and yet you could see the hair sticking up through the helmet. Yes, yes, if it was not crazy enough that Egan Bernal was here, the day got more memorable when it was confirmed the UAE rider was in fact Tadej Pogacar, the defending Tour de France champion. What a group, what a final selection! The octet was rounded out by the Austrian Michael Gogl (Qhubeka Assos) whose best results in years past are probably a pair of Top 10’s at Strade and Amstel Gold years before.

And this is the Dream selection that forms the title of this piece. As I said, the chasers kept them close, but did any viewer in the world think anyone was gonna catch onto this group of All-Stars? No offense to the chasers, but did anyone want them to? Or can we all just admit a fantasy was coming true, and this is a cast of characters we always love to see was about to go head to head. Now, though 19-year-old Simmons might become a future Classics star, it must be admitted he and Gogl were out of their depth in such company and would clearly be taking the role of dark horse and underdog. Tom Pidcock’s progression to this point has been bang on and we knew he was currently on good form, so it was no surprise to see him up here such a unique off-roading race with his top cyclocross adversaries. It was no surprise that Van Aert and Alaphilippe, former race winners, were here either; and it would have been a surprise if Van Der Poel with his red-hot Opening Weekend form was not here. But the fact Bernal and Pogacar were here makes me chuckle and lifts my heart.

For years and years, I watched Alberto Contador and Chris Froome (Israel Start-Up Nation) dominate any sort of stage race, and yet for them to even start a one-day Classic would be rarer than a Blue Moon. But when we look at past eras of cycling, until recent decades all the greatest champions did not often specialize their dominance. Feel free to assume the Cannibal, the Greatest of All Time, Eddy Merckx is in a class of his own as he won everything, usually multiple times over. But here a couple more examples of non-specialization: il campionissimo, “the Champion of Champions,” Fausto Coppi not only won Tours and Giri, he took many Sanremos and Lombardias, and even a Roubaix, a World Championship, and the Hour Record; the Badger Bernard Hinault out did Coppi in Grand Tour titles, took multiple victories in the hilly Monuments of Liege and Lombardia, won a brutal World Championships, and even won Paris-Roubaix once just to say he could even though he famously said it was a race for “Dickheads.” But as I said, for the Froome and Contador eras, and probably an era or two before that as well, specialization was constricting-ly rife across the sport. The fast men only won flat sprints, the climbers only won summit finishes, the Classics men only won in Belgium and Roubaix. Everyone had one, maybe two skills at most. To each his own his that is what you prefer, but I prefer to see the dynamic challenges and array of objectives the heroes of the past would pursue. Finally, finally with riders like Vincenzo Nibali (Trek-Segafredo), Alejandro Valverde (Movistar), and Peter Sagan (Bora-Hansgrohe), the strict specialization began to breakdown of the course of this past decade. But I think last year’s late-season lockdown Liege, and now today’s Strade Bianche were great leaps forward in dismantling the bland specialization. Last year, Primoz Roglic (Jumbo-Visma) won Liege in a sprint over Alaphillipe, Pogacar, and Marc Hirschi (UAE) two weeks after the Tour’s completion: instead of resting or even going to another training camp Rog and Pog went to Liege and mixed it up in an exciting finale with men built for the Hilly Classics in Hirschi and Alaphilippe. But today, I still find more stunning. Egan Bernal will be on the starting line of the Giro in two months, Pogacar has the weight of the cycling world on his shoulders to defend his Tour title. They do not need to be here at Strade Bianche. In fact, it is surprising to see them make a final selection that foiled the great Greg Van Avermaet—do not for a moment think the race was not too hard if Pogacar and Bernal could make the split, it was that hard, Pog and Bernal are that good. And its beyond refreshing to see, it is as I said the stuff of dreams.

Seriously, this selection was some sort of hypothetical or fanfiction become reality. Julian Alaphilippe the Musketeer, the character, the greatest showman of his generation, locking horns in battle once more with Mathieu and Wout whose historic rivalry is contested year-round in multiple disciplines. Meanwhile, they are accompanied by the past two Tour champions, of Pogacar and Bernal, who seem destined to form a rivalry of their own for supremacy in the Grand Tours. They are joined by the scrappy bulldog Tom Pidcock prepared to hold his own, and rising star Quin Simmons. With Van Avermaet already cracked, Sagan out with Corona, and Remco Evenepoel (Deceuninck-Quickstep) still rehabbing from falling off a bridge, this was truly the greatest who’s who of the sport we could ask for…and Michael Gogl was there to steal the show against all odds! Alaphilippe was making faces as he drove the pace. Wout and Mathieu were in their element. Pidcock, Simmons, Pogacar, Bernal, and even Gogl were all holding their own even if not quite doing a fair share of the pacing. What we were seeing was what it is all about, commentator Rob Hatch said it best: we were seeing guys who not only love to race their bikes, we were seeing guys who clearly look like they love to race their bikes. It did not look easy for any of them, but it did look like there was no place in the world any of them would rather be at this moment. And that feeling was contagious for those viewing. We were all loving the moment so much, we could not even predict what would happen next. All looked up for this, all looked strong, who would burn the next match and launch the next attack? It didn’t look like anyone would be cracking anytime soon.

Alas! With 40 km to go, Quin Simmons had a puncture; he needed a wheel change, and in this company, at this speed, that would dash the young American’s hopes of winning or even getting back on. It was down to seven for the win. With 22 km to go, at the end of the third to last section of White Roads, on the steepest bit of gravel for the section, Alaphilippe the Musketeer attack for the umpteenth time: Pogacar followed seated and spinning a higher gear, Van Der Poel muscled his way up behind showing off his big shoulders, Bernal was on his wheel, and Gogl was clawing up to them too. But alas! it was too much for Wout Van Aert, the defending race champion, only now making his road season debut less than 40 days since his defeat at Cyclocross Worlds. And Grenadier Tom Pidcock was struggling as well. Pidcock was sprinting and scrambling to close the gap. But Wout looked to be pedaling squares, all momentum lost, body heaving: these are all the signs of a proper “pop.” When the lights go out, and someone has not the energy or strength to stay with the better men. Were he a lesser man, he would have called it a day, and all would understand he had gave it a good effort. But this is the mighty Wout Van Aert, this is the man who does not know how to throw in the toilet—surely, I swear he knows not what that phrase even means: “Throw the toilet where?” I suspect he would ask. Yes, now the proper chase was back: 10 or 11 seconds to make up. But Wout caught up with Pidcock to form a temporary alliance with his cyclocross rival. Yes, within a kilometer, Wout was reversing his fortune, very rarely has such a definitive pop been reversed: he is a man with the mental determination and fortitude to cross the Sahara on foot with a piano on his back if he sets his mind to it. On the penultimate White Roads sector, on another long climbing section of gravel where traction is limited and bumps are frequent, Wout Van Aert reconnected with the leaders. It took Tom Pidcock a moment or two more to close the final meters to the group, but with 18 km to go the 7 riders were back together. Wout and Pidcock had shown their hand and yet still recovered from what could have been a blunder. One short but difficult last sector of gravel, and then it would be a mostly downhill run into Siena until the iconic rising finish to the Piazza del Campo in the center of the city’s hilltop.

The Dream Selection of the Superstars of the sport traversed the next five kilometers, all took what would be their last bits of food. Van Aert nursed his remaining energy at the back of the group…until all of a sudden, with some 13 km to go, Wout came to the front to lead the group into the final sector of White Roads. He wanted not so much to dictate the pace as much as to have the clearest and safest look at the harrowing decent the sector begins with. O! How that seven flew down that loose gravel descent. But of course, the last section of gravel would not simply be a descender’s test. In the final hundreds of meters, the White Roads are finished with a bang: a gravel wall of 18%. All speed was lost. Alaphilippe churned in the center, Van Der Poel on his right, Bernal on his left, each half a length back. And just as Pogacar was about to fully pop off the back from exhaustion and fatigue, a rocket was launched. Mathieu Van Der Poel, the man with the hottest form, the king of the unpaved, the man who spends his days doing off-road acceleration after off-road acceleration on his mountain bike until the cows come home and the sun begins to set, this Madman Mathieu Van Der Poel launched such a powerful attack that all hope was lost for the other competitors. Pogacar was already done, Pidcock was fading, Gogl had nothing, Wout couldn’t even react or stand up on the pedals, Bernal and Alaphilippe gave noble efforts to cover the launch—for to call Van Der Poel’s move only an attack would be an understandment—but on that unpaved domain they were not in the same stratosphere as the reigning Cyclocross Champion of the World.

The Road Champion of the World, Alaphilippe the Musketeer did a supreme job to limit his losses. Over the top of the little climb, within a kilometer he had clawed his way back to Van Der Poel. And with some 10 km to go—would you believe it—Egan Bernal clawed his way back to the pair as well. Van Der Poel and Alaphilippe were usual suspects, and have actually clashed a surprising handful of times before—remember it was Alahilippe that got 2019 Amstel Gold O! so wrong—but let us pinch ourselves: what was Egan Bernal, back problems Bernal, doing here? A skinny Colombian diesel-engined Tour de France champion who loves the climbs over a score of kilometers long: hanging in with Mathieu Van Der Poel and Julian Alaphilippe in a race where a full third of it takes place off road and most of the climbing is intense two or three minute efforts over traction-less gravel. As I did my remedial preview, I stated it would be “cool” to see if Bernal or Pogacar could “mix it up” in this race. When I said that, I figured one might do a good result finishing in the Top 15. O! How I love when my expectations are exceeded! With that said, it was mostly a downhill run for the next 8 km and both Alaphilippe and Bernal rotated in the pace-making. Either Bernal is a man of honor always prepared to do it his share, or he was resigned already to protect his podium place first and foremost. Behind: Wout, Gogl, Pidcock, and Pogacar had regrouped to form a chasing four, they clearly had not the firepower of the leading trio, but they were only some fifteen seconds back. Bernal’s only chance to win the race would have been some sort of “long-range” attack before the road pitched up to the finish, but in such company everything would be marked instantly. Actually, it was Van Der Poel that tried an audacious and probably tactically un-astute attack on the downhill. But it seems Van Der Poel had more patience than last week, probably because this race is more beloved, and he slotted back in to work with Alaphilippe and Bernal until the finish.

And in a couple more kilometers’ time, they turned left and eyed the Flamma Rouge, the Red Kite, signifying one kilometer remaining, and they eyed the Old Medieval city on a hill towering above them. At least Bernal did not completely resign himself to third place, he and Alaphilippe had positioned Van Der Poel onto the front to lead up the climb. They went under the ancient gate and the road started to significantly rise, their speed was slowing though the effort was staying the same. They did the little chicane: left, and right onto the iconic 16% ramp up the Sienese street: it is the money-shot of Strade, it is one of the greatest finishing backdrops in cycling—the steepness can only be grasped by an excellent camera from the top, the narrow buildings daunting the road are an architectural beauty, the barriers are within a yard of the buildings and add to the frieze that an amazing bike race is going up the street this day. Alaphilippe rode about even with Van Der Poel, but Van Der Poel immediately lifted the pace and Alaphilippe had to file in. And then for the second time, the Madman rocket launched away from the Musketeer. Bernal didn’t even have a reaction than to just keep his pace and secure a podium place. Here was the thing, Julian Alaphilippe the Musketeer was on better form this weekend at Strade than he was last weekend at Omloop, and yet still there was nothing he could do to be remotely close to Van Der Poel the Madman. I have experienced the great feeling of a Frisbee Golf disc hitting the chains for a Hole-In-One. I can begin imagine the how satisfying it would feel to perfectly nail a Wide Receiver in the End Zone for a game winning Touchdown. The same is true for swishing a buzzer-beater bucket on the basketball court. And above of all, I imagine how good it must feel to be swing a baseball bat and feel the ball crack off the wood and fly across the field out of reach of the players into the stands behind for a Home Run. But here today, here today, seeing Madman Mathieu launching twice like Apollos 11 and 12…I seriously question if it physically taxed him in any way! The fun euphoria and flow of the situation: he must have felt like a million bucks. To be on such a good day that you launch away from your top competitors, it made every viewer’s jaw drop. How ever much Mathieu’s legs were screaming, I am sure he could not hear them over the celebrations going on in his head about laying down such a powerful launch to win the day.  He made the right turn, weaved down the remaining 500 meters of Sienese streets, came out into the open Piazza del Campo, and he was ecstatic. This was a special one, for of course this is a special race, he was throwing his fists up in the air uncontrollably—it was a far bigger celebration than when he crossed the line in Ostend a month ago to take his fourth Cyclocross World Title. After the Dream Selection containing five or six or seven riders of their generation plus Michael Gogl, Mathieu Van Der Poel produced the archetypal Strade Bianche finish on that beautiful finishing ramp. Truly, that was exactly how a proper Strade should play out. The day was exciting and beautiful from start to finish, and the best man won. It was yet another race won by a member of the Makes-Your-Day Club. It was yet another race that puts a smile on our face for the rest of the day and weekend. It was yet another race where our wildest dreams were exceeded: Tour champions showed their surprising range and held their own, former champions and larger-than-life personalities fought tooth-and-nail to the very end, and red-hot rocket launches took our hearts back to the summer of 1969.

Paris-Nice Musings WRITTEN

We all have our favorite races on the calendar, Paris-Nice is one of mine. In fact, of all the weeklong stage races sprinkled throughout the calendar: this one is my absolute favorite. It sports one of the best nicknames in cycling “The Race to the Sun,” even if it does not always live up to such a name. And its general itinerary is always the same: perhaps it is tightly bound by its title, or perhaps it knows it has found a winning formula.

In former eras, this was a race used by the top men to ease back into racing at the season’s beginning, but tell that not to Monsieur Paris-Nice, Sean Kelly. King Kelly, the greatest cyclist Ireland’s ever known, won the race a record 7 times, all in succession from 1982 through 1988. And say nothing of warmups to these modern men of cycling either, this is the first European World Tour stage race of the season—already much is at stake. For many World Tour teams, all World Tour points are vital, and this provides another early opportunity to amass a respectable haul of points to help set the team on a good trajectory for the rest of the season. For many French riders it is an early objective of pride to do well on home roads. For many Grand Tour contenders, this is the first big appointment of the season to not only build form, but start the season off well with some good results. The beauty of this race is that it is so balanced: there are enough opportunities to attract the top sprinters to achieve some well-earned victories, there is always a time trial for the riders to see how they stack up against their rivals against the clock in this early season, and as they go further south there are some proper mountain stages for the climbers to target and the Grand Tour men to come to the fore and foreshadow the duels to come in the summer Grand Tours.

Ideally on a cold and wet and wind-howling Sunday, the riders bundle up to start this hardmen’s race in a suburban or outskirt-ing village of Paris. Like with Opening Weekend, on Stage 1 of Paris-Nice let us root for a traditional brutal weather start to the Race to the Sun, may the March Lion not yet transform into the March Lamb. May the riders put on their thermal jerseys and pants to keep the core and pistons warm, thick shoe covers and gloves to avoid frostbitten appendages, and under the helmet may they fit a winter casquette that covers the ears nicely while the brim combats the elements trying to obscure their views. Yes, make the riders yearn for the sun to come in a week’s time. The furthest North is the best chance for such a stage as this at this time of year, and it has started the race off right with harrowing ordeals of wind and rain—O! how enduring and endearing it is when a hardman of the Classics or a sprinter made of stern-stuff celebrates the victory in some horrid winter conditions. Not only does it make for a good addition to the rider’s palmares, the brutal-cold stages provide stories to help flesh out the champion’s legendary aura, and they are essential tales to be incorporated into the Race to the Sun’s Pantheon of Immortal Rides.

Typically, the next couple of stages are still in the flat north of France. These too can be biting-cold days, and it is quite a spectacle when they are. But ideally what comes about on these flat transitional stages, and note the organizers definitely seek out and design the routes looking for the best chances of this phenomenon, are crosswind battles. Yes, if a cold harsh-weather start near Paris was not enough, in an ideal Paris-Nice the opening cold-shock is backed up by one or two days of ravaging crosswinds. O! When the winds come at the riders from the side, how the peloton transforms into aero-formations of such beauty they rival the instinctual aerial armadas of avian flocks migrating between the famous latitudes of the globe. Yes, to see an image of echelons—group after group lined across the road horizontally while vertically up the road is the stronger group a “rung” higher on this imagery ladder—is one of the most beautiful sights in cycling. As stated, the echelons, the “rungs” of an imagery ladder, look tranquilly beautiful from a landscape-distance away, but O! how fierce the battles are inside to hold one’s ground amidst the pack. Surely, they are the most cutthroat of battles cycling can serve up: should you not have the skill or strength to ride the winds and hold ranks in the group, a rider is agonizingly spit out the back until absorbed in another echelon behind. May those who cannot stomach the crosswinds not even craft General Classification (GC) aspirations for this race; either grow in fortitude or forsake your challenge now, for if you perform not well in the crosswinds expect to lose minutes on these harrowing days. And though it is no surprise the Quickstep team have been the foundation-shakers in the crosswinds for around a score of years, Classics prowess or build of body is not a prerequisite. There is something more to riding the Crosswinds, perhaps most it is tenacious guts and positioning-craft that are required, for not all big-unit riders who lay down the most serious watts have a knack for the Crosswinds, while in very generation one tiny Colombian GC rider proves they too have the courage and the Right Stuff to mix it up with the hardmen and big engines of the Classics who lick their lips every time the wind blows across. Whether the crosswinds materialize or not each year, these northern flat stages are also verdant pastures for the top sprinters to take their first World Tour European stage victories of the year. O! How surely important they are to the psyches and confidence of these hot-handed sprinters’ egos, always they wish to continue to rake up the sprint wins and avoid periods of dreaded droughts where they then lose their mental edge.

As the race travels further south and comes within sight of the northern-most Marches of the French Alps, the GC race begins to kick into high gear if the crosswinds have not already dashed pretenders’ dreams. It is usually a fair test against the clock: a proper time trial instead a prologue that packs a punch or after-thought chrono that wraps up the race with a frivolous bow. And yet, the Time Trial (TT) is never overbearingly decisive. The TT only sets the stakes for the high mountains that decide the race’s finish: who is up 30 or 40 seconds on GC, who must recover the 1:20 in the mountains that they shipped to their competitors in the TT? Usually another fine feature on one of the middle days of the Race to the Sun is an archetypal breakaway stage. O! May the greatest escape artists come out to play! On a lumpy, but not so extremely decisive day, may the breakaway specialists flex their muscles and show off their chops. Give me the audacious lone wolf who is ready to roll the dice and attack his breakaway competitors as their energy wanes and the peloton ratchets up the pace behind. How thrilling it is to see one man narrowly hold off a peloton bearing down on him after a long-enduring day in the saddle. Yes, to be a breakaway specialist takes something special—copious amounts of grit—they are a rare breed, less than a handful of reliably successful breakaway specialists arise each generation. But as I said, by the time the race has set the GC storyline with the TT and sometimes before the classic hilly breakaway stage, the Race to the Sun is eyeing the Alps.

Some years they find a brutal stage in France’s northern Alps—so far north inland an untraveled local might mistake an oar for a shovel, still far from the Mediterranean coast are they. Such stages as these are always surely gambles, for in March many of these villages have not yet thought to pack away their heaviest winter coats for the season. Yes, tough tests are these mountain stages in the elements as the race experiments and explores the climbs off the beaten path. The route goes up and down all day, weaving up the narrow climbs which are often steep, but not too long—for surely the tops of the grueling giants seen at July’s Tour are still snowed in, and yet these new explorations can prove good tests for future features to be incorporated on that ultimate stage race in July. Meanwhile, soon the race finally starts to reach if not the Sun at least warm weather. For the last two or three days none shall have pants and few even knee-warmers, many arms shall have only short sleeves for the body will be quite warm as it fires on all cylinders up proper high-southern Alpine climbs. Yes, there is usually at least one or two traditional full high-mountain stages with a proper summit finish worthy of a Grand Tour. Surely, the hope is that it effects or shakes up the GC…but in a fine edition of Paris-Nice, the race is not decided until it reaches its destination namesake.

In the past, it was tradition for Paris-Nice to not just finish with a final road race into Nice, one of its title towns, but also do a final TT up the Col d’Eze climb to fully wrap up the race. King Kelly and Irishman Tour de France winner Stephen Roche were so dominant in that TT, the Col d’Eze has become known as Irish Mountain. The climb itself is tough a brute, there are legendary stories of the intense roller warmups after already completing a road stage that same morning, and what was the ideal gearing to haul oneself up to the top proved quite an intricate science. As one predisposed to embracing tradition, I mourn that the race has scraped that illustrious TT. And though I would not mind if they found a place for the Col d’Eze TT once more—perhaps even have two stages in one day that are now so rare for the riders hate them O! so much—I must say I love the new traditional final stage the organizers have crafted. You have seen in recent years how in the Grand Tours the organizers have served up a mighty 200+ km high-mountain stage on a Saturday, followed by a short and thrilling mountain stage Sunday only some 120 km long that leads to unbridled and uncontrollable racing filled with GC coups and ambushes. The Grand Tour organizers have copped the idea from this new traditional Paris-Nice finish. After a hard and often long or high-altitude mountain stage on the penultimate day, the final stage takes place around all the most famous climbs walling in the coastal Mediterranean city of Nice. Nice is a home-base for a large percentage of professionals, so this explosive stage takes place over all the climbs that they know like the back of their hand. With usually 6 or 7 proper climbs packed into only some 120 km of racing, there is not a meter of flat, and the team leading on GC shall have their hands very full trying to maintain control of the race. If the GC is under a minute, or even 90 seconds, this stage is perfect ambush territory for a GC rival to attempt a successful race coup. Their teammates set a relentless pace from the beginning of the day, the leader himself breaks away mid-stage to attempt to steal a long breakaway escape. Behind what is left of the GC leader’s team tries to ride more controlled and keep the gap within a margin of their team leader’s lead. In more years than not, this day is sopping the riders with buckets of rain—so much for the Race to the Sun—and that makes the race all the more difficult to control. This race has been so close, decided sometimes only by two or four seconds, it comes down to who pedals the hardest or gets into the fastest aero position on the final descent into the finish line in Nice. This last genius day of racing has often taken the GC race down to the absolute final wire or turned the race on its head. This finish has so often delivered a great thrilling final spectacle, it is the perfect ending that makes Paris-Nice my favorite weeklong stage race. After the harsh beginnings in the cold and/or crosswind-y northern stages ending in memorable epic days or ferociously fast sprints, through the skirmishes and battles of breakaway and GC affairs in the time trial and mountains going ever further south, to this final day where it is not over until the fat lady sings: Paris-Nice proves to be an ideal complete race—an odyseey with everything—that always provides and produces great champions and future stars.

Strade Bianche Musings

What makes a Classic a Classic? Yes, this is the perennial tricky question. A standard answer involves typically a dynamic, long, and exciting route. Dynamic as in some not so straightforward route: there must be some sort of iconic characteristic or challenge such as for example cobbles or brutal climbs. Long as in length, a Classic should always be a great test of hardy endurance. Exciting as in cheering roadside fans pumping adrenaline into the riders and those watching on television; exciting as in passages through or by exotic or iconic cycling or cultural locations both natural landscapes or pinnacles of architecture; exciting as in the route is designed to promote thrilling or finely-balanced racing that leaves us in suspense for much of the broadcast.

All of these parameters Strade Bianche O! so assuredly lives up to. It’s key unique challenge in in the race name itself for “strade bianche” translates literally to “white roads.” Yes, the iconic White Roads made of that special white gravel, O! how unique are they. Surely, they are a challenge on the flat, and quite the ordeal when they pitch up to well over 15% gradient in certain places. Unlike the Cobbled Classics too, there is no early stretch of leg-softening early flat kilometers to ease the peloton into racing: here from the flag drop, the riders are positioning and preparing for the first sector of gravel. In extreme conditions, either wet or basked in summer heat, how treacherously brutal the white gravel can be. Loose and chokingly dusty in the heat, slippery and mushy and muddy rooster-tails streaming in the wet; both are quite a spectacle to see when the conditions reach such extremes. Yes, the scorching August edition in 2020 will long be remembered. And the editions in the wet: few will forget how ghostly looked the riders who crossed the line spattered front and back with that white gravel—I tell you like Dickens’ Jacob Marley-ghost they all looked crossing the line with extreme-exhaustion haunting all their faces. Yes, even in a relatively dry Spring edition, though the race is always short of 200 km, the White Roads tire these riders out so—all the finishers surely earn their wages for completing the racing this day, no matter their placing. And as for as iconic locations and scenery? O! How beautiful the race shows off the hills of Tuscany where so many great cyclists have been bred and sculpted throughout many generations, and what a place of Italian cultural history as well—to name but one example, here was the region the great Dante Alighieri wandered in exile. And the race’s finish: into that historic hilltop city of Siena—a cultural and architectural jewel for centuries—to its very center, to the Piazza del Campo where the illustrious Palio horse race takes place. Yes, yes, the approach, O! surely it is in the discussion for greatest race finishes in cycling.

Strade’s Siena finish is in the discussion for greatest finish for both its aesthetic beauty and dramatic final challenge. Under the one kilometer to go banner comes the gated entrance into the Medieval part of the city. The streets are narrow and lined with Medieval homes that are only a doorstep away from the racecourse climbing to the finish. Truly, look up a picture of the beautiful finishing ramp—here were a people who avowed to adorn their city in breathtaking beauty on every block, may us moderns take note! But yes, I did indeed say ramp: for the road pitches up for some 600 meters O! so steeply as it flies up to the Piazza at the center of the hilltop. Ideally, the White Gravel Roads have done the majority of the damage throughout the race, but still the race comes down to the 16% pitches on this very final ramp of the race. Only two or three men are left, and finally only one has the strength to break away from his competitors: to crest the top alone with some 500 meters to go. Then the leader shall weave his way through the last bits of divine Medieval lovingly-crafted city streets while the other chasers scramble to close the gap if they have any strength left. But finally, the new champion then emerges in the last few hundred meters into the open Piazza del Campo to the applause of the Sienese who get to celebrate and add another hero to their distinguished honor-roll.

O! Strade, how beloved you are. So beloved are thee, ye have become a Classic after only a couple handfuls of years in existence. Yes, yes, that is the last essential ingredient that all the other Classics have: history. Strade Bianche cannot claim the long history like the other Classics—most have their dawn from the ashes of the Post-War years or go back before the First Great War or even the turn of the 19th Century. And yet, here is Strade acting not even as the youngest brother in the company of the other aged Classics, but masquerading as one of the elder statesmen. Yes, you have heard its most unofficial nickname: “The 6th Monument.” Despite the relative complete lack of history, Strade is such a beloved spectacle some wish to elevate it now to the same rank as the Five Monuments—the most prestigious single-day bike races in the world—Milan-Sanremo, the Tour of Flanders, Paris-Roubaix, Liege-Bastogne-Liege, and il Lombardia which have all run over 100 editions each.

Personally, I accept the 6th Monument nickname as a fun completely unofficial title. And while I clearly see Strade as a Classic despite its lack of history, as fun as it is to compare: surely there is no way it could possibly be considered a Monument—despite all its admiration, which I myself also pour into it. To be a Monument, the history is such a major requirement, alas! they had not the idea for Strade Bianche a century ago! And a second reason that we cannot even entertain the Monument idea is because though all the riders love this race and would desperately love to win it, no one has yet to ever “peak” for Strade Bianche. It is never anyone’s top goal: it is simply a fun appointment before the Tirreno-Adriatico stage race which is part of the official leadup to the first Monument of the year, Milan-Sanremo, that many riders have quadruple circled on their calendars; for goodness sake, some riders are only making their season debut at Strade. Now, this snare to the hypothetical Monument-pursuit could possibly be remedied if Strade were to possibly find a new position on the calendar. What if it returned to the autumn and became a dually coveted prize with il Lombardia—have two crown jewels of Autumnal Classics? Or what if the organizers dared that heated August spot once again as they did in the 2020 Coronavirus season—this was the race that reignited the shortened cycling season after many miserable dormant months of lockdowns; what an honor Strade and that year’s victor Wout Van Aert had to re-open the cycling calendar, I tell you it had all the same trademarks of Fausto Coppi’s 1946 Milan-Sanremo that re-opened the cycling world after the horrors of the Second World War. Yes, an August slot, on the heels of the Tour where many Classics riders come out with great form and still look for opportunities to make the most of it. Surely, if it is to increase its prestige, pursue a higher status than the Classic it has masterfully become in only some-ten years, it shall need to carve out a new home on the calendar where it can be the great peak and not only a fun objective in the runner-up to something more.

Ah! But whether it is only a building-up-Classic for the later Monuments, or one day it becomes a Monument itself, surely, surely it shall always continue to be beloved. It is a race that the Cobbled Classics men—your Fabian Cancellaras and Zdenek Stybars—eye with top-steps of podiums in mind, and yet sometimes they are foiled by men built for the Ardennes—like Michal Kwiatkowski and Julian Alaphilippe—who know how to handle a bike so skillfully and fine, and yet always too we see climbing stars of the Grand Tours trying to hold their own as well on the treacherous White Roads that pitch up and down on the Tuscan hills. Yes, though all the racers have later objectives, still how much they all love to race this special race. All come away with another war story, all come away having put in a hard day’s work, all come away wanting to come back next year. Yes, yes, this is a race that highlights the greatest aspects of cycling: thrilling racing in beautiful and historic places. The Tuscan hills and White Roads make for such a beautiful challenge, and that final run-in to Siena is something special to be sure, why did it take the Sienese so long to contrive such a predestined-Classic race? Ultimately, the answer does not much matter, for now we have the race, and another Classic installment shall be completed this very weekend. Long live the White Roads. Viva le Strade Bianche. 

The Showmen Light Up the Opening Weekend…of Reduced Bunch Sprints? (Written)

Pick whatever sport you like and think about what makes for the greatest showmen in that realm. Surely they are exciting to watch, but why are they exciting to watch? It is not only because they are very athletically gifted. And it is not only, because they exude confidence while swaggering around and showing off that extreme athletic talent. What makes the greatest showmen the greatest showmen is that they write the script for every game, match, event, or race they take part in; this is how they transform themselves into larger than life characters who dazzle the fans in unforgettable ways. On this Opening Weekend in Belgium two of cycling’s superstars dictated how the race would play out…and in a complete power move: neither even factored in winning into their calculations. Omloop Het Nieuwsbald and Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne are prestigious Classics to win. To win one of them not only starts someone’s season off right, for most riders the season is already a success the instant they cross the line in victory. But as you shall hear, for the titans of the sport, that was of little interest.

            Alas! It was a balmy sunny probably 40-50 degrees Fahrenheit and 5-10 degrees Celsius. Such inappropriate weather for the Opening Weekend. Alas! it seems the Winter Warlocks have already gone into summer hibernation. But surely it was of little matter at Omloop Het Nieuwsbald: always a tough race that tires out the legs. Yes, that is how it started off. The cobbled bergs were doing their proper damage as usual. With 70 km still to go the field was slowly starting to shrink as the domestiques and pretenders were crashing or running out of gas. It was running like a typical Flemish Cobbled Classic, and with 43 km to go the peloton ascended the Molenberg cobbled climb with the early day breakaway less than a minute up the road. It was no surprise to see Matteo Trentin (UAE) and three Quicksteps pushing the pace. Over the top, as is the way of the Classics ten or so riders had a gap. Greg Van Avermaet (A2GR) the reigning Olympic Champion for an extra year with his gold helmet was there, nearly-man Sep Vanmarcke was there, Matteo Trentin was there, a Cofidis rider, a Qhubeka rider, a Bingoal rider, and three Quicksteps were there. One of the Quicksteps was Zdenek Stybar the former cyclocross World Champion, another was the talented Davide Ballerini who already won two stages this year at the Tour de la Provence. And yes, yes, it had to be: one of the Quickstep riders was of course the reigning World Champion wearing his Rainbow Jersey, our beloved Musketeer Julian Alaphilippe. Dear Reader or Listener, you should know where this story is going by now. The group of ten or so caught the early breakaway of five riders, had got a fifteen to twenty second gap over what remained of the peloton behind, and though it wasn’t much: over the next couple of kilometers all viewers came around to declare this would probably be a big selection for the day. The group was strong and working well together, only Groupama’s Kevin Geniets, the Champion of Luxembourg, and the newest Grenadier Tom Pidcock were able to bridge across to the strong front group in the midst of lifting off for the rest of the race.

            In only his second Cobbled Classic ever—his debut was only last fall at the Tour of Flanders where you all remember he crashed out—Julian Alaphilippe the Musketeer was captaining the leading group of Omloop Het Nieuwsbald, the mini-Tour of Flanders. Surely if this group just kept working well together they could pry open a more sizable gap to stay away from the rest of the peloton to the Muur at some 18 kilometers from the finish where they could make a further and final selection. With 34 km to go, they had a thirty second gap: Omloop Het Nieuwsbald was coming to a fine boil despite the nice weather. And then with 32 km to go, our Musketeer tore up the typical script. He attacked on the Berendries climb, and no one could go with him. With his arm sleeves rolled down, sunglasses hiding any emotion in his eyes, Alaphilippe rode away seemingly comfortable on his beautiful Specialized Worlds painted bicycle. Julian Alaphilippe was striking out on the attack and cruising. Within two kilometers, he had a 16 second gap over the strong chasing group he just left. Now in this moment, of course, of course we were all excited to see one of our favorite riders out on the attack, but with 32 km to go, surely this is a long way to solo, Julian. Have you attacked too early? Did you want others to go with you? Or are you just feeling that good? Only Tom Pidcock even had the energy to attempt to attack up to you, but he could not find separation. Yes, Julian Alaphilippe was showing some flying form, and giving the people a show. And now the question must be asked: what exactly is Julian Alaphilippe’s Quickstep job description for this race?

This is actually a perennially weird thorny question in cycling. Surely, many riders showed up at this race today with no ambition to win the race themselves, instead they were there to work for others. In what other sport do the majority of competing athletes not try to win the competition they are competing in? But this is the case in every cycling race across the calendar. And so, why was Julian Alaphilippe here? To win the race for Quickstep? Perhaps, but clearly that wasn’t enough for Alaphilippe. Clearly Alaphilippe’s best chance to win would be to have stayed with that strong group, shared the workload so that they stayed away until the Muur where they can then prove who has the strongest legs for the day. Instead Alaphilippe decided to expend way more energy because instead of rotating with ten men and getting 9 rotations of shelter from the wind, he took it all upon himself. And without Alaphilippe, what remained of the peloton was clawing their way back to the 10 or so group Alaphilippe left. And with 21 km to go, even Alaphilippe’s gap to that group of 10 or so was coming back down. Surely, we all realized: Alaphilippe was not here to win, he was here to put in a big day. If he carried a 32 km solo breakaway to the line and took the victory, awesome great, bonus points for him. If he put on a show and won some more fans too, that’d also be awesome. But what he was doing was just selfishly trying to get some hard race kilometers in the legs for later objectives. In a way it was little disrespectful to the race. It was disrespectful, because with 18 km as he was coming into the town of Geraardsbergen, the reckless showmen Julian Alaphilippe was caught not only by his strong 10 or so man chasing group, but also the remaining peloton behind at the very foot of the Muur.

And then came the strange finish that has not been seen at Omloop Het Nieuwsbald for 27 years. Over the Muur van Geraardsbergen, the most famous climb in Belgium, the Kapelmuur, the race regrouped instead of shattering apart. Only Ineos’ Gianni Moscon found some separation over the top—everyone else strung out but the elastic never snapped and some 50 riders formed a peloton once more. And in a few kilometers time Moscon was caught on the top of the Bosberg, the final climb of the day. With 13 km of net downhill left, it looked like Omloop Het Niuewsbald, the mini-Tour of Flanders, would be decided in a 50-man sprint finish. Yes, this race has not ended in a bunch sprint for 27 years. At this point, Quickstep had the numbers and they were prepared to leave it to a sprint. They controlled the front and set a relentless pace that discouraged any attacks in order to keep the group together. And despite his showman antics already, Alaphilippe did his part for the team into the very last kilometer to help hold it together. And having already made the earlier selection and gotten his season off to a hot start with those two Provence stages and just having the contagious Quickstep winning-ethos, Davide Ballerini finished off the day for Quickstep and manhandled the sprint where he won by four or five bike lengths.

Julian Alaphilippe was the strongest rider in this race. He could have won this race if he had just waited until the traditional and ultimate spot to make a winning move on the Kapelmuur. Instead, he re-wrote the script in order to put in a hard day’s work and maybe even give the people a show. His antics led to a bunch sprint won by a teammate in a race that has forgot what a bunch is. And despite that, he was completely upstaged on Sunday at Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne.

Despite having seen the Musketeer Julian Alaphilippe put on an inexplicably reckless show the day before at Omloop, we were still all at a loss with what we were seeing with 85 km to go at Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne (KBK). We knew he was trying to get some hard miles in his legs when he went to the UAE Tour. He made the most of his one day of racing when he won a hard sprint after a long day of brutal crosswind action. But a staff member tested positive for COVID and the team was set home. He did not start Omloop, but he became the favorite for Kuurne as soon as it was announced he’d be taking part. We all figured, surely he has the quality and talent to be there in the sprint at the end, he’ll have the endurance to do a good finish and might even be the fastest guy here on paper outright anyways. But still, all of us were scratching our heads as we saw Mathieu Van Der Poel (Alpecin-Fenix) reigning and four times the Cyclocross World Champion on the attack on one of the little climbs with the Ecuadorian Grenadier Jhonathan Narvaez who had won a hilly stage of the Giro d’Italia last year as the only man that even bothered to link up with him. There were eight or so riders 3 minutes up the road comprising the early break of the day. What the hell was Van Der Poel playing at trying to bridge up to them? The broadcast had not even started but ten minutes ago. What was the plan here? Truly, I recall my thoughts in the moment: “What the hell is he doing? What an idiot. I could understand if he wanted to try this long-range crap with 50 km to go, from there I’d give him a chance, but this is too far. This is dumb and upsetting, because I want to see him actually take a shot at winning. He’s just ruining his chances to win at this point.” And then I paused and thought for a moment, subconsciously I had just learned the lesson Alaphilippe had taught us yesterday about showmanship, and putting in a big day. I did not consciously know it yet, but I did verbally say “Eh, whatever, let’s have fun with it. Let’s see what he can do.”

So before we go on about how Van Der Poel tears up the script of this race, let us praise another player. Not only was I surprised to see Jhonathon Narvaez on the attack with Van Der Poel, I was surprised to see him in this race. Ecuador is a country that gets its name because it sits on the Equator—a place known for tropical weather and sun, and furthermore the Ecuadorans are to the Colombians like the Canadians or Kiwis are to the Americans or Australians. The Colombians and the rest of the South Americans are mostly known for their climbing prowess and have zero results to speak of in the Cobbled Classics. What are they supposed to know about racing in the harsh North of Belgium? Now the stage of the Giro Narvaez won last year was horrendous with biblical amounts of rain, but still this morning if I had looked over Ineos’ lineup I would have assumed they had one spot left and they made all the South American climbers draw straws to see who would be stuck filling it, and Narvaez had drawn the shortest straw. But here he was…riding with Mathieu Van Der Poel in his Dutch Champion’s jersey inexplicably trying to bridge a three-minute gap to the early breakaway of the day with 85 km to go. What was going through Narvaez’s head as he rode with this O! so talented one? Did the Ineos DS in the car say: “O Johnnie, make sure our team’s represented in any moves that go up the road from here.” That is actually a logical thought in theory, but the two-man composition of chasers had nothing logical about it in practice. The tall big-shouldered Dutch race favorite and a small South American climber made for such a strange pairing, and I absolutely loved it. Van Der Poel literally looked like Achilles, a giant among men on the battlefield, and Narvaez today looked like his trusty aide and friend Patroclus wing-manning his captain on a new adventure. Van Der Poel could not even get a proper draft off him. But if Julian Alaphilippe had taught us anything from yesterday, Van Der Poel didn’t care about getting a draft today. Yes, he’d like to win and he would try, but he more so was here to put in a hard day for the week of racing he was robbed of when his team was booted from the UAE Tour. Just as Alaphilippe used Omloop as training, now it was Van Der Poel’s turn to do the same at Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne. The only, only other explanation I can think of for this ludicrous scene is the most outlandish of all, and yet there is definitely truth to it: apparently in the past Van Der Poel has had a problem of getting too bored in long road races before things heat up in the exciting Finales—surely, he is a one-hour Cyclocrosser at heart.

With 70 km to go, Van Der Poel and Narvaez were already only 75 seconds down on the day’s early breakaway, and 75 seconds ahead of the peloton behind. With 65 km to go, Van Der Poel and Narvaez were only 45 seconds behind the early day breakaway and now 90 seconds ahead of the peloton. The reckless Madman Plan was working, surely soon they would make the junction with the early break. At the top of the Oude Kwaremont, one of the hardest and most famous Cobbled Climbs in Belgium, with about 60 km to go, Van Der Poel and Narvaez caught what was left of the original break with the peloton two minutes behind; Phase One of the Madman Plan was complete. On the Oude Kwaremont, behind selections were being made in the peloton: Jasper Stuyven (Trek-Segafredo) kicked off the action, but John Degenkolb (Lotto-Soudal) looked better than he has in years. And Greg Van Avermaet with his Gold Helmet was there too, and Oliver Naesan his friend and training partner and A2GR teammate. Teisj Benoot (DSM), Quickstep’s Asgreen in the Danish Champion’s Jersey, and more than 20 others were chasing hard. With 58 km, they were only some 75 seconds behind Van Der Poel’s front group: now the Finale was really begun.

With 55 km to go, it was time to enact Phase Two of the Madman Plan, shed the deadweight. Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne is full 200 km day, having been on the front all day, most of the guys’ legs in the early break were screaming by the time Van Der Poel bridged up to them. Many would not help him make it to the finish so why not shell out many of them who could not aid him in the quest? But Van Der Poel kept looking over his shoulder before attacking—and he was clearly itching to attack. But what was he waiting for? His newfound friend, the Grenadier Jhonathon Narvaez, his full accomplice in this Madman’s Plan. So on the Kluisberg, the very last proper climb of the day, Van Der Poel ratcheted up the pace—it wasn’t even a full-tilt attack—and Narvaez came to his wheel subliminally knowing the plan already, and only Jonas Hvideberg of the small Norwegian Uno-X team could keep pace with them. For a Pro-Conti, second division, rider like Hvideberg, this is the best shop window he could ask for to find early World Tour suitors for the next season. Behind the other favorites were all forming an elite group of chasers only 52 seconds back. Surely, things were getting tight, the Madman’s Plan was turning into the big ask we always knew it was. By 52 km, the gap was only 45 seconds to the elite group of chasing favorites behind. Meanwhile, up front, two riders from the early break had clawed their way back to the leading trio of Van Der Poel, Navraez, and Hvideberg. The two riders were Patrick Gamper (Bora-Hansgrohe) and Artyom Zakharov (Astana – Premier Tech). And if the day couldn’t get stranger, Van Der Poel turned around to welcome them both each personally to the group. What was he saying to them? Surely, he must have spoken with them and expected them to aid the Madman’s Plan. Surely, he must have impressed upon them that if they did not aid in the escape, he would attack them again once more. Surely this is what he said, because Gamper and Zakharov immediately started sharing the pace. It was a comical scene, and it shall be remembered. Now, the reason all four of these other riders happily worked with Van Der Poel—who they were sure to lose to in a sprint—was because a Top Five result in a major Classic would be a great result for all four of these men. With 50 km to go, the gap was only 41 seconds, yes, surely this would be a big ask for this group to stay away all the way to Kuurne.

And yet, with 42 km to go, the gap had stabilized and was even back up to 50 seconds, the Madman’s Plan was getting a second wind and every single viewer was loving the moment—chuckling at the hilarity of what they couldn’t believe to be seeing. Yes, this was an ideal “Sprinters’” Cobbled Classic, a small group of strong escapees upfront surely already very tired from their more excessive early efforts than the chasers behind, the chasers who had saved more energy sitting behind in the draft of other riders and only showed themselves at need now finally kicking into high gear themselves to bring back the men up front. This escape and chaser dynamic developed a third wrinkle as well, a third group had formed behind to chase back onto that more elite second group, but what this third group lacked in quality it backed up for in quantity. Surely, it lacked in quality for the strongest men besides Van Der Poel were in the second group on the road having proven the strongest over the climbs where the peloton broke up. And then the bane of pelotons in Belgium hit, that quant-itous third group was ravaged by crosswinds over an exposed field—whittling it down into only the most elite men of that group. Yes, it is days like these where the Classics receive their name. This continued for some time. Van Der Poel and his loyal four, the main favorites in a group of 20 or so behind, and a third group of 10 or 15 more minor favorites and top domestiques in a third group who had not yet given up the fight. With 25 km to go, Van Der Poel’s leading five had a tenuous 23 second gap over the 2nd Group, and only a 53 second gap over the 3rd. Surely, this was the definition of a finely balanced race, if ever there was one—touch and go, we say, touch and go. Even that third group was not out of it. If they could catch the second group, the two groups would about double in size and thus potentially double in firepower to bring back the mighty Van Der Poel and is makeshift “teammates” up front. Touch and Go. Truly, it was touch and go.

It is races like these that need to be shown to the people who understand nothing about cycling. It is races like these that showcase the sport well. And we can be thankful for the mighty ones like Julian Alaphilippe and Mathieu Van Der Poel who have a knack of providing us with such spectacles. We all remember Van Der Poel’s 2019 Amstel Gold finish, it was engraved in the heart of every cycling fan, on the Road he punched his ticket into the Club all the way back then. But it wasn’t really until today that he finally received the keycard in his mailbox after two years of them getting lost in the mail. The keycard to the “Makes-Your-Day-Club;” surely it took so long to arrive, because Van Der Poel has the pesky caveat that it is only every one of his Road Wins that Makes Our Day—the keycard do not work whenever he wins a minor non-round-triple-digit Cross race. But here we were, reveling in the beauty of bike racing, as Mathieu Van Der Poel, one of the sport’s great showmen spoiled us by putting his talents to more entertaining that strategically reasonable uses.

They rode through the city streets of Kortrijk, signifying they were close to the finishing line, but of course as tradition in this race, there would be a one pass through the finish before a final lap of 16 kms. And the finely balanced race became much more interesting when finally with 17 kms to go, the third chasing group got within a stone’s throw of the second group. And then in the second group, Greg Van Avermaet, the Olympic Champion, made that third group work for the junction by putting in a surge on the front to keep his second group away—make the third group do the maximum work to catch back on. Meanwhile with 16 km to go, Van Der Poel and his leading group passed through the finish line to begin the final lap, but with Van Avermaet’s surge the gap between the first and second groups was only some 10 seconds—12 at most, I kid you not. Though the last kilometers seem to be on the quiet suburban or village roads of Kuurne, the final lap would take the riders back into the city streets of Kortrijk before rounding back to the finish line they just crossed in Kuurne. Ten seconds, Van Der Poel and companions nervously kept taking looks over the shoulders and could see the shades of the sunglasses on the chasers behind…and yet still they did not give in—like the Trojans who would not lay down their arms. Yes, still the five kept the good corporation: a top five would be a great result for these four assisting Van Der Poel. And meanwhile behind, the beautiful game-theory equalizer in bike racing was taking place to string out the suspense: no one in that second chasing group wanted to be the man to spend the last bit of energy to finally catch the leading five: leave it to someone else. Yes, game theory, a prisoner’s dilemma, no one does the final chasing because it would benefit all but hinder the one to do the final chasing. And while that second group was being cagey about finishing off the job, that third group behind finally caught on and swelled their ranks with 11 km to go. And thus the complexion was changed once more: Van Der Poel and his four men in the lead with now a group some about 40 strong only 10 seconds behind. And yet now they were weaving right and left on the city streets of Kortrijk: no longer were the groups on the same straight stretch of road. And with 8 km to go, by Jove the gap between the two groups was up to 17 seconds: the Kortrijk city streets were giving this Madman Plan its five or sixth live of the day. Was Van Der Poel about to go two for two in road races he’s attended this season? Was he about to follow up his UAE Crosswinds win with a Belgian Classic, that no one thought he would even attend, a week later? He was getting lucky because behind the now big group had no cohesion and could not mount the chase. But the final roads were suburban and village straight wide boulevards—even a few sections of open space were exposed to the dangerous crosswinds. Still with 6 km to go, the gap was 22 seconds. Van Der Poel, Mathieu Van Der Poel was about to pull off another Classic win fully deserving of the name. O! It was too good to be true!

And thus yes, the Madman’s Plan was all too good to be true. With 4 km to go, the gap was still 20 seconds, but then the attacks finally came from the large chasing group: Groupama’s Stefan Kung, Bahrain’s Haussler, and Quickstep’s Asgreen ripped off and launched Cape Canaveral rocket attacks. No one could get separation, but they ate up Van Der Poel’s and his group’s 20 second gap. Attack after attack led to their downfall. With 1.5 km to go, the hilarious Madman Plan came to an end as Van Der Poel and his group was caught. But there was no time for shake hands with his new friends to commemorate a good try, Van Der Poel slotted right in to the chasing pack, ready to try his hand in the sprint despite being out in the wind for some 80 kilometers already. I say this with the most admiration possible, could we expect nothing less from this man? Surely, any that had seen 2019 Amstel Gold even knew we could not count him out to pull off this tallest of order sprints. He slotted in for the last K, and had to hope it just opened up back for him. They took the last turn. Whatever lead out men were left came to the front, we could see Van Der Poel in the mix of the sprint, but he was too far back and too boxed in. It was way too much to ask as we all knew. Trek-Segafredo’s Mads Pederson, the former World Champion, won the sprint, a rider we had not seen all day. Credit to him, he rode a smart race and took a great victory for his team. But Mads’ win was an afterthought compared to Van Der Poel’s performance. I think we all know Van Der Poel could have rode Mads’ race if he really wanted to. But Van Der Poel rewrote the script so extensively today, we didn’t even care about the winner. This was a race that put a smile on our faces that will not fade for three or four days, because we couldn’t believe the hilarious Madman Plan Mathieu Van Der Poel and his unexpected accomplice Jhonathon Narvaez came within a mile of pulling off. It was impressive and beloved, it is another anecdotal proof of why we always watch cycling—when you have superstars like Julian Alaphilippe the Musketeer or Mathieu Van Der Poel the Madman in the race you never know what antics and heroics they might strum up. Yes, I said it at the start, on this Opening Weekend these two showmen were bold enough to not even make winning their top priority. Both got in a hard day’s racing to serve them better for bigger objectives to come, and we got another story-thread to add to the sagas of these living legends’ careers, and these are tales that shall make us chuckle for days and years to come as we look back on their outlandish unbelievability.