2021 Preview: Team DSM (formerly Team Sunweb)

Thus we begin with a name change that almost none of the cycling community saw coming. No longer shall Sunweb be the title sponsor of this team that had such an excellent 2020 season. Sunweb, a vacation-booking company, is an understandable position to bow out of the great financial burden of being the title sponsor of a cycling team. Stepping into the title-sponsor breach comes the Dutch DSM company. Exactly what this company does is hard to pinpoint within such a preview as this: in fact their website seems a rabbit-hole to me, it seems they have fingers in many different pies. They are “a purpose-led science company” concentrating on finding solutions for nutrition, health, and the sustainable living fields; perhaps that shall be an excellent match to help this already smart and high-performing cycling team innovate even further and gain more results of great renown.

Yes, last year’s Sunweb team had a fine string of successes. O! how they impressed us all! For on paper, quite frankly, their Startlists for the biggest races appeared to be a list of cannon fodder riders to be chewed up and spit out the back as the roads started to climb. And yet this was the team that won three stages of the Tour, the team that almost won the Giro d’Italia—putting two riders on the finishing podium in Milan. Not only did they achieve great victories: they were a thrilling bunch of lads to watch. That was the beauty of the team last year, on paper, many had only modest success, if any, and beyond a few veterans like Nicholas Roche son of the famous Stephen all were still young up-and-comers. But then they appeared at the Tour undaunted, on a mission, a game plan every day, targets acquired, mentally ready to fire their shots at the proper time. Their Tour provided a clinic for how teams should stage hunt. They had a handful of days picked out in advance, stages they knew would be difficult to control, all energy and thought was devoted to these days: forget the high mountains—all eight riders could just sit in the grupetto to save energy for the days that counted most. And thus it was: on the fateful days where they saw the best opportunities—long days with tricky hilly or lumpy finishes—they unleashed. The coordination of these days was what provided the beauty and thrill: rarely was it only one Sunweb rider on the attack. Always, always was it a true team performance of attacking and counterattacking. One or even two together would launch an attack on a steep gradient that had most of the peloton on the ropes, when those riders were brought back one or two more Sunweb riders were waiting in the wings to launch their own attack. They had so many men always ready to attack, literally sometimes five of their eight riders there in greatly reduced pelotons, it became a simple numbers game: surely they were creating such good odds that their lottery number would soon be drawn—one of their attacks would finally be good enough to stay away to the finish. It took them past halfway through the Tour to get their first stage, but after that they ripped off two more as well.

The hero of that Sunweb Tour team had to be Marc Hirschi, the revelation of the Tour. The Swissman, who grew up idolizing Spartacus Fabian Cancellara, proved to be a strong Baby Spartacus or Hurricane Hirschi that Tour. It shall be a long time before we forget his heartbreaking Pyrenean stage loss where the Slovenian GC battle gobbled him up in the final kilometers. But he earned his stripes, and a few stages later he took the stage win he deserved after his teammates set up his escape. After the Tour, it was no surprise when he placed well in the Ardennes Classics. He won Fleche Wallone on the famous Mur de Huy finishing climb, he looked good in that race and that finish is indicative of who is the most dominate puncheur in the world—Fleche is never a race won by cunning, only brute strength. A couple days later he came back for the Ardennes big one: Liege-Bastogne-Liege, one of the Five Monuments of Cycling. There he was in the final selection, there he was sprinting for the win, and perhaps he would have won if Julian Alaphilippe (Deceuninck-Quickstep) had not cut him off—an incident that earned Alaphilippe a relegation. Yes, I think it likely without inference Hurricane Hirschi would have won that sprint over the famous Slovenians. But now what will he do in 2021? Surely, he must peak for the Ardennes once more. After that, the Grand Tours, but what shall he do? To shoot straightly with you, I would be delighted to see him and Team DSM just run it back again with that ultimate Tour stage-hunting team: truly, it was too much fun last year. But perhaps Hirschi earns a role in Grand Tour leadership of some kind, perhaps at the Giro or Veulta, at least to see how he can fair on the GC? I wait in eager anticipation to see every step of this electric rider’s progression.

Now at the 2020 Tour, Hurricane Hirschi was actually outdone by one of his own teammates: Soren Kragh Andersen who took not one but two stage wins. But whereas Hirschi had more strength and talent, Kragh Andersen was the teammate that got lucky twice in the Sunweb lottery of shotgun-attacks. His first win into Lyon was after he, Hirschi, and Teisj Benoot continued firing attack after attack that Bora-Hansgrohe had to continually chase down. Hirschi had a last big one that looked so good, it was no surprise that only Peter Sagan (Bora-Hansgrohe) himself could neutralize it, but such an effort sapped Sagan of all his energy and there was Kragh Andersen immediately on the counterattack with three kilometers to go—a perfect escape when the rest of the peloton was on their hands and knees. It was a similar situation when he won his second stage on Stage 19, when all the sprinters and puncheurs broke away in a 30-man group to contest a sprint finish: again Sagan was chasing down everything in sight, and right after Sagan had neutralized the biggest threat, there was Kragh Andersen scurrying solo off the front once more. His wins were earned and well deserved, but they were never his alone: Hirschi, Benoot, and the veteran Nicholas Roche were facilitating as well—not quite selflessly, because perhaps their attacks would be the one to stick, but fate and luck turned up Kragh Andersen twice instead of them. All are back this year, as said above, I would not mind seeing them run this team back in the Tour, especially since they have a brand new shiny arrow in their quiver to fire off.

The big headliner off season signing for this DSM team is of course Romain Bardet, previously of AG2R. For some five or six years the Frenchman Bardet has been the face of that famous French team. With AG2R Bardet finished twice on the Tour podium in Paris, second in 2016 and third in 2017; but after a few disappointing seasons where GC leadership turned up few results, apparently it was time for Bardet and AG2R to part ways. I do not know who initiated the breakup or if both thought it a mutual benefit, but I think it will prove beneficial for both parties. I think Bardet’s chances of ever finishing higher than 2nd place at the Tour de France or any other Grand Tour are extremely slim. And though he is not as bad as compatriot Thibaut Pinot (Groupama-FDJ) at handling the pressure of team leadership, perhaps that is not where he would most thrive. Additionally, lower-key he has shown glimpses of greatness in the one-day Classics. Most dedicated cycling fans will recall he finished second to Teisj Benoot and ahead of Wout Van Aert (Jumbo-Visma) on the ghostly-white rainy edition of Strade Bianche in 2018, but many will forget when he was in the final selection of a wildly thrilling and difficult 2016 il Lombardia—being one of the Five Monuments, an even more prestigious race than Strade. Thus this move to a proven stage-hunters team could be an ideal match. Sunweb did the GC routine with Tom Dumoulin (Jumbo-Visma) for a few years and they even won the 2017 Giro, but I believe they realize that they do not like all their eggs in one basket: they do not want all their resources and money tied up to one big sprinter or GC rider. Thus with Bardet’s entry it shall be a head-scratcher if they do commit to him Dumoulin-level Grand Tour leadership, but if they treat him as the first among equals in a dynamic team of multi-ambitious riders perhaps he will shine brighter than ever before. Send him to the Tour, perhaps even have him attempt to ride GC, but do not give him any pressure, do not have the teammates commit to his cause from day one—allow the teammates to stage hunt or achieve great feats in the breakaways again as they did last year. If Bardet places well on the GC, excellent—even help him defend the placing in the back half of the Grand Tour if you want—but if he falls out of contention: no worries either, drop more time and join the bunch for stage hunting and become an integral player in the Classics campaign, because, Romain, you have the talent for it. I have never been more excited for you, I think you shall have more fun purely racing your bicycle and thus we shall have more fun watching you set loose from massive GC pressure.

A last rider we must touch on is one of the many revelations of the Giro: Jai Hindley. Who had heard of this 24-year-old Australian before the year 2020? Now, by pure chance I did set eyes on him at the early season Herald Sun Tour in Australia before the lock downs started. That race does actually have some proper mountains compared to the minor Ardenne-style hills in Adelaide that the Tour Down Under is contested over, and Hindley hung with the best: it was a good stepping stone performance to begin the season….but who could have guessed going into the final day time trial of the Giro d’Italia this up-and-comer would be wearing the Maglia Rosa, the Pink Jersey as race leader of the Giro. Alas! Of course he lost the Pink Jersey that final day to Tao Geoghegan Hart (Ineos Grenadiers) who was tied on time and produced a better TT that day, but that does not diminish what Hindley accomplished. Coronavirus and crashes had decimated that strange October Giro, but that final week was still filled with a proper string of brutal High Mountain GC days and many accomplished veterans could not keep up with these new young bucks like Jai Hindley, who are likely to prove to be the future stars. What is in store for Hindley this season? Your guess is as good as mine: surely he deserves a place of honor in the team’s Startlists. But as I continue to harp on: Team DSM’s strength and newfound bread-and-butter can be realized in their wealth of options; like Bardet and Hirschi, I would say Hindley should be one of the top among many in the races he competes in. What he shall achieve I do not know, but I will be shocked if Hindley has a clunker of a season or a goose-egg in the win column.

To finish up, I will just cover my bases to say that DSM will produce at least two or three more success stories this season. Thus far unmentioned, it should be noted that Sunweb had a shockingly amazing lead out at the Tour this year, but young sprinter Cees Bol just could not bring home the bacon against riders like Wout Van Aert, Sam Bennett (Deceuninck-Quickstep), and Caleb Ewan (Lotto Soudal)—and no one should find any shame or fault in that. Over the past few years this team has proven to be one of the best at getting the best out of their riders. By all accounts, they are not one of the biggest budget teams, thus it must be through good coaching and teamwork that these obscure upstarts punch above their weight. This year they shall don black jerseys with two light blue vertical stripes down the middle. Some say it reminds of Team Sky’s now iconic dominating uniforms, to which I say “Perhaps.” But more so I see that it resembles—with the two vertical stripes—the Sunweb uniforms of the past couple years, but now in colors that better reflect the new DSM sponsor; and I for one am a fan of this design. This team comes off a great season where they seem to have found a winning formula that gives them a lot of bang for their buck, if they stick with this formula—which I do mildly think is at least a minor question mark—I think they shall continue reaping success and winning over fans who have appreciated their dynamic and thrilling team performances.

To the reader: I talk about the Hirschi transfer news in the podcast episode. I left in his part, because I wanted to ruminate on what could have been.

THE INTRODUCTION Stage 4 – AN EASY LIFE IS NOT FOR THEM

To finish this Introduction of Four Stages, I wish to clarify a few misconceptions that might already be developing. Please do not think I shall be setting up pagan shrines to these cyclists like the Ancients did of old for Hercules or other quasi-divine heroes. I fully acknowledge that there are greater heroes in this present day and throughout the past, perhaps someday I shall branch out to dwell on those stories too. But when it comes to sports, cyclists are inarguably my top choice for hero material. They are the top choice, because of how they inspire me. And they inspire me because they remind me of heroes greater than them.

            I speak of the people past, present, and future who have, are, or will suffer in pursuit of things greater than themselves. For the great men and women we admire and remember—the heroes from any realm you choose—creature comforts are not enough. An easy life is not for them. I speak of heroes we admire for their struggle, their determination, their bravery against all odds, their commitment to a cause greater than their own mortal-life when they fight in many realms for glory, honor, justice, beauty, excellence, a better life, their people, their family, their God. It is inspiring. I think of the young men who stormed the beaches of Normandy in 1944—now an archetypal image for bravery in combat. I think of the explorers and pioneer families since the dawn of humanity who have traveled across rough oceans and all sorts of harsh landscapes to populate frontiers and tame the wild. I think about the citizens of a nation that aspire to “ask not what their country can do from them, but what they can do for their country;” the same nation who decided to go to the Moon “not because it is easy, but because it is hard.” I think of people throughout history who have discerned what is right and fought the injustices of their time. I think of noble people who spend every ounce of their energy in voluntary service to better the lives of the marginalized. I think of my own tradition where holy men and women have suffered to imitate and follow the ultimate example of Christ Who has gone before them—treading The Difficult Path for the sake of all fellow Men. But as should be clear by now, I look to all the great stories from all the cultures of humanity for great heroes who took the hard road for higher purposes. Yes ultimately, we all value these same aspirations. Giraffes have long necks, mosquitos suck blood, and koalas are adorably cute, but Men look beyond themselves to greater purposes.

            Thus is cycling, like all the best sports, a microcosm realm of pursuits greater than one’s self. To train, to hone their race-craft, to develop the fortitude required to race a bike pushes a person out of their comfort zone where they develop and mature physically, mentally, spiritually. The preparation is difficult in itself and many are not rewarded for their efforts with prizes. But just the desire to compete, just the will to endure grueling training sessions and harrowingly hard race experiences is surely something special, surely gives a sense of higher purpose. Thus none of these cyclists ever simply ride faster than the others or just cross the line first to win. There is always a story of determination and passion to overcome adversity and suffering to pull off a great victory…why else are there always such great celebrations from even the most modest riders when they win? And just as at the best of times in all sports, sometimes the victory is relished by more than just the winner themselves. At times, whole nations have applauded a great champion’s accomplishment. In the cycling realm the first example that comes to mind is Gino Bartali’s 1948 Tour de France victory that helped ease tensions in Italy where civil strife was on the brink of becoming civil war (events surely to be covered more in the future). But the beauty of at least modern cycling for me is that surely the individual winner absolutely never celebrates alone, because they never win alone.

            For such an individual sport, it is unbelievable to see how much teams are necessary. Many riders enter the race with no intention to win themselves—a majority come to the races fully planning to sacrifice their chances for a team leader who is already an accomplished champion or is physically greater than the rest of the team. Some guard and place their leader safely among the peloton, some give the leader their bike when the leader’s breaks, some pace their leader up mountains or lead them out in the sprints, many are even humble enough to grab food and water from the car for their leader or will take back the leader’s rain jacket when the Sun shines again. And of course none of these jobs are easy, for these riders are in the same hard race that the champion wins. Thus they suffer like the champion, but their suffering receives not the same glory—sometimes not even any reward whatsoever to speak of. But sometimes the teammate’s leader wins, and the teammate completes the challenging race as well. At those times it is so satisfying and rewarding to see the celebrations; there are none more joyous than the celebrations with the ones that helped you win, the ones who suffered not only with you but for you. To endure such sufferings of a bike race especially not even for your own sake but a teammate’s, truly these are the inspiring pursuits I speak of—the ones greater than oneself. Why such riders do it shall be an eternal topic of conservation, but there is no denying I admire them for it; and I am deeply moved by their performances.

Thus, all is laid bare. If you combine the epic-ness of the sport as described in previous Stages of this Introduction, the suffering mentioned here and clear to see during any bike race, and particularly the self-sacrifice of many of the teammates: then you now know why cycling is my favorite sport. Other sports have all three elements of mythical epic, massive hardship, and teammate self-sacrifice, but it is nowhere else nearly as dramatic as it is in cycling in my opinion. And as said in previous Stages as well, no other sport so easily lends itself to be dramatized by even the simplest of storytellers. Yes, now I—one of the simple storytellers—can contain no longer these ideas in my head alone, it is unavoidable that words must spill out onto a page and my written thoughts shall be transmitted out orally across cutting-edge mediums of technology. So now at last, this opening stage race of Introductions is complete. Let us now move on. At last, let the chronicling of great deeds done on two wheels begin!

THE INTRODUCTION Stage 3 – EVERY BIKE RACE: A MINI-ODYSSEY

After fighting with the Greeks for ten long years to capture Troy, Odysseus’ and Greeks’ mission was finally accomplished when Odysseus came up with that full-proof plan involving a wooden horse. And his reward for bringing antiquity’s most famous war to a close? Ten more years of arduous journeying home to his island of Ithaca. On that long journey Odysseus crisscrossed the Mediterranean world, sailing from island to island, surviving storms and shipwreck, he even made a trip to the Underworld. He encountered psychedelic Lotus Eaters, massive whirlpools, sea monsters, monsters with one eye, bags of wind, cannibals, shapeshifters, hypnotic singing sirens, and forbidden cattle. Many and more than just the most classic gods of Greek mythology showed up throughout the whole adventure—some aided him, some captured him, some worked for his destruction. And thus finally landing on Ithaca’s shores once more, he found the island changed, his estate changed, his family changed, and he himself changed. The Odysseus who returns to Ithaca is not the same Odysseus who left twenty years before, he is not even the same Odysseus who victoriously left Troy ten years before. Lovers of literature, wise men, and psychoanalysts consider this story of one the ultimate examples of a Hero’s Journey.

The Hero’s Journey is the story of a human—usually one many of us can relate to—who leaves the normal and comfortable life they have always known and crosses a threshold into the wild where unpredictable adventures await. Along the way the hero makes friends and enemies, meets mentors, is given gifts to aid his quest. The hero goes on to accomplish great deeds and feats of fame he or she did not think they were capable of. Ultimately the Hero achieves their goal: finds the treasure, rescues their loved one, kills the dragon, or wins the fight. Thus the Quest is accomplished and it is time to return to normal life…but when the hero gets home, they realize they are irreversibly changed—usually for the better. It is not so much the gains and glory of the quest that has irreversibly changed the hero: it is the journey and the achievement of the Quest itself that has grown the Hero into a better version of themselves. Yes, yes, in the Odyssey, such transformations happen to Odysseus over the course of his journey. And thus as described in the previous two Stages, I am sure you can tell where I see the Hero’s Journey in our contemporary world. Yes, I see narratives of bicycle racing easily lending themselves to the Hero’s Journey formula.

            Before discussing the heroes themselves, let us compare the adventures of these journeys. When one sees the route of the Grand Tours circling or sometimes zig-zagging around or across France, Italy, and Spain, does not the map of Odysseus’ plotted route around the Mediterranean quickly come to mind? Are there not similarities between the winds that blow Odysseus off course constantly compared to the crosswinds that denotate and ravage a bicycle race? To pass through an ordeal or hurdle like that of Scylla and Charybdis seems comparable to how the riders of Paris-Roubaix feel when they manage to conquer the ferocious Trench of Arenberg cobblestone section that always manages to catch a dozen men out—ruining their race prospects. To see a cyclist skid around the road in a gnarly crash is as treacherous as a hero’s ship being ripped apart by the waves or hurled against the jagged rocks of a rough coastline. To sail from island to island and rest reminds one of the cyclists’ nightly recovery process in a stage race or even the full Rest Days of the Grand Tours. To pioneer and explore the places where no men have gone before—whether to a new island or even beyond the river Styx to the Underworld, surely that is the feeling the cyclists have when they lead the race over a great and grisly mountain pass far from safe and comfortable villages nestled in valleys far below. When the rains are fierce or even turn to snow or hail, then surely the experience speaks for itself how it is related to an ancient hero’s ship being tossed around at sea and then the shipwrecked men surviving a brutally chilly night with little supplies. The jerseys, prizes, and trophies the men go on to win in cycling surely sound like the gold, treasure, and gifts the ancient heroes won as well. And surely the feeling of accomplishment and completion and conclusion that the hero experiences when they finally reach Ithaca or any other home is how every rider of the Tour feels when they finally reach Paris. Yes, a plethora of cycling adventures are comparable to those faced by the heroes of epic literature. With that said, now let us turn back to the steps of Hero’s Journey itself, for those also are comparable to cycling.

            Reviewing all the Hero’s Journeys of literature: anyone can be a suitable choice for the main hero role: man or woman, from great king or emperor down to lowly slave. The only common starting point of all the Heroes is that they are in an environment they seem to understand or can even control. In cycling, many heroes’ journeys start when they see a cycling race for the first time: on TV or in person or have read about a great race in the paper: they receive their call, their road to professional cycling begins in that moment. Thus they work and struggle to buy a bike, learn how to race with the help of friends or mentors, they are given the proper gear, and finally when they have mastered the local criteriums they travel to far lands trying their luck in the bigger races. By then, surely they have crossed a threshold into a world of unknown adventures. Think of all the North and South American, Australian, Asian, African, and even British riders that make the Quest to Continental Europe to pursue their dreams of professional racing: not only is the transition rough for the competition is much higher, but they must settle into life in a foreign city and country where they can probably count the number of people they know on one hand. Those first couple of years, these young heroes get their heads kicked in, their teeth punched out every race; they never feel they properly recovered between these ordeals of endurance; they become bruised and battered; many of them give up and forsake the Quest. Yet some, the most elite, go on to ride the biggest Classics—the most prestigious single day races, and biggest weeklong stage races. The ones that proves themselves there are given a spot in their team’s Grand Tour lineup. To do a single day Classic or weeklong race can be a mini-Hero’s Journey of its own for so much can happen in a matter of hours or over the course of a couple days: people have gone from Zero to Hero many times in the course of these races. But for a rider to do their first Grand Tour: that will 100% of the time be a Hero’s Journey on its own—a Hero’s Journey within the cyclist’s career-Hero’s Journey. All the cyclists by that point will be experienced racers, but no weeklong or 10-day stage race can prepare them for the uncomfortable beasts the Grand Tours are. Every interview you hear from a youngster in their first Grand Tour is he cannot believe how hard the first week is raced. He assumes the race will settle down the further in they go. To their disappointment: it does not. Nothing can put more proverbial hair on a cyclist’s chest than completing a Grand Tour. They finish physically stronger, tactically more astute, psychologically more formidable. And then there are the riders in the Grand Tours, the Classics, and the stage races that do anything worthy of public note.

The top races of the sport provide conditions for cyclists to reach their zenith: to have their day of glory, to fulfill their childhood dreams, to be forever irreversibly changed. Over the course of a handful of hours Mat Hayman went from journeyman cyclist at the tail-end of his career to feel-good hero of the decade when he won the stunning 2016 edition of the single day Classic and Monument he had been chasing for fifteen years: Paris-Roubaix. Colombian Egan Bernal entered the 2019 Tour de France as a dark horse contender—but still one much too young and inexperienced—and yet he walked away with the Yellow Jersey and became the first Colombian Tour winner, it was quite a celebration when he came back to home roads to celebrate with all those rabid cycling fans. Bernal took off that Yellow Jersey off the shoulders of Frenchman Julian Alaphilippe who had become a hero to the French people as he unexpectedly battled against the inevitable downfall like Hector did at Troy centuries ago. And to see Slovenian Tadej Pogacar accidently slay his compatriot mentor Primoz Roglic at the 2020 Tour: I felt like I watched Young Beowulf rise to prominence by slewing the monster Grendel—but instead of killing a monster Pogacar committed a spicy act of Fratricide. Yes, yes, these riders complete such feats and they are no longer the same. Not just because they now have a splendid new jersey, but for all they achieved along the way of their quest. And then yes, you have guessed rightly: it is not limited only to the victors of these races to be the heroes: all the riders—even many of the ones that crash out, their support crews, the race organizers, and the journalists that follow in toe complete Hero’s Journeys of their own.

            Thus I believe I have laid out the case for why this show shall be called the Cycling Odysseys. It shall chronicle riders who are Heroes and over the course of their Journeys they are changed like Odysseus was in the Odyssey. There is a bountiful supply of Hero’s Journeys to pick from: Gilgamesh, Dante, King Arthur, Shackleton, Neo, or Luke Skywalker to name a few. But I have chosen Odysseus, because his is arguably the most famous Hero’s Journey and it reminds also of Homer’s war epic the Iliad whose presence in my mind while watching cycling has already been touched on in previous Stages. So now we near the end of the Introduction of Many Stages. This penultimate stage is finished, only one more remains.

THE INTRODUCTION Stage 2 – A SPORT THAT WOULD GIVE HOMER GOOSEBUMPS

As promised in Stage 1, it is time to speak of one of the great Ancients who helps provide this show its identity. Let us speak of that famous poet, the bard to whom the two greatest epics are attributed, a man who can be recognized by one simple name. Yes, I speak of Homer. This is the man who sung of Troy and Odysseus in the Iliad and the Odyssey. From a Dark Age of Greek culture, shrouded in great mystery on the edge of history we are told of a blind old man wandering from banquet hall to banquet hall reciting in verse tales of the great heroes from that archetypal war, the Trojan War. For over 15,000 lines, Homer sings of those great heroes who did battle and achieved glory and never-ending fame on the beaches of Troy. The most famous of these were surely swift-footed Achilles and Hector, breaker of horses. It was their ultimate duel that has ever inspired all other duels since. To read such an epic and think you have just glimpsed an idealized or even fictious account of a minor pseudo-historical war over a small strategically located settlement in the Mediterranean basin is to utterly fail as a human being. Surely, Homer brings out so much more than simple men monotonously fighting in another meaningless war. And surely, his other 12,000-line epic of Odysseus’ journey home from Troy is so much more than a narrative map of roadblocks and course corrections. The Odyssey was arguably the most famous Hero’s Journey of all time: here is what it is like to boldly venture around the world, here were hardships and experiences that forever change a man—the Odysseus that left Ithaca is not the same as the Odysseus that returned twenty years later. As we journey through life ourselves—experiencing the world, gathering knowledge and wisdom, and crossing thresholds of great consequence—can we not constantly relate to Odysseus’ journey as well? As we read, did Achilles’ rage not also flow through our capillaries as well? And when Hector that most noble Trojan fell with the thud of a Redwood onto the forest floor…surely all heard it, surely all were cut to the core and choked up. Yes, Homer was a master of verse, but more so a storyteller of such great worth to humanity his name has been cherished and revered for two and a half millennia.

            Now let us play with hypotheticals. Imagine Homer lived among us today in these modern times. Where would he find his great heroes to inspire modern-age epics? Alas! Wars and violent conflicts are still plentiful in our day, providing heroes and villains for a bard of great quality to compose new famous lays. In addition to these veterans—hero sources as old as history—we have great moral teachers and scientists and philosophers and theologians, beloved leaders of nations, humble and virtuous holy men and women from all sorts of faiths. Surely, surely, Homer could hone-in and cover their great lives and struggles as he did for Odysseus, and perhaps he should if he were alive today. But if Homer were alive today, I daresay there is another realm where heroes vie for glory that would fully capture his attention. In modern times, the most physically gifted put their talents not to war, but to great athletic pursuits. The great men of Homer’s own day competed in athletic games and contests as well—forget not the funeral games of Patroclus—but surely in the modern age such competitions and sports have been elevated to stakes of higher reward and greater fame. Surely, our hypothetical modern Homer would develop a feverish love of sports. Surely, he would be a match or dethrone our best journalists and reporters who cover the most compelling competitions. Doubtless he would survey the sporting realm and be drawn to the events worth the highest stakes. Surely, every four years he would visit the village of the modern Olympians and watch the Games they play. If he did not physically present the World’s Cup to the nation with the best footwork, then surely he would commemorate their victory in verse. Surely, he would not miss that ultimate Bowl of Superb proportions that commences each cold February. Of course, he would eagerly watch the diamond where the Series most important to the World plays out. He would sing of the Masters who swing their clubs so precisely. He could tell of how gripped with Madness the collegiates and alumni are in March. All of these events and competitions would intoxicate his imagination and provide stories of much renown, but now I claim there is one sport and its most famous competition that would capture Homer’s heart most.

            Compared to elegantly crafted bronze chariots drawn by purebred stallions nurtured by the gods—the quintessential hero’s vehicle of the Ancient World, the modern steel or carbon-fiber framed bicycles at first only seem similar in the number of wheels. The purrs and revs of a sleek Formula One racecar’s engine would certainly catch Homer’s fancy before the simple pedal-powered bicycle used by youngsters who cannot yet drive an automobile. Ah! But this is Homer. He would only be distracted by these objects’ appearances for a few moments, then he would immediately start fathoming the well of compelling struggles these human-powered bicycle machines could provide. Understanding Man’s need for competition—for few have understood it better—surely Homer could have predicted that Men would inevitably start racing on such machines around velodromes like they raced on chariots in the hippodromes of the Roman world. He could probably perceive that the struggle of a bicycle race would provide an excellent medium in which to analyze and praise Man’s will and drive to pursue excellence and achieve enduring glory. He would note the hours of daily preparation and training these riders would do offstage to be their most physically fit for these master races. He would describe a pack of racers on these machines matching each other pedal stroke for pedal stroke in exhilarating terms as every meter they got closer to the glorious finish line. He would describe the shrewd and calculating tacticians who would draft behind the other racers to save their energy for when it would be needed most. He would describe the finishing sprint between two, three, even four men: the strongest of the bunch, all physical equals in that moment but only the one with the most heart—containing the greatest drive—would take the spoils of first place. Yes, Homer seeing two children riding by on bicycles could have imagined all those possibilities in an instant. But could he have predicted to what epic levels such competitions on the bicycle would go?

Seeing the invention of clocks and wristwatches, could Homer have imagined that they would not only race against each other, but against the clock as well? Competitions where foreigners far away and descendants years later could learn of these early champions’ accomplishments against the clock and try to best their efforts? Efforts where they would evenly expend every ounce of energy they had across the entire length of this timed trial—a gut-wrenching prospect—instead of only shrewdly conserving their energy for a winning attack against the competitors that started beside them. Could he have imagined, the individual and team pursuits of the track or the point-to-point time trials that have since been created on the road? Could he have predicted that they would not limit bunch racing only to the velodrome? Could he have imagined they would shut down neighborhood streets to host the criteriums and kermesses of many laps? Could he have imagined that they would dare race from city to city? And sometimes the cities would be hundreds of miles apart. Could he have imagined the time trial from Land’s End to John O’Groats that is the entire length of Britain? Could he have thought about that ultimate time trial: The Hour Record. With such modern GPS technology, what about the newest time trial craze of “Everesting” up the local climb for hours on end? Could Homer have imagined that such bicycle races would not only be limited to pristine roads and finely furnished wooden tracks, but would be raced across rough-hard and unforgivingly relentless cobblestones built in bygone eras? Could he have imagined the mud-pits and sand traps of cyclocross? Or the rocky surfaces of mountain biking? Could he have imagined they would be daring enough to ride the great mountain passes of the Alps and Pyrenees with their grueling ascents and harrowing descents? Alpe d’Huez or the Stelvio, or the mighty Giant of Provence—that Evil one—Mont Ventoux. But most of all, could Homer have guessed that they would race multiple days, multiple stages as part of one massive overall race? Could he have imagined some of these stage races would traverse entire countries?

Surely in this 21st Century, the rumor would come to him about these mythical Grand Tours. He would hear of the three-week races that can only be thought of as grueling and epic: the Tour de France, the Giro d’Italia, and the Vuelta a Espana. Perhaps upon getting a grasp of these events, Homer would muse: “Why surely, this sounds as brutal as my Odyssey. It is unlikely any of these men shall be shipwrecked, nor shall they visit the Underworld on these journeys; but my, my, the hardships they will have to face would make Odysseus frown. In the most urban environments, look at how they fly around the narrow streets with their traffic furniture at ferocious speeds to win a sprint victory. And the very next day, they must ride another century-and-a-half of miles as they are drenched in buckets upon buckets of rain. And upon getting through such days they are greeted by a shark’s teeth profile of mountain pass after mountain pass for the next day’s stage. Do a number of these daunting days and a race or two against the clock, and the greatest champions shall surely rise to the top. Ah! Yes, here, here is where my heart is unconditionally won, for such a competition resembles not just Odysseus’ Odyssey: the battles man-to-man contained within such a journey remind me of the epic showdowns on the beaches of Troy. To see the top fast-men fly head-to-head with streaks of fire beneath their wheels in perfectly timed sprints is not only a show of physical prowess but a psychological masterpiece in achieving the ultimate goal. The same is true in the time trials: physical condition is of course paramount, but the part of tactics is fully substituted for an even greater portion of mental fortitude—O! how the legs scream in such efforts against the clock. And then there are the crown jewel of duels in the mountains. Where the spritely mountain-goat climbers battle for glory and distance themselves from the better time-trialists who lead in the General Classification—the overall competition. Ah, sometimes too it is not the great favorites who win but a crafty and cunning underdog—like one of the many minor characters I highlight in my Iliad who take on the greatest warriors. And yet I look at the archived records and reports, and I do see that yes, yes, once in a blue moon there is a showdown that echoes the famous duel of my Iliad between swift-footed Achilles and Hector, breaker of horses. Yes, I review the roll-calls of the champions of the great races and I start to dabble into their biographies. They reveal to me this sport is not only one with a rich history, but a genuine mythology—as you moderns would call it—of its own. Was Coppi really the milk-boy for Girardengo? Who passed the bidon to who? Can Hinault prove his innocence in his accused betrayal of Lemond? Should Contador have waited when Schleck’s chain dropped in the Pyrenees? In this modern world of such comfort and ease compared to my own, look at the suffering some Men are paid to endure for the rewards of glory and fame. Surely, I, Homer, am moved; surely, here is suitable material for an epic.” Thus hypothetically spake Homer.

In the last Stage, I quoted Buzzati’s comparisons of Coppi to Achilles, Bartali to Hector. Not only do I firmly believe Homer would approve, but in my heart of hearts I think Homer would shed a tear of joy at the beauty and truth of the comparison. I state again that Buzzati line:

“After thirty years, a feeling that we’ve never forgotten. Thirty years ago, that is to say, when we learned that Hector had been slain by Achilles. Is such a comparison too solemn, too glorious? No. What use would the so-called ‘classical studies’ be if the fragments that remained with us did not become an integral part of our humble existence?” (Emphasis mine. Dino Buzzati, The Giro d’Italia: Coppi versus Bartali at the 1949 Tour of Italy, p. 161)

Truly Buzzati hammers the nail on its head to the purpose of the classical studies. For after reading such poets such as Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, and other authors from the ancient past to the contemporary novelists and even filmmakers their tales do remain with me in my bones, my blood, my mind and imagination. To omit or squander such references to the famous stories—the ones that move the hearts of men—that I see echo on in the deeds of current men who shall someday be legends themselves, seems to me a massive waste—a missed opportunity if ever there was one. In Stage 1, I spoke about when cycling was king and the tradition to which I wish to return. Here, I have spoken of the king of epic storytelling, the one I wish to emulate most as I attempt to recapture cycling’s rich narrative tradition. I wish to emulate him most because as I have said elsewhere: cycling for me is the Iliad and Odyssey combined. I have laid the case here for why Homer would love cycling. And not only that, in a nod to the great poet: one of his epics forms the title of this show. O! How you all implicitly know I wish I could include both epics in my title, but let the next Stage—Stage 3—serve as explicit reasoning to why I have chosen to name this show the Cycling Odysseys.

THE INTRODUCTION: Stage 1 – WHEN CYCLING WAS KING

After hearing rumors of its existence for several years, I began to watch the Tour de France regularly when Mark Cavendish was at the peak of his powers. I loved seeing the Manx Missile dominate the sprints, but I was quickly drawn to the overall General Classification (GC) battles for the coveted malliot jaune, the Yellow Jersey awarded to the Tour Champion. In that era, I remember the top men mixing it up in the mountains were Andy and Frank Schleck, Alberto Contador, and Cadel Evans. But alas! away at summer camps, I missed their most famous duels: in the Pyrenees the young and mighty Andy Schleck versus the wily and tricksy Alberto Contador in the prime of life who rode away in Chaingate, or in another edition I heard of Schleck’s exploits in the Alps trying to find separation from Cadel Evans on the high Galibier and beloved Alpe d’Huez but ultimately it was not enough for Schleck to take victory overall.

I did not see these battles, but to hear them described was perhaps more powerful. My imagination was allowed to run wild once more as it did when I first heard the rumor of this Tour’s existence. I thought about the stamina, the fitness, and the guts it takes to ride all the way around France, and yet the race can still come down to one last decisive mountain stage, one last mountain, one last chance to attack for overall victory. Hearing about the final Pyrenean battles, I could not envision Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador as only cyclists racing up a mountain. I imagined famous boxers in the ring trading blows for the World Heavyweight Title. Each attack—surges of pace up the steep gradient climbs trying to distance the other rider—was an attempt to crack the rival and land the knockout punch. And yet the rival was up for the challenge, counterattacking himself, trying to deal a knockout punch as well. In my head, that 2010 Tour of Schleck vs Contador is the gold standard of going toe-to-toe, pedal stroke for pedal stroke. For two, maybe even three days they battled on in the misty rain-soaked Pyrenees while the rabid fans cheered them on up and down the famous climbs. I love, too, the idea that that Tour ended in infamy: only Schleck’s chain drop amid the ascent of the Port de Bales climb could separate them. Villainous Contador took advantage of this Schleck misfortune—no fault of his own—and rode away to victory overall in that Tour. In years following, much controversy surrounds that Tour. Contador was stripped of that title for doping and seemed even more the villain. But then as I learned more and more about the sport, I didn’t have the full story at the time: apparently Contador was in the midst of an attack when Schleck’s chain dropped. Remember, as I said I did not see this myself. I only heard secondhand accounts of the stages, I only saw quick-snippet highlights of their round-for-round scorching attacks and counterattacks. What rightly happened or what I only heard happened has mostly faded from my memory too, and that is fine with me. I now refuse to watch full replays of those Pyrenean stages, because I do not want to relearn exactly what happened. I prefer my own idealized and epic imagined images of those days of yore. You see, the images I have stored in my memory resemble a true and proper clash of titans.

Ever since that 2010 Tour, epic clashes, duels, and showdowns is the lens with which I have viewed the sport of cycling.  In my eyes, the most famous battles in cycling shake the foundations of the world like when Zeus and the Olympians subdued Cronus and the Titans. This is a sport about which the ancient bards would wish to compose great epics. What one ancient bard would think of cycling shall be the subject of the next post, Stage 2, but for now let us look at what the modern day “bards” once accomplished. Finally, in recent years, I have confirmed what I always thought must be the case: I am not the first to view cycling with such an epic lens. I tell you, for me, the peak of journalism came in the first half of the 20th Century when sports reporters covering the biggest races made cycling the most popular sport in Europe by a longshot—selling newspapers filled with vivid accounts of heroic victors and classic duels by the truckload. With cycling’s linear travel from point to point, none or few sports lend themselves more to the narrative storytelling medium. If you do not believe me, I dare someone tell me that a newspaper article recapping any remotely exciting football or basketball game was better than just watching the replay of the game itself. With cycling, the best races can be greatly enhanced in twenty different ways if twenty half-decent journalists set to work. I achieved this myself, my version of Schleck vs Contador based on secondhand accounts is utterly epic—probably better than the real footage, but allow me to give another concrete example from cycling history.

One of the most monumental days in the history of cycling was when Fausto Coppi decisively beat bitter archrival Gino Bartali once-and-for-all on Stage 17 of the 1949 Giro d’Italia from Cuneo to Pinerolo. Their rivalry captivated all of Italy, for these two represented the Old and the New Italy. Every Italian was walking on pins-and-needles awaiting to hear the results of the stage, Mario Ferretti’s opening radio line—at the beginning of his commentary that started mid-stage—is still arguably the greatest moment in Italian sports history: “Un uomo solo e al commando, la sua maglia e bianco-celeste, il suo nome e Fausto Coppi!” (“One man alone is leading, his jersey is sky blue and his name is Fausto Coppi!”). This race and the Coppi-Bartali rivalry in general shall surely be the spotlight of multiple future posts, but for now I dare share a dirty secret: this actual race itself from Cuneo to Pinerolo must have been a relatively dull affair. Over the extremely mountainous 254 km stage, Fausto Coppi broke away early on, stringing the whole peloton out behind. He ended up beating second place on the stage, Gino Bartali, by a whopping nine minutes. It was a proper thrashing, there is no way it could have been as exciting as the evenly-matched Schleck-Contador duels of the 2010 Tour. But that is until the journalists set to work to help us properly understand what a feat just transpired. They set about crafting the compelling narrative that correctly sets this day as the crown jewel in this greatest rivalry.

I present now the opening excerpt of Dino Buzzati’s Corriere della Sera newspaper article treating the events of this stage:

“Today, ascending the Izoard’s terribly steep incline, when we saw Bartali set off in solo pursuit with furious thrusts of the pedals, spattered with mud, the corners of his lips turned down in a grimace expressing all his body’s and soul’s suffering—Coppi went by quite a while before, and by now he was climbing the final slopes of the pass—there was reborn in us, after thirty years, a feeling that we’ve never forgotten. Thirty years ago, that is to say, when we learned that Hector had been slain by Achilles. Is such a comparison too solemn, too glorious? No. What use would the so-called ‘classical studies’ be if the fragments that remained with us did not become an integral part of our humble existence? Fausto Coppi certainly does not have Achilles’s icy cruelty: on the contrary….Of the two champions he is without a doubt the more cordial and likable. But Bartali, even if he is more aloof and gruff, however unknowingly, lives the same drama as Hector, the drama of a man destroyed by the gods. The Trojan hero finds he is fighting against Athena herself and he was destined to succumb. It’s against a superhuman power that Bartali fought, and he could do nothing but lose: the evil power of age.” (Dino Buzzati, The Giro d’Italia: Coppi versus Bartali at the 1949 Tour of Italy, p. 161-162)

Buzzati and all of Italy knew the significance of the rivalry to the point he needed not even stress it in his account. All knowing this was the decisive duel between Coppi and Bartali, what could be a more appropriate comparison than invoking the ultimate duel? The Coppi-Achilles and Bartali-Hector references continue the entire article, including three quotations of verse straight from the Iliad itself. Buzzati describes the elegance and power of Coppi, while still paying homage to old Bartali: a stubborn star-crossed hero still fighting the good fight that he is doomed to lose. But allow me one more quote, for Buzzati explicitly says what I have contended for the length of this article as he is about to describe Coppi’s initial attack:

“Hundreds of thousands of Italians would have paid who knows how much to be up there where we were, to see what we were seeing. For years and years—we realized—there would be endless talk about this small occurrence that in itself did not seem to be of special importance: merely a man on a bicycle who was pulling away from his traveling companions. And yet in that instant, and don’t laugh, on the side of the road, irresistibly came to pass what the Ancients used to call Destiny.” (p. 163)

Yes, yes, Buzzati admits he is only covering a bike race and one of the men has just made a simple attack, but in the same breath—just as the 2010 Tour was for me—he stresses how much more than a bike race it is: all Italians want his front-row seat in the caravan of cars, here is a battle that shall be spoken of in revered terms for decades to come, it was a date with Destiny. At the reading of Coppi-Achilles and Bartali-Hector, I breathed a deep sign of contentment and joy to know such glorious accounts of cycling are in existence. I daresay no finely-balanced Spanish, English, German, or even Brazilian World Cup Final can compete with this.

Yes, this was when cycling was king. But today in a world where sport is consumed on “far-seeing” televisions, cycling is king no longer, supplanted by many more TV-friendly sports. And in a world of instantaneous information in our pockets and where cuckoo birds Tweet their days away, the rich journalistic tradition of cycling has markedly declined as well. Perhaps I look not hard enough for good writing—and sincerely I hope this is the case—but I fear this modern age is not wired for the slow burning races even with their exciting finales. And yet, I remember combining the pieces I saw and the pieces I heard of the 2010 Tour and how my imagination produced such a thrilling race based on the simple idea that the Grand Tours are the epics of modern day myth. And then I look at writings of people like Dino Buzzati, and I see a blueprint of how to stress and expound the gravitas of this sport. And so here I am, why not set out to follow in the footsteps of the giant journalists from cycling’s Golden Age? A bicycle race can be exciting and fantastic alone by itself for the dedicated fans who see more than just men in tights riding bikes, but in the sport’s best days the races’ dramas were massaged to perfection by journalists’ epic accounts and all the masses were cycling fans—reading about the living legends with eager anticipation after every big race. I can only ever hope to have a fraction of the skill of the great journalists of yore and epic poets of old that have chronicled the deeds of eternal fame, but now I shall try my hand and make my own contribution, however small. Thus I pray God give me wit and ability to create accounts of the cycling races that are epic enough to stir the heart and body, clever enough to please and satisfy the mind, and moving enough to occasionally pierce the soul. Perhaps now too, this modern age may be ready for such accounts of cycling again. Look at how we have unexpectedly reverted back to the oral tradition of ancients in healthy fashion—albeit in digital form. Thus I come with not only written accounts, but scripted narration as well just as it was in podcasting’s infancy. Thus my purposes are revealed, thus is given the mission statement. Soon we shall speak of the feats of great fame: past and present, these cycling epics.