The Vuelta de España is over; chapeau to Vincenzo Nibali for winning, to Ezequiel Mosquera and Joaquim Rodriguez for making a fight of it, and to Tyler Farrar for taking the final stage victory.
Cheers, too, to homeboy Danny Pate — I feared he might be jobless going into 2011, but it seems he’s leaving Garmin-Transitions for HTC-Columbia instead of the dole and the Dumpster. I’m still waiting for word on Mike Creed, whose relationship with Team Type 1 appears to have soured. I don’t care who he pisses off, I like him. His old man’s all right, too.
And finally, a twirl of the jet-black Mad Dog Livewrong bracelet to Taylor Phinney and Ben King for completing a Trek-Livestrong sweep at the USA Cycling Professional Road Championships in South Carolina.
Yeah, yeah, I know — they are affiliated with He Who Shall Not Be Named, and Trek sucks, and the dormant journalist in me is mumbling, “Oh, really?” over his second beer. But at least it’s not another steer from that same sorry old herd crossing the line first.
And as for me? I have the day off. I should be in Santa Rosa, California, sipping local microbrew and contemplating a week’s worth of cycling up hill and down dale with my old pals Merrill and Chris, but what the hell? A guy can ride his bike around here, too, even if most of the routes feel a bit stale, like Repuglican campaign rhetoric. “Why, by gum, if we just give our poor rich folks some more money, we’ll soon be as right as rain. Well, we will be, anyway. Your mileage may vary.”
The road bike remains unforked at Old Town, Ritchey being somewhat slow on the uptake, warranty-wise, so it seemed like a ’cross-bike kind of day. As the Vuelta was wrapping Dr. Schenkenstein rolled by astride his ’cross bike to say howdy, a tad weak and pale from his Yom Kippur fast, so I — full of last night’s green-chile chicken enchiladas, rice, salad and Mirror Pond Pale Ale — seized the opportunity, broke out the Nobilette and flogged him like the miserable pissant he is for 90 minutes or thereabouts.
That he had an asthma attack as we were climbing the weed-lined, dusty single-track to Gold Camp Road had nothing to do with it. My triumph is untainted. God’s judgment, I call it. The Irish are one of the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel, don’t you know. And you can tell Yahweh likes us best ’cause he didn’t dump us off in the middle of a desert bereft of whisky.
Mad Blog Media 
I read where Mark Cavendish paraded his rear wheel with a busted spoke in front of reporters after today’s stage as an explanation for his greater than first place finish. I hear tell that Cav complained that Tyler didn’t mention his (Cav’s) broken spoke after the stage was over. What was Tyler Farrer suppose to say? “Yea, I finished first, but if it wasn’t for Mark breaking a spoke he sure would have cleaned my clock today!”. Yea, right. No doubt that Cav is the fastest guy in the last 200 meters, but his whining is getting really old really fast.
If he’d whine just a bit more he’d start to sound like my dieting 19 pound Maine Coon an hour or two before feeding time. Now that is some serious, industrial strength whining!
Cavendish could take a cue from ol’ Super Mario and say, “not only am I the fastest, but also the most childish bike racer in the world!” But we need someone to be the bad guy, no? Otherwise we get phony villains as supplied by TV’s Talking Magpies or JW at VN. The Manx Missle is at least an authentic jerk who needs no help from the media to be disliked. It was great for Nibali to win La Vuelta, he probably should have won Il Giro this year if he wasn’t forced to wait for “Grandpa Basso” on so many of the descents and tow his “I just thought about doping” ass to the finish line. Maybe next year Nibali can be on the top step of the podium in Italy? Could happen if there are no northern Italians contenders on the team. My better half thinks he gets screwed over, being a Sicilian and all. The ill-will between the northerners and southerners in Italy is worse than NorCal vs SoCal!
Gads, cyclists whine more then soccer players, give them a red card
I have been thinking about purchasing a 1″ carbon Ritchey fork but as long as it seems to be taking to get a resolution from Ritchey I think I’ll go another route.
I’ll say one thing for Cav’ — the dude is quotable. The sport needs characters. I can’t say I find him all that cuddly, but what the hell, he beats a mumbler who stares at his shoes.
And yeah, Bill, I can’t recommend the 1-inch carbon Ritchey. A month for a warranty? Puh-leeze. I’ll cut ’em some slack because it’s show season, but still — if I were Joe Average and this were the only bike in my garage, I’d be pissed.
Cav = Super Mario how again? Not seeing a fiddler’s fart worth of similarities there