The Tour of the Living Dead rolled on toward the Alps today, and I’ll be damned if I have any idea what the hell was going on. So many stories, so little time. Tell you what, though — these guys can’t be too tuckered out, ’cause a bunch of ’em were anaerobically jacking their foaming jaws post-stage.

Columbia-HTC’s George Hincapie got into an early break and just missed taking the yellow by five seconds; depending upon whom you read, he was screwed out of it by either Ag2r, Astana or Garmin-Slipstream. Teammate Mark Cavendish, meanwhile, got relegated for slamming the door on green jersey Thor Hushovd (Cervélo) in the bunch sprint.

Hinc’ initially blamed Astana for chasing before stalking into the team bus and refusing to speak to the press. But Big Tex and Johan Bruyneel say they wanted Hincapie in yellow so that Columbia would have to defend against the Schleck brothers, Cuddles Evans, et al., in the Alps. The team was on the front, yes, but merely riding tempo with the goal of getting Tex’s former chief lieutenant into the maillot jaune with two minutes to spare. So much for Tex’s policy against granting gifts in the Tour.

Tex and Bruyneel, along with a very irate Columbia honch’ Bob Stapleton, blame Garmin for spoiling Hincapie’s party, though Tex adds that Ag2r shares some of the blame for saying it would not defend Rinaldo Nocentini’s overall lead, then abruptly starting to ride as though their shorts were on fire.

Garmin’s Jonathan Vaughters, meanwhile, says it looked to him as though his boys were merely rotating through at the front of the peloton, trying to protect the GC positions of Bradley Wiggins and Christian Vande Velde. I like JV, but I’m not buying that one. I was watching TV, too, and that didn’t look anything like a casual rotation to me. The argyle boys were drilling it, along with Ag2r, and I don’t imagine director Matt White will have a whole lot of pals in the peloton going forward.

The Cavendish-Hushovd deal was an easier call. Cav’ simply tried to ride Hushovd into the barriers on a slight bend. Case closed. And now he’s gonna have a tougher time getting that green jersey back from the big Norwegian. Cav’ may win the points, but I bet Hushovd wins the fight in the parking lot afterward.

Tomorrow brings the 207km stage from Pontarlier to Verbier, with four Category 3s, one Cat. 2 and the Cat. 1 climb to the finish. Think that might get the big dogs to stop their monotonous barking and finally jump off that comfy porch? VeloNews editor at large John Wilcockson predicts that Nocentini will finally lose that yellow jersey — but he’s not expecting much in the way of an early challenge to the nut-lock Astana has on the GC.

Ho hum. Paging Bernard Hinault … Monsieur Hinault, to the yellow courtesy phone, please. . . .

• Late update: VeloNews Euro’ correspondent Andrew Hood advises via Twitter: “ChaseGate continues to churn; circus outside Garmin bus tomorrow; by 5 p.m. tomorrow, all will be forgotten. AC-LA duel is real story.”

• Even Later Update: The NYT gives Garmin-Slipstream a little positive press with a slideshow on how (and what) the team eats.

John Wilcockson says this Tour has not been easy, and he should know, having covered 40 of them. Hell, anyone who’s ever raced a bike over any distance knows there can be no such thing as an “easy” Tour. Twenty-one stages covering 2,200 miles? Puh-leeze. That’s a job of work, is what that is.

But just because something is difficult doesn’t make it entertaining. If such were the case, ditch-digging, coal mining and bricklaying would be on TV instead of football, basketball and baseball. And while this Tour has had its obvious difficulties, it has been less than entertaining for those of us who like to follow the fight for the yellow jersey.

We’re two weeks into this Tour and the maillot jaune has yet to adorn the shoulders of anyone expected to have a chance of taking it home from the Champs-Èlysées. Just two men have worn it — Saxo Bank’s Fabian Cancellara and Ag2r’s Rinaldo Nocentini — and the only reason Nocentini has kept it for six days is that nobody wants to battle Astana for it.

Astana had four guys in the top 10 until Levi Leipheimer crashed out, and for them Nocentini is a rolling coat hanger, holding the jersey for them until they’re good and ready for it. It’s like an extended version of the coronation stage into Paris. The only thing missing is the obligatory shot of a grinning maillot jaune toasting himself with a glass of champagne.

No wonder Bernard Hinault is so cranky. This Tour isn’t about working men earning a living — it’s about a rich one awaiting his inheritance.

• Extra-Credit Friday Foolishness: Jefferson County, apparently eager to out-dummy the bike-hating feebs in Larimer County, has announced plans to seek statewide legislation that would let counties ban bicycles from county roads as they please, warns Bicycle Colorado. According to a story in the Columbine Courier, the county attorney will draft the proposed legislation, and then Jeffco will try to find some brain-damaged geek in the Statehouse to sponsor it in the 2010 session. You may send NastyGrams® to the Jeffco commissioners by clicking here.

I never met the man, but I feel obliged to send word that the Hipp Star, a.k.a. Chris Hipp of Team Labor Power, has gone on to where the city-limit sprints have a very deep field indeed.

I have followed the struggles of Labor Power for as long as my girlish nature could withstand the torrents of testosterone, and I send my condolences to those who loved Hipp and/or bumped elbows with him. Roger Worthington eulogizes the Hipp Star thusly:

Chris Hipp died today. Worst sentence I ever wrote. He was on his way to an early morning training ride. He never got there. Apparently suffered an aneurysm. I’m fairly certain he would’ve won the city-limit sprint otherwise. Lorraine has been comforted all day by many of their friends.  She’s an incredibly strong and brave woman — I know Chris loved her deeply.

We lost a strange and unique friend. He was many things: a hard core spee-r-inter, an inquisitive explorer (he loved maps); a cybergeek (he invented a server gizmo called the Blade but never got the credit he deserved); a pioneer in graphics (he wrote my law firm’s first news letter in 1990); a student of technofop (he preferred Gary Neuman to Jim Hendrix); and one of the warmest guys on the planet, which is odd because he always complained about not being warmed up before the final sprint.

He helped found Team Labor Power in 1990. In the past few years, when I took an extended time out and others moved on, he kept the Labor dream alive, single-handedly and with pride.

He helped write the cyclist’s dictionary, giving us words and phrases like: “pounding idiots,” “stoopid sport,” 12k dreamer,” “gritty not pritty,” and of course “EEEDEEEOTTS!.” He had an uncanny ear for odd sounds. He could entertain himself for hours making exotic chirps, trills, flutters and hoots. I think he was actually able to talk to the birds who frequented the feeder outside his window. I know he was able to talk to his cats.

He’s one of the few people I’ve known who really did mature like one of those fine wines you hear about without losing his playfulness. In my view, Hipp had found his stride. He was poised and comfortable with the size and scope of his life. He was the guy you wanted to share a foxhole with when the bullets started flying. You just knew he was going to keep his cool and help get you out of there unscathed. He made me feel safe.

“Never quit,” he always told me, with a mixture of sternness and optimism. “You never know what will happen in the end, you just might rally.”

Peace be with you, Brother Hipp Star. May you always take that Great Big City Limit Sign Sprint in the Sky.

What Brother Worthington said. There’s more here. Onward, brethren and sistren.