Posts Tagged ‘Alberto Contador’

Wreck on the highway

July 2, 2016
Say hi to Sam Hillborne.

Say hi to Sam Hillborne.

The first day of what appears to be a very long Tour de France is in the bag. Thanks to everyone who joined us at Live Update Guy. And chapeau to Mark Cavendish, who avoided a last-kilometer pileup — one of several on the day — to win the stage and take his first yellow jersey.

Too, a special “ow, wow, yow, zow” goes out to everyone who hit the deck on Stage 1. The body count would seem to include — well, just about everyone except for Cav’, me and Charles Pelkey (office furniture and road furniture rarely become entangled).

Alberto Contador in particular looked like he’d been attacked by a deranged chef with an assault cheese grater. One wonders whether he’ll have to be strapped onto his bike, El Cid-style, in order to start Sunday’s stage.

I wasn’t strapped to a damn thing when I rolled out for my own ride, aboard a brand-spankin’-new Rivendell Sam Hillborne (see pic above). No clipless pedals on that bad boy, not even toeclips and straps — just flats. So I rode in street shoes, baggies, an emblem-free Pearl Izumi jersey and a Rivendell cap unencumbered by helmet, just to make the Safety Nazis crazy. Took ‘er out on the highway, too.

I wish I could change this sad story that I am now telling you. But there is no way I can change it. For somebody’s ride is now through.

The accidental Tourist

July 14, 2014
Bianchi Zurigo Disc

The Bianchi Zurigo Disc, kitted out for light touring.

The downside of following the Tour de France for fun and profit is that one has fewer suitable rationales for skipping the daily ride.

When guys are falling off at 60 kph on wet descents, breaking bones, and then getting back on the bike and continuing for another 20km or so before finally caving, “I feel too fat for Lycra today” seems a feeble excuse for staying home.

So, though the skies were an ominous shade of gray, once my day’s labors were more or less complete I kitted up and went out for a short leg-stretcher.

The Templeton Gap trail was closed, so I kept riding north, only to find the Pikes Peak Greenway Trail likewise shut a bit further along. So I spent the rest of my ride dodging various road projects, potholes and velocidal motorists until it finally started to rain, then did my best Tony Martin impersonation all the way home.

And I finished with the rubber side down, too, which makes it a whole lot easier to do it again tomorrow.

I’ve cracked many a joke about Alberto Contador over the years, but all kidding aside, the man does help bring a race to life. I think we’ll miss his damn-the-torpedoes style during the remainder of this Tour.

¡Ay, Chihuahua!

July 17, 2013


I thought Super Spaniard had this one in the bag. He was flat railing those downhill corners. Bobsledders, skydivers and fighter pilots were getting motion sickness just watching him.

And then Zoom-Zoom ambles on in after an ill-timed bike swap in the rain and croaks him by nine seconds.

You could read Super Spaniard’s face like a marked deck: “Hijo de la gran puta.” He shook his head ruefully and smiled with the lower half of his face, the way one does upon being cheated at five-card stud in a strange town while unarmed.

I don’t know what to think, myself. I’m deeply suspicious of this sort of dominance — call me irresponsible — and I don’t like it one bit that Zoom-Zoom is already trying to play the patrón without even having won the fucking race yet.

Bjarne Riis called him a pussy, but he sure doesn’t ride like one. In fact, I’m starting to think Zoom-Zoom can take Mr. 60% in a straight-up Huffy toss.

Backseat drivers

July 16, 2013

Super Spaniard intercoursed the penguin in a downhill corner today and Zoom-Zoom enjoyed a brief dalliance with the roadside foliage.

Afterward, Zoom-Zoom was critical of the way ol’ Supe’ was leading him down that hill.

“If you ask me, it was dangerous for Alberto to do that,” said Zoom-Zoom.

“That’s cycling,” replied Supe’.

I’m going to have to rule for Super Spaniard here. Zoom-Zoom wasn’t looking any too skilled in the corners his own bad self, and in any case wheelsuckers don’t get to talk shit. Not even one who’s wearing the yellow jersey.

So, pipe down already. Don’t make me stop this blog and come back there.