Remember me?

Van Nicholas Amazon Rohloff
The Van Nicholas Amazon Rohloff: Titanium everything, a 14-speed Rohloff hub and Gates Carbon Drive.

Me neither. I used to be that shaven-legged, devil-may-care, funny man about town. Now I’m a hairy old fat bastard striving mightily to find a way to make money without working. Imagine my disappointment.

First, the good news: I have actually ridden a bicycle every day this week. The bad news? It wasn’t my bicycle. And I rode it very, very slowly.

But enough about me. The Olympics are coming up this weekend, and word is that Saturday’s road race will be The World Vs. Mark Cavendish. Good luck with United Nations v2.0, guys. It makes my hunt for free money look like a sure thing.

I lost interest in the Games when pros became involved, and I can’t recall an Olympic road race that was half as interesting as an industrial-park crit, so I will be paying attention only when someone is paying me.

Frankly, the only Olympic sports that have ever meant a rat’s ass to me are track and field, swimming and gymnastics. Running and swimming may be the purest forms of sport, and gymnastics … that’s just plain fun to watch.

But right now I’d rather do than watch. See that bike up there? I’m going to go ride it somewhere, then come back and write about it. Beer may be involved. It’s as close to not working for money as I’m ever likely to get.

Punk-tures deflate stage 14

The RadioShack-Nissan press wizard snapped this shot of one of the tacks pulled from a rider's tire.
The RadioShack-Nissan press wizard snapped this shot of one of the tacks pulled from a rider’s tire.

Just when you thought stage 14 of the 2012 Tour de France couldn’t get any worse, it did.

The Pyrénéan stage, with its two category-one climbs — which no less an authority than John Wilcockson had expected to provide “the best chance yet” for Cadel Evans, Vincenzo Nibali or Jurgen Van den Broucke to yank Bradley Wiggins out of his golden palanquin — turned into a nothing-burger of a training ride, with a break a quarter-hour up the road and the GC guys back in the bunch trading organic chamois-cream recipes. (Handy household hint: If you see Mark Cavendish at the front of the bunch on a climb, nobody is busting his balls. Except maybe Cavendish.)

That was bad enough for those of us trying to keep a live update, well, lively.

But then some fuckwit or fuckwits unknown decided it would be fun to salt the final climb with tacks.

Yes, tacks.

There were some 30 punctures, though whether that refers to tires or riders remains unclear. Evans had three flats of his own — the first left him standing atop the final summit with a teammate who also lacked a functional rear wheel, awaiting neutral service, AAA or the Better World Club, whichever would accept his Credit Lyonnais credit card.

Evans finally got going again, and maillot jaune Bradley Wiggins asked the bunch to ride piano until the defending champ got back on, though Europcar’s Pierre Rolland, Lotto-Belisol and Liquigas-Cannondale apparently missed the memo. Those rascals soon got sorted out, however, and that was that, although Rolland should consider himself out of the Miss Congeniality competition this year.

Robert Kiserlovski got the worst of it — Jani Brajkovic flatted after that last climb, Kiserlovski apparently swerved over to give him a wheel, Levi Leipheimer T-boned him, and Kiserlovski left the Tour with a busted collarbone.

Oh, yeah — there was some actual racing going on. Luis Leon Sanchez popped out of that break while green jersey Peter Sagan was having a nosh and rode solo to the stage win. Sagan had looked like the man of the hour until Sanchez caught him with his mouth full.

“Yes, I should have kept a better eye on him,” Sagan told Cyclingnews.” In the last few kilometers I needed to eat. I wasn’t expecting him to attack me at that point. He is experienced and I am not bitter about it. Even if I’d managed to stay with him I might not have won.”

Flying Dog, or from fire to flood

Took a break from Le Tour today, mostly, though I did lend a hand to Charles “Live Update Guy” Pelkey over at Red Kite Prayer as he followed the stage for fun and profit. You already know what happened: Turns out Cav’ don’ need no steenkeeng choo-choo to win stages.

But first I had to shuttle Herself to the Greater Bibleburg Interdimensional Airport once again. This time she’s trading fire for flood, jetting to Maryland to visit family … kinfolks who only just yesterday got their power back on. So, yeah. Good times, is what. She’ll be sampling some Flying Dog ale straight from the source — who knew the outfit was based in Frederick, Md.? — and will report back to us.

Here’s hoping she won’t need an Igloo and a sack of cubes to keep it cold. I bet they’re running short of that sort of thing in my home state.

Cav’lry charge falls short

Hoo-boy. Mark Cavendish was pissed when Andrea Guardini beat him to the line in the last sprinters’ stage of this year’s Giro d’Italia.

It was a clean, straight-up ass-whuppin’, though, with nobody on the deck afterward. Guardini was simply faster than Cav’ this time around.

Tomorrow brings a real leg-breaker, 197km from Treviso to Alpe di Pampeago. Don’t look for Cav’ at the front of that one come the finish line, either.

What’s my line?

Man, did you folks see Roberto Ferrari take out Mark Cavendish and Taylor Phinney in today’s Giro d’Italia stage? Judas priest. Cav’ went down like someone shot him from the sidelines.

“I was doing my sprint. I didn’t see him,” Ferrari told Cyclingnews. “I don’t know what happened because it was all behind me, my foot slipped. I had to switch lines because another rider moved abruptly.”

Bullshit. He was trying to hit a gap that wasn’t there. Relegation was too gentle a punishment. Every rider on Team Sky, BMC or any other squad with a man on the deck should be permitted to queue up for a chance to kick Ferrari in the nuts.