[right-click for iTunes-compatible download]

I’d love to go into super-detail arguing about Ferrari’s sprint, and how 1) moves like that happen a lot and 2) when they do go wrong, relegation is invariably the sanction, but there really isn’t much point. Take out two of the most popular riders in the English-speaking world in front of an audience that generally sees bunch sprints in slick 8-second clips (as opposed to watching the whole run-in), and people will be calling for your head on the internet. And it’s just not worth arguing details with the fanatics.

Related posts:

1. How The Race Was Won – 2009 Giro d’Italia Stages 3-6
2. Amstel Gold 2012 – How The Race Was Won
3. 2012 Paris-Roubaix – How The Race Was Won

[right-click for iTunes-compatible download]

Just for the record, this was completed about 16 hours after the race concluded and was live before any competing, similarly-named titles at other sites (though I did not beat the Specialized unfiltered cut). I suppose it’s possible that after I’ve published this, these sites could have release better-produced, more creative, cleverer, more sharply analytical videos, but somehow, I doubt it.

Related posts:

1. How The Race Was Won – Paris-Roubaix 2009
2. How The Race Was Won – Paris-Roubaix 2010
3. Tour of Flanders 2012 — The Race Was Won How?

In happier times.

My magnanimous response not withstanding, I should clarify that I’m not psyched about the development. Indeed, there was a time when I would have let fly the dogs of Internet War over such a slight—and that time was two years ago. I lived in Boston, had my own apartment, could pedal office-to-doorstep in about 20 minutes, got paid enough to buy decent computer hardware, and could reliably turn out sharply-edited video recaps of European bike races 24-48 hours after they wrapped up.

But it’s not 2010 anymore. I got word of the VeloNews post this morning where I spend most of my mornings these days—in a car, on an Interstate, trying not to think about how much longer I have to drive, or the fact that pretty soon, I’d have to turn around and head back the other way. It’s not a routine I’m particularly fond of, but as things stand, it’s the life I wake up to every morning. Suffice it to say, it isn’t getting any videos made.

And that’s the important thing, here—there are tactically focused race-recap videos in production again. They might not be as nifty as mine, but they’re covering races that happened in the past two weeks—I haven’t done anything in the past two years.

While it may well be that biting the style, name, and idea of someone else’s work without so much as a hat-tip is a dick thing to do (you certainly wouldn’t get any argument form me on that point), it is far more of a dick move to pitch a fit because someone else decided they wanted to revive or reuse something cool that you created, but for whatever reason, aren’t pursuing to the fullest.

In fact, one of the most maddening aspects of doing How the Race Was Won came about 12-24 hours after posting each new video, when some minion of the ASO would invariably file a takedown request with YouTube because he or she felt like my reusing two minutes of one six-hour stage of a 21-day race without kissing their pinky ring was somehow doing them wrong.

In an ideal world, there’s no doubt in my mind that I could do (and have done) a sharper, funnier HTRWW than currently exists. But the fact is that right now, I can’t. And as irascible as I tend to be, I just can’t justify venting any of that rage toward people who can. The best I can hope for is that sometime in the future, I’ll get the chance to remind everyone else exactly how it’s supposed to be done.

Related posts:

1. “This Is Not A Mickey Mouse Race”
2. How The Race Was Won – Tour of Romandie 2009
3. How The Race Was Won – Paris-Roubaix 2010

Maurizio Fondreist disregards fairness
on the Poggio / Max Nicolodi, cc-by

For a guy who made obsessing over aerodynamics and other tech geek foibles into the development and marketing norm in the sport, Gerard Vroomen is surprisingly attuned to the sloppy, cut-and-run realities of professional bike racing.

After some muttering from fans following Sanremo, and some atypically direct criticism of RadioShack by Philippe Gilbert, Vroomen put together a nice little blog post on how “negative racing” is actually “bike racing”, and that pretty much everyone involved knows the score. It’s about trying to matching your strengths with your opponents weaknesses.

While I wouldn’t say I was particularly effusive in my praise of Gerrans’ Sanremo, I certainly wouldn’t say I was overly-critial of it, either. It bears mention that the riders weren’t all just kinda hanging out on the Poggio, and Gerrans thought “hey, look, Nibali is attacking. Guess I’ll jump up to him and then draft him an Cancellara to the finish”. Prior to the winning selection were nearly 300k of attacks, climbs, tight roads and sharp corners, where even a momentary lapse of focus could tail a rider of the back, or force them to make a race-killing effort to get back on.

Gerrans had been looking punchy long before the Poggio (I briefly mistook him for Cav during some smart positioning moves on the Cipressa) and, perhaps sussing out Liquigas’ climb-controlling strategy, the Aussie parked on Nibali’s wheel before Agnoli’s recapture at 7.5km to go (4:52 in the video below). While the Poggio isn’t particularly long or steep, it is narrow and raced at eye-watering speed. If you’re not in the spot you need to be, you’ll be hard-pressed to get through a-reduced-but-edgy peloton, let alone make up time plowing your own furrow up a 4% grade at 30mph.

Indeed, Cancellara may have been the only rider in the remaining peloton capable of the feat—if you watch the video, you’ll see Cancellara is heavily marked and gets the drop on no-one. The separation only occurs when the riders behind him simply can’t put out the necessary wattage to keep his wheel. Cancellara’s prodigious strength bears additional consideration in light of the perceived lack of cooperation in the final selection—even if you wanted to come around him, the drop in speed between your max and his might doom the break.

Finally, the sprint wasn’t a foregone conclusion. Cancellara isn’t exactly a pancake in the final meters, especially after a 250+km, and the final margin wasn’t huge. In fact, were Cancellara a little more inclined to close the gate, and had chosen to lead out on the opposite site of the road (both the flags and waves show a strong tailwind/crosswind from the riders’ left), the additional effort required for Gerrans to come by might have made the difference.

On a more general level, last weekend’s race highlighted what I find to be the most interesting aspect of the sport—tactics as much as strength determines who wins races.

While everyone likes to feel that a winner took the day as fairly as possible, that sort of warm, fuzzy definition for “fair” favors the most dominant, predictable winners—and dominance gets boring in a hurry. Because of finishes like Saturday’s, teams riding for guys like Cancellara have to be tricker in how they leverage their strength advantage; just powering away is only occasionally an option. Even the most impressive displays of raw power, like Cancellara’s 2010 Roubaix win, are often triggered by a brilliantly seized tactical moment—in the case of Roubaix 2010, an out-of-position rival.

I think it’s safe to say most American fans got their introduction to the sport watching US Postal at the Tour de France. And it wasn’t a bad primer for tactics at the basic level—aggressively control the race, keep your strongest rider fresh, and then put him alongside his rivals at the moments where he can make the most difference. While that’s a nice big-picture plan, it requires a rare, generally not entirely organic level of dominance, and, as I mentioned above, it’s kinda dull.

The sport is really at its most interesting when favorites and spoilers are equally reliant on cunning to get across the line first. When Liquigas can dictate terms all day, and Fabs can single-handedly fend off the charging field, and still both can come away empty-handed, it’s clear that they’ll have to go back to the drawing board in terms of execution. I’m excited to see what they come up with to chase down wins through the rest of the spring.

Related posts:

1. 2008 Milan-Sanremo
2. Milan Sanremo 2009 – Another Good Finish, but…
3. How The Race Was Won – Milan-Sanremo 2009

So I obtained digital copies of WCP’s ostensibly unedited DVD from 2003′s Stage 15, and a screencap of yesterday’s live, commercial-free finale on VS, and rolled them each back to a recognizable start point—the moment each heads of state group exits the Pont Napoleon. Since it’s where the riders removed their helmets back in 2003, I think it’s a solid choice for the official climb start.

I realize there are conspiracy theorists among you who will seize on the different angles and road surfaces, but I assure you, it’s the same bridge. You can see the same monument in the approach to it each year.

I likewise stopped the tape as each stage winner and heads of state group crossed the line at the top of the hill, put both figures into a spreadsheet, and began calculating elapsed times. The twisting approach and short finishing straight appear to be identical between the two ascents, so assuming that nothing funky happened in encoding either of the videos, the numbers are about as accurate and verifiable as any you’ll find.

However, Sammy Sanchez, as he is wont to do, decided to make things complicated. He escaped on the descent leading into Luz Ardiden, and crossed the bridge just ahead of the other leaders. You can’t really see him as he exits, because the camera cuts back to the chase, so I used the moment of the cut as the timestamp for his crossing.

So, what did the numbers look like?

Before I begin drawing any conclusions, let me just say that I’m well aware yesterday’s finish (despite a very similar profile) came at the end of 212km, compared to 160km in 2003. I also know that the lead group was much smaller in ’03, and that today’s finish had a decent tailwind, and that Armstrong’s 2003 time includes a number of historic mishaps. These, and the innumerable other things that make each new bike race interesting, are the reasons I generally think comparing times between ascents is stupid.

But the differences here are enormous, to the point that they negate almost any imaginable interference. The 10% drop in VAM (calculated, along with watts-per-kilo, from Strava’s figures of 982m and 7.5%) is insane. It basically says that after 5.5 hours in the saddle, a Cat 1 climb, and the Tourmalet, the top pros slowed down enough that even I can (very briefly and while fresh) reach a similar ascent speed.

Because Sammy Sanchez started ahead of the rest, it’s possible that Frank Schleck had a faster time it was actually Frank Schleck who had the fastest climb on the day—38:39, VAM of 1524, W/Kg of 5.54. But the fact that there aren’t any glaring differences in performance between the winner and the other heads of state is another striking change. In 2003, Carlos Sastre finished three minutes down on Armstrong and was 11th. That same margin on today’s stage barely put you in the top 25.

So what’s the cause? I’m sure many of you will go on in the comments section about people marking a sub-par Contador, or fewer GC riders around to kick up the tempo, or an overall race un-impacted by time-trials, or the flogging Leopard-Trek doled out over the Tourmalet, or any other of the innumerable, pleasant reasons why yesterday’s finish cannot possibly be compared to anything, and that I’m a fool for even trying.

So I’ll just direct you to this fact: the difference between Lance Armstrong’s ’03 time and Sanchez’ mark yesterday is almost identical to the amount of time one Thomas Voeckler lost to Armstrong in the Frenchman’s first day of high mountain maillot jaune defense, way back in 2004.

A peloton at two speeds? C’est possible.

Related posts:

1. It’s Good Not To Be The King
2. A Tale of Two Podiums
3. A Tale Of The Tune-Ups

While there were countless things to love, for me, the most memorable aspect of yesterday was how many situations arose in which the race could have realistically been “over”.

Before the start, prognostication on scenarios in which Cancellara would not win seemed to agree that a small group of good non-favorites could get clear while the giants marked each other—and at about 50km to go, Boassen-Hagen, Boom, Chavanel and Clarke looked poised to do just that.

When Chavanel dropped his companions over the Molenburg, and the favorites simply looked around, a few commentators saw shades of Het Nieuwsblad, where a comparatively early solo move from a smaller name ended up taking the the title, even after a catch. But when Cancellara erupted eight kilometers later, it was Superman, reborn and reducing the dreams of his opponents to dust once again.

Despite some signs of cramping and a six-man chase from BMC, most expected Cancellara to fly away for good on the Muur van Geraardsbergen. When he was instead caught on that vaunted slope, he was pronounced dead—mere seconds before accelerating though its steepest pitch and peeling off another elite group.

Over the Bosberg, Philippe Gilbert laid down as solid an attack as the race had seen, and for another brief moment, it seemed like the final chapter had been written. But a group reformed and reeled in the Omega Pharma-Lotto rider, and after a series of solid, but ineffective attacks, it seemed like Tom Boonen’s race to lose from a group sprint.

But Cancellara—allegedly out of the race twice by this point—made one more huge effort. Chavanel was on him immediately, but Nick Nuyens, who’d attacked ineffectively a few moments earlier, suffered quite a bit to bridge the gap, and after a brief recovery, began to pull through.

Even heading into the final few hundred meters, nothing was set—Boonen took a no-hope attack around the final corner, and teammate Chavanel must have seen him bearing down as he checked over his shoulder, because seconds later, he swung back into third position behind Nuyens. If Cancellara had been a little more confident in his pop, and gotten into a debate with Nuyens over who would lead out, Boonen’s last-gasp charge might just have succeeded.

Even so, the final sprint wasn’t exactly a cut-and-dried affair. Cancellara went early in hopes of reaching a speed where the others couldn’t match without a draft. And it almost worked; Nuyens had the burst to get around Cance, but not entirely clear of him, and as the sprint tracked across the road, Chavanel, who looked to have the necessary punch for victory, found himself pinned between his two companions and the barriers.

While I’ve been lukewarm to open, NASCAR-style access to team audio, the car-and-comm coverage was the perfect accompaniment to today’s hell-bent race—and proof-positive for anyone who still needed it that guiding your team through a pro race ain’t exactly sitting down at a Playstation.

Shots of the QuickStep team car saying that Cancellara was “obviously” too strong for Chavanel to work with, and of Jon Vaughters exhorting his riders to stop working and await a sprint, showed that even when the team bosses do know what’s going on, and are able to communicate their intentions, there’s more to crafting a winning strategy than simply coming up with a good plan.

Related posts:

1. The New Professional Team Model
2. Pro Cycling News – McGee Comes Through, HIncapie Best of the Ouest
3. 2007 Fitchburg-Longsjo Race Report – Stage 3 Road Race

It’s no secret I’m pro-radio. But not because I’m an ideologue in the vein of a Johan Bruyneel, or because I’m a safety geek, but because it doesn’t make much sense to me to ban something that’s kinda hard to ban for— essentially—the sake of romance. I readily concede that many of cycling’s regulations (the double diamond frame) are for the nods to tradition, but like disc brakes in cyclocross, radios are part of naturally evolving technology.

Some people think they make the racing worse; I think these people are either uninformed or watch the exclusively Tour de France and get cranky during the flat stages. Take Stijn Devolder at the Omloop—some said he was caught out, while others are reporting he had a mechanical failure, and with no radio to call up for a car and a bike change, was forced to just make it work.

While I miss the good old days when MTB riders had to race the gear they started with, road cycling has been a fully-supported sport for decades now, and I think there are very few people would would argue that’s a bad thing. For my money (if there were a way to buy bike racing coverage in this country), I want Devolder to have a functional bike under him as often as possible, so he can start stomping the living daylights out of everyone (or at least trying to) at 60km to go.

You’ll get no argument from me that Boonen and Hushovd kinda paddy-caked it on Saturday (Flecha mentioned he made his attack when he saw them cranking gears too large to respond from), or that the race as it played out was anything but entertaining, but an irascible Devolder, pumping adrenaline as he roared back on from a frantic bike change, might have made the story a bit more interesting than he did towing Chase Group 3 for the final 30k.

Sunday’s action at KBK was similarly unconvincing as far as the radio arguments go. Aside from a spectator getting creamed by a wayward Rabobank rider inside two KM to go, not much happend that might have otherwise been avoided with radio communications.

But the dashing, devil-may-care attacks, timed with precision for catches and tight sections of road—the sort of thing anti-radio folks seem to think would happen every day if not for those darn earpieces—failed time, after time, after time.

It could be argued that a “nervous” peloton were forced by their lack of communication to keep the chasers close, but (ignoring the fact that this argument “blames” radios for pretty much any type of finish) the pack hardly seemed on edge, remaining roughly egg-shaped for most of the day, except when driven by the familiar precision paceline of a well organized chase or leadout train. There was plenty of the usual bumping in tight quarters, but a relative dearth of crashes goes further toward discrediting “nervousness” due to missing radios.

All that said, the important take away from this is that the racing didn’t suffer without radios—and for me, quality of racing is what matters. Plenty of bold moves were made in both races, and while we may have have lost one or two potential players due to the radio silence, it’s no more entropy than is introduced by cobbles, crosswinds, crosswalks or any of the other chaos part and parcel in a Northern Classic. A few cartoonists had a good time, but looking back Monday, it was just another weekend in Flanders.

And that—radios or otherwise—is just fine with me.

Related posts:

1. The Four Impossibilities of Radio-Free Racing
2. No Radio – Rant
3. Why The Radio Shack Sponsorship is Brilliant

[right-click for iTunes-compatible download]

(Contains just a few photos and screenshots from various sources, and video from Eurosport.)

It’s an exciting conclusion, despite the relative lack of action from the one-day specialists. Their absence does set up some interesting plot lines going into Lombardy, though the parcours at that event might lead us right back into the doping discussion again.

Related posts:

1. How The Race Was Won – Paris-Tours 2009
2. How The Race Was Won – Paris-Roubaix 2010
3. How The Race Was Won – Criterium du Dauphine 2010

In all seriousness, though, this is a Tour that has never wanted for drama or surprises—almost a shame, considering the fireworks we were treated to just over a month ago—and perhaps the best part of the excitement surrounding this year’s event is that so much of it is actually coming from the race. Uncomfortably thin margins separate the leaders in the GC, KOM and points competitions; battles among both the breakaways and the heads of state seem to be de rigueur over ever practically major climb, and hilltop finishes are no longer a pre-requisite for a GC shake-up.

On Chaingate, my feelings, while mixed, return to the earlier statement that this is Tour de France—not some Mickey-Mouse race. I’m personally disheartened at the break in protocol—more than can be said for the veritable murderer’s row consulted by French television—but as a racer, I don’t need to imagine too hard to see myself riding exactly as Contador did. Best to view the breach like Renshaw’s maneuvers last week—they’re split second decisions in the heat of battle, and the jury (or in this case, the peloton) is seldom consistent in their reaction.

At any rate, the biggest victim in Chaingate may prove to not be Andy Schleck, nor SRAM, nor even the time-honored traditions of the Tour. For all his reverence to the unwritten rules of the pack, Lance Armstrong’s decision to wait for his fallen rival carried a heavy psychological component: I can wait for you and still win this race. Considering how battered Contador looked on the climb to Ax-3 Domain the day before, slumping back down onto his saddle after every effort, I don’t think he could have sent a clearer message to his rivals about his own vulnerability than riding past the hapless Schleck.

And while Armstrong’s legacy may shine brighter in light of Contador’s decision on Stage 15, his great escape will be a net negative in the long run—feelings I will not elaborate on until after the Tour. I do credit Armstrong for a hair-raising first hour—one that apparently came as no surprise, as riders were warming up to prepare—but even with Horner convoyed up to him (along with Ruben Plaza, to neutralize the Team GC battle), Lance never showed himself as a serious stage contender.

With two men in the move, you’d think a tactician heralded with as much fanfare as Johan Bruyneel would have been able to come up with something better than having Horner pull while Armstrong sat on—especially in light of the fact that sending Horner up the road could leverage the suddenly-relevant Team GC lead against the two Caisse d’Epargne riders.

Instead, the “best” director in the history of the Tour sent two proven soloists into a 9-man sprint that included some of the most realibly savvy breakaway sprinters in the peloton, with nary a feint, misdirection or tactical flourish; copies of “We Might As Well Win” now making an appearance on a B&N closeout rack near you.

Related posts:

1. Dauphine Wrap, Suisse Surprises
2. Astana’s Tour Selection is a Ticking Bomb
3. Versus’ War on Contador

I’ve heard all the excuses—we have to sell papers. We’re building the audience. It’s what people want. I even got the press release about the record viewership in the first week. But as Lance shuffled meekly through the little door today with a torn jersey and shattered expectations, I think many purveyors of coverage in this sport will see exactly how poorly they’ve accomplished these things. You don’t develop someone’s taste for brie by deep-frying it.

The failure of this much-hyped rivalry goes beyond Armstrong. For all the talk of RadioShack being a stacked squad, they sure haven’t shown themselves much in the first week. SaxoBank split the race on the cobbles. On the first day of meaningful climbs, a Frenchman carried off the stage win and the maillot jaune, while BBox Telecom convincingly (and ultimately, idiotically) managed the gaps behind. Today’s mountain selections came courtesy of Team Sky and the much-maligned Astana.

Other than an unsuccessful attempt at a crosswind field split on Stage 5, and some inexplicable parading toward the front on Stage 4, they’ve had little impact on the race. Of their touted pre-Tour contenders, only Levi Leipheimer remains within five minutes of the GC lead. And despite Armstrong’s oft-repeated faith in the man, Leipheimer has not been known to shine as Grand Tours go on. That Vuelta exclusion’s looking like a mighty clairvoyant move right about now. And did I mention the dope investigation?

So, on Levi’s scrappy, under-appreciated legs, hinges the fate of one of the most successful brands in the history of all sports. Can you even imagine it? No more armies of dentists dragging the LBS out of the red each year with Lance-replica Trek purchases. No more Chris Carmichael promising phantom results to middle-aged racers about to train themselves out of love with the sport. No more laurel wreaths cast at the feet of DS whose prolific success in July has allowed him to brush years of downright miserable classics results under the rug.

Even Contador has struggled to uphold his side of the rivalry. On today’s first category climbs, he couldn’t turn his teammates’ ax-wielding into a time gap or even a stage win. The final 2k were punctuated by attacks from at least five different riders—few of whom featured in any state-side pre-race commentary. Contador is still an obvious favorite—I think this will be more clear on the tougher climbs to come—but he’s yet to show head-and-shoulders above the rest of the field.

The only way the Lance v. Contador storyline can be spun now is through leveraging Leipheimer’s high GC position to keep the hero-worshippers on board for stage wins or the role of super domestique. And frankly, I’m not optimistic—understanding the complexities of teamwork takes some appreciation for the tactics of the sport, after all, and second-grader storylines and American-only recaps are seldom an effective way to do that.

Today the 2010 Tour de France changed dramatically. And while it may be bad news for the current business model of bringing cycling to Americans, for those who follow the sport outside of July, today’s action was a promising sign for the weeks to come. Wave good-bye the Tour of Lance and Alberto; Welcome to Le Tour 2.0.

Related posts:

1. Tour de France ’07 – A Hopefully Truthful Race
2. Tour de France ’07 – Contador and The Chicken Fly The Coop
3. Astana’s Tour Selection is a Ticking Bomb