On the Eve of the Tour de France
Cycling Will Break your Heart
Maybe that’s not the most compelling subtitle to a post intended to draw a few more fans to this account, and to our annual Tour de France Fantasy Game and Fundraiser. But this evening, as we look to the Grand Depart from Florence, I hark back to my outlook eleven months ago, soon after Jonas Vingegaard headed home from Paris to Copenhagen, clad in his absurdly slim Yellow Jersey.
Next year, I thought. Next year Vingegaard, one of the greatest stage racers ever, will face an angrier, healthy Pocacar, one of the greatest cyclists ever, not to mention an electric Roglic, still clinging to his dream of a Tour win, plus the most vaunted newcomer I can remember, Remco Evenepoel. Maybe Bernal will even have returned to form by then.
While all of these contenders will indeed roll to the start line, it’s unlikely that all will actually contend. Last year we watched Pogacar crumble on the seemingly unending Col de la Loze, kilometer after kilometer dragging on, every pedal stroke appearing excruciating, and we chalked it up to his having fractured his wrist earlier in the season, his training compromised as he then spent a few weeks training on the “turbo” in his kitchen.
Well, this weekend it’s Vingegaard who arrives likely weakened: If Pog’s fractured wrist was his Achilles heel, how can Jonas have recovered since spending two weeks in the hospital with ribs and a collarbone — and a punctured lung? It’s not like he’s thinking, “Well, at least I lost some weight while I was in there.”
With Jonas surely not at 100% — in a sport where truly marginal, sub-percentage point gains can make the winning difference — and with both Roglic and Remco having suffered their own crashes, and generally not looking up to Tour snuff, The Big Four are shaping up to be…Big Dog Pog and the Pups, nipping at his heels. (Bernal’s never looked the same since his brutal crash a few years ago.)
And so it goes in cycling. Since starting to follow the Tour avidly — and since launching this game, something like 20 years ago — I’ve nearly been treated to a clash of the titans many times, but crashes — or COVID, or positive drug tests — have turned most of those epic scenarios into daytime drama-type stories: just not that much drama.
Which is exactly why we play this game. If Tour ‘24 is indeed a Pog-walkover, we’ll still have our contest to consider — and thus every subplot, every lesser jersey, every stage result. We’ll have reason to care not just who wins, but who comes close; who arrives first at the top of the day’s second climb, or who rides Most Combatively. It will be like watching a blowout of an NBA game — but having money on who dribbles the most. We’ll keep following.
And — and — who knows: maybe we’ll be treated to the greatest comeback since Lance — er, since LeMond. Maybe we’ll suddenly find ourselves rooting for Vingegaard, never the most electrifying rider, his fishmonger backstory notwithstanding. Maybe this year’s unconventional parcours, with its final-stage time trial in Nice, will hold a Usual Suspects-type ending: something entirely unexpected, but wholly gratifying.
Because while cycling will break your heart, with its up-from-nowhere profiles, its comeback tales, its images of riders literally picking themselves off the ground to finish or even win the race — it will also cause it to swell, and palpitate, even skip a beat. Maybe — just maybe — we’re in for something special this year.
