The entire course was a tunnel of sound with 650,000 screaming partying fans. I'm proud to be a Virginian.
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Do it yourself or die for the team. Fighting through a grand tour, whether attacking at the front or praying for survival, turns a body inside out and scrapes pretense from it's bones. By the third week we are exposed and vulnerable, calcified and inveterate. We need each other.
An atmosphere of last chance desperation mingled with numbing fatigue.
Until they were out of breath, I was booed and called names in various languages. “Sorry, guys, sorry, really, I have too. I’m sorry.” Then Moreno Moser launched.
“Spin, Mate! It’s only the first week.”
“I’m going to Vejer (the finish). You stay here because you’re injured.”
I’m excited to bring the experience from my first Grand Tour in France last year to the same physical and emotional roller coaster at the Spanish version.
On the steepest part of the climb I looked back and saw Joe charging toward us. It sent a shiver through me.
I was empty, out of water, out of gas, but I knew we had a chance, because the peloton was out of sight on the twisty roads.
On one hand, "the Tour is the Tour"... On the other hand, "the Tour is the Tour."
I sometimes call it, “the angry.”
It was masochistic to go in the break, but it made a statement.
I prayed something would stick before the first climb.
None of the international travel is left in my legs