Category Archives: Blog

Hope. That is my word of the day…

Today, for the first time in this race I started to think that maybe, just maybe…I can do this.

Why the change in mentality? Did you not think you could do it before?

Well, let me be frank. When you are off the back of a bike race with only 3 other guys for 170km and barely finish the stage within time limit–like I was on Stage 5–and THEN have 2 of your 3 compatriots drop out of the race the next day… Mentally, you begin to question what the hell you are doing here in the first place.

My mindset hasnt CHANGED per se, it has just evolved. Why?

Today was easy. EASY I tell you! Note: I still rode my bike for 5 hours and burned 3500 calories…but at this level, that is easy.

Today was the day that the break went at the drop of the flag and contained only four riders, all of which were very far back on general classification.

Today was the day that for almost 120km I had conversations with people, could laugh, could eat…

Today was stress free. And I LOVED it. Man, did I need today. I soaked up every minute of it…

AND, to top it all off, no knee pain! Hallelujah!

Today, however, was not a perfect day. But to be honest, I’m not too bothered.

As things began to wind up in the latter half of the race, my legs were feeling good, my head was clear and I was ready to be up in the front to help Greg with the finish, or go for it myself if need be. The kms flew by and over the radio Rik kept reminding us of a potential cross-wind section we needed to be alert for. As we geared up for it, the racing went from relaxed to nervous quite quickly–other teams clearly recieving the same orders to be up front from their respective team directors.

The road was undulating, like always, but today I had no problems. Today I was back to my old self, I felt brand new. As we neared the right turn where these crosswinds were supposed to be waiting to split our lovely peloton to bits, I was comfortably at the front, the end-of-race adrenaline kicking in.

The road surface was terrible, little holes everywhere. As soon as I thought, ‘this would be a terrible time to puncture,’ I looked down at my front wheel and sure enough…it was flat. Now, mind you, we only have 30km to go at this moment in time and are going downhill at somewhere between Mach 9 and Mach 10. We had just turned right and in front of me I saw the black and blue of Sky, Garmin, and Quickstep attempting to blow the pack to pieces.

I was…quite literally…screwed. Even from where I was it would have been a big effort to stay up front. Now I had to go to the back, wait for the team car, change my wheel and get going again from a dead stop.

Yeah, no bueno.

Stop, I did. Change wheel, I also did… Only to get caught up behind a crash a couple hundred meters after I got going.

While I fought and fought through the cars to make it back to the second half of the split peloton, I realized it would be best of me to just pull the plug, and roll in with a small group of guys who were in a similar position as I was.

Save energy. I’ve learned that the more I can save, the better I will be, and the longer I will make it through this race.

While I never like to get dropped, and would have loved to tear it up at the front today, I have to be happy with the fact that my legs are finally feeling good and that tomorrow is another day.

Peace and love.

-tp

After yesterday’s brutal day, my morale was actually surprisingly high. I had proved something to myself, and I had toughed out the two most difficult stages in this first week of La Vuelta

This morning, my morale stayed high as the race profile seemed to suggest that it wasn’t too hard until the final climb at 30km to go…where there would be yet another chance to ride in ‘easy’ with my grupetto brothers.

The goal for the day was to put someone in the breakaway. I was told to take it easy…as easy as one can take a grand tour stage.

And so, 10km into the race, I attacked…naturally! I saw an opportunity and I went for it. Must just be how I am wired or something. I found myself in a group of 4 containing a good friend of mine, Leigh Howard of HTC. We desperately tried to get away, and made some nice headway, reaching a gap of about 50 seconds at one point. Surely, I thought, they are going to let us go.

The rest of my thoughts ranged from ‘Taylor, you were supposed to take it easy what the hell are you doing’ to ‘F**k yeah! You’re going to be in a breakaway in the Vuelta! Go go go!’

And then 10km later Rik came on the radio.

‘Andalucia and Cofidis are riding hard at the front to bring you back.’

Both teams had missed the break and were now bringing us back so that they could then launch one of their riders.

When I heard this I knew our chances were over, but at the time, the four of us had began climbing a 2.5km climb-that-isn’t-a-climb. Shit, you need to keep the speed up otherwise you are gonna get caught and go straight out the back of the peloton! Already gassed from trying to get AWAY from the pack, I was now preparing to fight in order just to maintain contact.

Some days, pretty much every day here at the Vuelta, I really wish I didn’t weigh 82 kg. Thanks for the big bones and dense muscles Dad…

I dug deep, and put my head down as the group surged by, riders flying off the front. I was in pain but I had to hold on.

Hold on I did, just barely. With the help of a couple big pushes from Manuel Quiziato and Karsten Kroon, I survived and promptly spent the next 50km at the back just hanging on for dear life. The stage was supposed to be ‘flat’ but was most definitely not.

Guess I should know that by now. Excuse my naivety!

The break finally got established with Martin Kohler and 3 other guys. Cruise control set in and the rest of the race passed by, slowly, with that same dull pain constantly reminding me that what I am doing is not comfortable.

As we neared the final climb, the pace quickened and I did my part to get bottles and make sure Greg and Santambrogio were safe in the front. As we hit the base of the climb I pulled the plug and labored up it with most of my mates from yesterday.

When we rolled into the finish I made sure that I wasn’t the first one of the group across the line. I learned my lesson yesterday!

Another day in the books, plagued a little bit by a sore knee. Icing it now and hoping all will be ok!

Ta-Ta.

-tp

What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger…? That could have been my motto today, as I felt close to the light a few times.

After an incredibly boring 37 km of neutral, yes you read that correctly, 37 km, the race was off once again. Today we were to cover 187km, and according to various sources, the stage was much much harder than it appeared on paper.

Great.

After yesterday I could’ve used a nice day in bed, but I geared up like everyone else and got ready for the pain.

14km into the stage I was out the back. Again. It’s not that I felt terrible, I just didn’t have the mojo to hold on to the pack as attacks flew up the road left and right. It didn’t help that we were already climbing either. Pathetic really, but what can you do? Hang on for dear life.

This time, however, I was not alone, and this made me…I don’t want to say ‘happy’ because there was no happiness in the last 6 hours…I was, however, relieved in a way that I wouldn’t be alone for the next 173km. Hey, maybe we would make it back as the road leveled off…

Six of us fought through the cars, each taking turns at the front of our mini ‘breakaway-off-the-back’. We had hope that the pack would let a real breakaway go, and sit up, allowing us to return.

No break went. All I kept hearing over the radio was ‘pack is all together’.

We kept plugging away, losing ground fast. It was 6 against 180…those are not great odds. We fought and fought but to no avail. The first climb, that wasn’t even a categorized climb, finally relented and we began to descend down towards the first real climb of the day, which 120km later would also serve as the final climb of the day.

My head was all over the place.

Well, this will be your last stage Taylor, no way you’re making it back now. No, you have 5 other guys with you, if you keep it up, for the next 120km, you might just make it. But can I put myself through that? Yes, why couldn’t you? Man up!

The worst part of riding the last climb in the beginning of the race is that they have km markers starting at 10 and going all the way down to the red flag, which is 1km to go. It was the worst tease; knowing you have somewhere around 3 hours of pain and suffering until you would be passing through here again. And even if you do make it, will you have done enough to be within time cut?

Don’t think about that, just ride.

We were 70 or so km into the stage after passing the finish for the first time, with around 115km to go, and I wasn’t in a good place. SO MUCH CLIMBING. We would descend off of one ridge just to hit the bottom of a valley and then have to ride all the way up to the top of the other side. My sources were very right, this was a hard, hard stage.

And then 6, became 4. A Saxo Bank rider and a Skil Shimano rider began to distance themselves from the rest of us on yet another climb-that-wasn’t-a-climb. They didn’t attack, they simply just rode away, and were gone. So we were left with 4. Christensen from Saxo Bank, Vogondy from Cofidis, Tschopp from our team, and myself.

The next kms were a blur. My mind wandered from counting down the kilometers, to losing hope completely, to reminding myself to eat, to regaining hope, to feeling better on the bike, to feeling worse. I had a song stuck in my head; ‘I Gave You All’ by Mumford and Sons.

I questioned why I did this sport, I remembered what it felt like to win and what I have had to go through in the past to be strong enough for that big result. In reality, I had been in the position I was in today already many times before, in a completely different scenario, in a different country, in a different race. Cycling is about suffering, and you have to push your body further than it is willing to go. In the moment, I hated myself for what I was doing to my body although secretly I knew what I was doing was necessary if I wished to be better. I tried to trick myself into thinking that, hey, if there are 100km to go, then there are really 85km until the final climb which is two hours or so, and then 15km, and by the time you get there you will smell the finish so you’ll feel good… I will say, It did help…a bit.

Worst of all is that we were riding on highways for a fair amount of time in the stage. 4 guys, suffering, on a wide open highway. Traffic jam in front, traffic jam behind, all for us. I felt like apologizing to people as we went past…but I didn’t.

As we approached the feed zone, a small piece of me desperately wanted to get off my bike and quit. When I say a small part, I mean most of my body. I was done, but I couldn’t quit. They can time cut me, they can rip my number off, but unless I’m in real danger of injuring myself, I’m not gonna quit.

The kms clicked down. Slowly.

Hours went by.

Just the dull pain of my legs remained a constant reminder that I was alive and not lost in a dream.

And the heat! I haven’t even mentioned it…must be getting acclimatized or something.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, we passed the 25km to go sign. And then the 20km to go sign.

And then we were on the final climb. John Lelangue was in the car behind and informed us that we were cutting it close on the time cut, and would have to really give it on this last climb if we wanted to make it. I set the tempo, actually beginning to feel relatively OK. The climb was something like 8km and I made sure I didn’t go over my threshold. All of the sudden, about 4km into the climb, we rounded a bend and off in the distance, a couple turns ahead, we could see cars! And then we saw riders! The grupetto!!!

The tiny bit of hope I had kept all day was now amplifying exponentially with every meter we got closer to that lovely grupetto. You see, there are times when the grupetto finishes after time cut, but is allowed to continue due to it’s size. Usually, and I say USUALLY, if you are in a grupetto, you will be safe. As I cruised past the last of the cars, relief set in. I, along with my three dropped comrades, could finally breathe a sigh of relief. We patted each other on the back, and settled in.

We crested the top, and descended down to the finish. The last km of the race was straight up hill, featuring a nice section at around 25%. I was so done and dusted, so over the race, I couldn’t get it over with fast enough. I followed a friend of mine, Martijn Keizer, who I believe had similar thoughts, and we didn’t sprint up it, but we definitely went faster than ‘normal’. Honestly, I had a taste of the finish and I wanted to be done so fast that I disobeyed the cardinal rule of the grupetto.

Never attack the grupetto. Never.

While it wasn’t like I was straight up attacking my fellow grupetto mates, I had inadvertently dropped them in the last km. I attempted to slow in the final 100m, almost coming to a stand-still but, the finish, it was RIGHT THERE. I had been fighting so hard, for so long…all day in fact. I just couldn’t help myself.

For disobeying the cardinal rule, and pissing some of my favorite riders off, I’m deeply sorry.

Ahh, life of a neo-pro!

I made it, and at the end of the day that is all that matters. I’m enjoying a nice ice bath now…hope you have enjoyed the recap of today’s sufferfest.

One day at a time.

Bye for now…

-tp

10km into today’s stage I was getting dropped. I had nothing… In an internal dialogue in my head I began questioning myself, my legs, my head. What was wrong? Even upon waking this morning I could tell I wasn’t firing on all cylinders. I was quiet, and just generally down. As the gap between myself and the pack grew I tried to settle in to a good rhythm. Was I lacking fitness? Well, no. I had just won the prologue at Eneco and finished 4th overall. Granted, Eneco is an entirely different race than the Vuelta, but still, good fitness is good fitness. Was I tired, still not fully recovered from the efforts I put out there? Maybe. I had 5 days in between, one of those days ruined by a stomach bug, the other by a crash. Was it the heat? Could be.

All I knew is I wasn’t my usual self today. But I fight. And that is what I did.

I made it back to the pack as the breakaway was let go and the pace eased up. There still remained about 15km of climbing however and even when I got there, I continued to yoyo. I would have moments where I felt fine, and then all of the sudden I couldn’t do it anymore. My legs and mind would quit on me. And we weren’t even going that fast.

I made it to the top and got up to the front for the dangerous descent.

All fine, I refueled, tried to tell myself I would bounce back. But soon enough, the road pitched up again and I found myself in the same place as before…going backwards…faster than I would like. I briefly lost contact, by myself, but then I made it back.

Most of the rest of the stage cruised by on a big open highway. Again, I refueled and told myself I would come around. As we hit a few rollers before the penultimate climb of the day I began to yoyo once more, but this time I wasn’t the only one. Cavendish had been dropped. This provided a bit of relief as I figured I would be ok, if/when I got dropped since he was already out the back.

Then, at possibly the worst possible moment, I got a flat–just at the base of the penultimate climb. I changed it and attempted to regain contact but made sure to stay within myself. And Cav was behind me…I would be ok, right?

As I was settling into my rhythm, the pack 200m in front of me–but pulling away, Rik came on the radio: ‘Cavendish has abandoned, Cavendish has abandoned.’

Oh shit.

I minimized the damage from myself to the peloton as I crested the top and took a thrilling ride through the caravan on the descent. I could still see them, I might not catch them, but they were there.

The final climb was a grueling 20+km up to Sierra Nevada.

I came off the descent still behind the peloton, but close enough that I knew it was plausible for me to catch the grupetto once it formed. Yet again, I tried to find my rhythm, sitting at some puzzlingly low numbers, but holding them, which was all that mattered. As the km clicked by, slowly, I began to lose faith. I was alone. I had John Lelangue in the car behind me, giving me time splits to the grupetto…but I couldn’t SEE them. I began to get lost in thought, imagining my solo ride all the way up to the top, unsure of whether I’d make the time cut. I was so lost I hadn’t noticed the fact that I was in the cars again, and then before I knew it, there it was. The grupetto.

I made my way up to it one pedal stroke at a time, and joined my slow-climbing compatriots in their struggle to the top of Sierra Nevada.

I definitely still struggled, but I wasn’t alone and finished with them 24 minutes down. Very much within time cut.

I am now attempting to refuel my body for another day of torture tomorrow.

Bye for now.

So yeah, I missed the start today. It isn’t QUITE as bad as it sounds, and I am sure some of you out there are shaking your heads. If I may point out, I was with Cancellara coming back through the cars in the neutral… It happens often that riders miss the start, just has never happened to ME before.

A little background that allowed me to do this: we had an 8.9km neutral today, where the peloton rides along at a slow pace, parading through the town we start in. There is no attacking in the neutral, nothing really happens at all, besides nature breaks and mechanical changes. ALSO, there are about 50+ cars that follow us who provide draft for a quick return to the peloton. So there was no panicking on my part, or anyone’s part that I had ground to make up.

I was late because I needed to stop at the car to get a magnet on my front wheel for my SRM’s speedometer to work. No matter. On my way through the caravan (the name for the 50+ cars behind the pack), I decided to get a bit of fishnet around my calf and knee to make sure the bandages I had on from my previous crash didn’t fall off and expose my wounds to the scorching sun. I rode up to a medics car, struggled a bit to get the message of what I needed across, but finally, after some heated pointing, was all set and back to making my way to the peloton.

And then I almost crashed. Just a side note, all of this has happened before or in the neutral 8.9km of a stage that don’t even COUNT to the total of the 163km we had to then complete. Eventful.

I almost crashed the same way I crashed the other day. I approached a 90 degree left turn at a speed I felt was comfortable and must’ve hit another patch of oil because my front wheel slipped out and by some divine intervention regained its grip. I came out of the corner thanking my lucky stars and let out a huge sigh of relief, that would not have been good.

I made it to the group just as the neutral was over and suffered at the back while attacks flew off the front. I accepted my fate of being at the back and staying at the back and I just tried to keep a rhythm. Before I knew it the break was gone and the day’s most relaxing part could begin. After the break goes the peloton sits up and relaxes for anywhere between 5 and 45 minutes.

My job on the day was to save my energy and that is what I did. Approached the first climb of the day at the back and promptly got dropped with some big sprinters like Cav and Kittel, as well as the likes of Tony Martin. We rolled in to the finish 12 mins down.

Job done.

Tomorrow is going to suck, 30km climb right off the bat. I don’t wanna think about it…bye!

-tp

Wow it was hot today… The old SRM read 46 degrees Celsius at one point, may have even been hotter! I don’t even want to know what that is in Fahrenheit, because then it might mean something! All I know is that I lost exactly 2kg of what I am gonna go ahead and guess is water weight.

After having 1 mechanical problem all year, I suffered 3 wheel changes today! 2 in the last 30km. Frowny face. This being a 200+ field, it takes a bit of energy to make it back to the front when it is all strung out in the finale. I did this twice. Not tooting my own horn or anything… Trust me, it hurt.

Approaching 2km to go, I had just made it back to the first riders. I spotted Greg, our designated sprinter on the day and told him to get on my wheel. Unknown to me, he could not shift for some reason. It was all quite hectic, as finales of bike races usually are. I yelled at him to hold my wheel and buried myself to get to the front 10 riders. With about 1km to go I made it to the leading Leopard train, and swung off. Greg, unable to shift and spun out as a result, could not hold my wheel and I had lost him somewhere along the way. I was blown and got out of everyone’s way, job done for the day.

Congrats to my boy CJ Sutton though, very impressive!

On to the next one.

How is that for a catchy title?? Here is my recap from yesterday’s HUGE day. Thanks in advance for reading:)

The Eneco Tour prologue had been on my mind ever since I talked with John Lelangue and he put me on the schedule to do it back after Nationals in May. I had a disappointing Nationals, coming in as a defending champ and finishing 7th. The prologue at the Eneco Tour was a long way off but I knew that it would suit me. I competed in a little race last year with Trek Livestrong called Olympia’s Tour, which we won. Eneco seems to basically be the big man version of Olympia’s. Same UCI commissaires, some of the same organizers, same doping control officers. Way more press, WorldTour riders coming off of the Tour de France, and bigger crowds. The courses however are very similar, and I knew this way back in May when I set the prologue as a big target for me to focus on in June and July.

Instead of going home to Colorado after Nationals as was my original plan, I headed to Zolder, Belgium to meet up with the Tour team and to test out BMC’s swanky new TT bike (which I immediately fell in love with).
Step 1, get ahold of the new machinery–complete.

Step 2 was a bit more complicated: Train your ass off.
Again, instead of going home to Colorado, I opted to stay in Europe, minimize my travel days, head to my apartment in Lucca and train with the help of Max Sciandri who lives nearby. I also decided, with input from Max and John, to do Tour of Austria as preparation for the latter part of the season. In June I trained more than I have ever trained, in my entire life. I was putting in 7-8 hour rides, and enjoying them. Obviously I was not training 7 hours every day but when my coach would tell me to do a big ride, for example 5-6 hours, I would go above and beyond and hit 7-8.

As a result I went into the 8 day Tour of Austria very fit, and surprised myself in how well I was able to get through it. Being a big man, therefore a not so stellar climber, I found myself NOT getting dropped first on the big Austrian climbs. Rather, I was able to hang on to the main pack on some of the more difficult days. And I delivered what, for me, was a great result in the TT on the 7th day, 4th.

Besides a small crash on the final circuit of the final day, everything was on track.

Next race was Wallonie and if you follow the blog you know how that went! Incident free, with our man Greg Van Avermaet taking the win.

Step 3 was something I was pretty comfortable with; believing in myself. In a way I act as my own psychologist. The morning before a big race I have been targeting for a while, there are pre-race jitters, and questions. ‘Are you fit enough? But look at the start list! Look who you have to beat! These are your idols and you think you can beat them??’ All these questions get answered in a letter than I write to myself, basically pumping me up and telling myself I am the man, that I am going to win, that no one can beat me. It is similar to a scene in a movie where a character will have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other except, for me, I have an over-confident asshole on one shoulder, and a wimpy, starry-eyed weakling on the other. The over-confident asshole always triumphs and is able to convince the weakling he is in fact, THE MAN.

Warming up, I felt amazing. Absolutely amazing. I had created an ‘Eneco Prologue’ playlist on my iPod and had the tracks blaring in my ears. It was as if my legs weren’t even attached to my body. That is what feeling good is really, just feeling nothing–funny how that is. I actually started to smile a few times as Drake’s new single ‘Headlines’ played alongside this incredible feeling of nothingness in my legs.

In a prologue and for time trials I usually have a protocol. I have a salt solution I will drink before and during warm up, I put a BreatheRight strip on my nose and I usually take about 100-200mg of caffeine either in a gel or in a drink mix.

Yesterday I had no salt solution. Forgot about the BreatheRight. And when the doc brought my caffeine bottle I felt so good I told him I didn’t need it.

It feels good, to feel good.

Soon enough I was in the start house, flashing back to Olympia’s Tour, thinking about the time and all that had happened since I was in Holland last.

The over-confident asshole on my shoulder whispered in my ear: ‘This is your moment, fucking own it.’ And I was off. The race is a bit of a blur, but I just put my head down and buried myself. There were so many roundabouts and speed bumps, also known as ‘road furniture’, in the first 4km that finding a rhythm was impossible. It was all about high cadence and speed. I knew that the last 500m consisted of 4 90 degree turns so the race, in my eyes, was to that point. From there it was all about hanging on. With my head down I pushed onwards, fire burning in my legs, lungs struggling to bring in any oxygen. I saw the 500m to go sign and gave another push, slammed the breaks, took the corner just a bit too fast, made it, got through the next one. Sprinted, made the next right, then a quick left, sprinted, shifted up, sprinted and boom. Done.

I gasped for air as I passed the finish line, sure that I had done enough. The team was ecstatic as I got back to the bus as I had beat the previous best time by about 10 seconds. I took a quick shower, breaking out in a quick fit of relief-related laughter, but quickly got my emotions under control. I hadn’t won yet.

Millar, Boom and Boassen Hagen had yet to finish. These guys are my idols! What was I thinking! I hadn’t won yet, not even close. The over-confident asshole, however, returned to my shoulder telling me: ‘You got this buddy, you crushed these guys, they can’t touch you.’

The minutes passed slowly as the riders came in to the finish one by one. I was watching in the bus, with the team, keeping my fingers crossed that I had done enough. I wanted this win so bad, I worked so hard for it. This could turn my season around. Please let it be. Millar came close, and then Boassen Hagen came closer, Boom wasn’t going to get it and I knew soon enough, when Grabsch rolled in that I had done it. The team erupted with whooping and clapping. I went around and shook everyone’s hand, thanking them for believing in me.

I got the podium clothes on, stepped off the bus and headed to podium. Since this was the first stage, I had won all of the jerseys so I made 4 rounds on the podium, each time unable to hold my smile for the crowd as it was comical for me to keep popping out. I had my fun, gave my flowers away, did some interviews, and pissed in a cup.

On the way back to the hotel my twitter was absolutely blowing up, and I felt motivated to answer everyone who congratulated me. It has been a difficult year for me and to have my fans be as supportive as they have been, I definitely wanted to give back what I could. Funnily enough I maxed out some sort of twitter status update limit and had to wait 2 hours before continuing my thank yous.

Dinner concluded with popping some champagne and toasting to the result.

Good day at the office. A lot of work still to be done in this race! We are ready and willing to keep the momentum going.

Cheers:)

So it all comes down to today. After four days of hotly contested bike racing, there is one last stage to decide it all. My teammate Greg Van Avermaet was in the yellow jersey but still tied with Joost Van Leijen from Vacansoleil, only leading by default because of his high placings in each stage. The last stage was another one of medium length, only 155km, but on paper appeared very hilly. I had learned over the past few days that when the race profile indicates that a race is flat it is most likely hilly, and when the profile actually hints that the stage might be up and down, it is never going to be flat, and it is going to be very difficult. That was the case with Stage 5. From the gun we were either going up or down, not for very long (this is Belgium after all), but enough to sting my tired ole legs. I’m not going to lie, I felt like crap for the first half of the stage. I couldn’t follow attacks and I could barely stay at the front while guys were jumping left and right knowing that if they got away, today was a day that they could STAY away. The peloton was a mess, at different times there would be groups of 20-30 riders of the front, everybody feeling the hills, feeling the efforts of the days prior. After an hour and a half of riding flat out, a break was FINALLY established. About half of the pack stopped for a nature break, as you do, and I was one of them. When I got up and running again, however, I noticed a team lined up at the front stringing the pack out. This seriously annoyed me, as my teammate, in the yellow jersey had stopped, as well as a good 50+ riders. Whatever you do in a bike race, you do not under any circumstance attack the yellow jersey when he is stopped and you sure as hell don’t ride when half the peloton stops, AND when there are 90km left in the stage! You just don’t do it.

I won’t name any names, but when I chased back on and rushed to the front I gave the team in question quite the ear full. They just put there heads down and drove onwards. To be fair to them, they were only riding because their sport director told them too. Their team leader even came up to them to yell at them and ask them what they were up to. Oh racing with no radios… How helpless you make some teams! Anyways, after about 10km of pissing the pack off, the team in question gave it a rest, and we slowed again.

When the break reached the 3 minute mark it was up to us, BMC, to control the bike race. Murphy, Kohler, and Frank hit the front, keeping the break in check. I was still feeling quite terrible, the legs just feeling empty. Everyone who races bikes has a ‘hump day’ (I prefer to call it a ‘curve day’ because hump day sounds like something else entirely), and my curve or hump or whatever you wanna call it DAY is day 5. Day 5 in a tour is usually my worst, but after that, it would seem that my body comes around and gets better and better. I had it happen in California, and Austria. And it seemed that it was happening here at Tour de Wallonie. I was not so stoked, however, on the fact that I felt like crap because we had a race to win and I had an integral role to play at the end of this race.

You see, I am a classics man, a man of the short cobbled climbs, a man of long cobbled roads. Stage 5 featured an ascent of the Mur du Thuin, a 500m 9% cobbled climb that we would tackle three times, all in the last 25km of the bike race. So naturally, it would be up to guys like myself and Alessandro Ballan (a Tour of Flanders winner–the ultimate cobbled climb race) to take care of Greg in the finale.

So like I mentioned before, I felt crappy, and was not looking forward to my duties. I wasn’t even sure I would make it to the Mur du Thuin. Even when we were just cruising along there were times I desperately wanted to quit, I felt that bad. To top it all off, Katusha had taken control of the front and were driving the pace up as the kms counted down. The gap to the break was coming down quicker than we wanted so we stopped pulling, letting Katusha do all the work. The roads heading in to Thuin were terrible, those concrete slab roads they love so much in Belg, with the giant crack down the middle…potholes everywhere. This was not helping my current state, let me tell you. The pack began to buzz, the nervousness rose as riders began to move to the front, taking risks, swerving left and right over the center crack as to not get stuck. Every corner we plowed into smelled powerfully of brakes. We must be getting close to the Mur, I thought.

With 10 or so km until the first time up the Mur du Thuin, the pack was strung out. I was tired, somewhere in the middle, not keen on making a big effort to get to the front. We whizzed by, going from a big road to a tiny road, then back to a big road. From bad pavement, back to good. Hopping train tracks and fighting to hold the wheel in front.

The lead up to the Mur is a bit blurry, but I was not in great position as we descended down into a valley. I saw a 25km to go sign and knew it was only a matter of 500m or so to the bottom of the climb. Something clicked in my head and suddenly I was surging up the left side of the road. I saw in front of me as the road tipped upwards and a large crowd and what appeared to be a u-turn on…what is that…cobbles! Then I was there, I was second wheel as we made the turn. I was on cobbles and I was climbing at the front of the pack. I though to myself: This is what I do! Finally!

Ben Hermans laid in an attack and I followed, along with a couple others. As we crested the top of the climb and passed through the finish I was all the sudden off the front with a select group of riders including Stijn Devolder and my teammate Alessandro Ballan, TWO former Tour of Flanders winners. Huh, I thought, maybe I feel good! Greg was not far behind and I followed attacks, never pulling through as not to distance ourselves from the man I was to be protecting.

The pack had exploded. Riders were everywhere and I was at the front! What!? AND I suddenly felt good! It was as if the cobbles awoke this new set of legs I wasn’t aware that I had. It feels good, to feel good, that is for sure. As riders would jump off the front, Ballan and I would follow. The front group slowly formed into about 40 riders and I quickly understood what I needed to do. If a team didn’t take control of this bike race a group could go, maybe without Greg, and we could lose it all. Ballan had already gotten the hint, and was keeping the pace high. I joined him, told him he needed to save his legs for the finale and took up the pace making. On the front, again, and it felt good.

At this point in the bike race we had about 15km to go, with two more passings over the Mur, one coming up at 12km to go, and the last one with 1km to go. Kristoff came up to the front to work with me and we rolled up to the base of the climb for the second time. As we hit the cobbles a Vacansoleil rider put in a big attack. We let him get a bit of a gap, and as we crested the top I took over again, now with a rider in my sights. Passing through the finish with one lap remaining I settled into a nice rhythm. I still felt good and was confident I could hold a solid pace for these last 10km. We caught the lone rider out front on a small downhill and Kristoff and I just put our heads down, each taking big pulls, making sure no one could pass us. A few riders would attack but we still had the legs to shut them down. The kms ticked down, my legs burning, but still producing the power I needed to keep the pace where I wanted. I was happy knowing Greg and Ballan were safely tucked in behind me. Before the little downhill into the valley prior to the final ascent of the Mur du Thuin, both Kristoff and I were at max. The pace we had been setting was very high, and at the end of a thoroughly difficult race. After reeling in one last attack from a Europcar rider, we were toast. 2km to go, we pulled off and Ballan took over with Greg on his wheel. Out the back of the group that we had whittled down to 25 or so we went, legs on fire. I gave Kristoff a big pat on the back and could tell he was equally as relieved as I was that our big effort was now over and that we had done a very good days work.

We coasted down the hill leading up to our final Mur du Thuin ascent, and soft pedaled the climb as much as we could (it was still a cobbled climb after all so ‘soft-pedaling’ equalled about 430 watts–not easy). As we got to the top, our team car rolled by with Rik Verbrugghe, our team director, yelling at us that Greg won the stage, meaning he won the overall by a solid margin. What a great feeling it is to work so hard for someone who is going to deliver. Already happy with our efforts, Kristoff and I rejoiced at the success we had had in this Tour de Wallonie. The finish line approached and passed. The race was over, we had won. The team had performed above and beyond anyone’s expectations.

I found Greg among the scrum, and gave him a huge hug. He thanked me profusely for the efforts over the week. I let him know that he is the man and that I am always going to help a guy who not only delivers more often than not, but who is a great guy to work with.

I made it back to the bus and finally had time to sit down an reflect on the week. I took a quick shower, got dressed and when Greg came back from the podium we popped some champagne and toasted to the week.

On to the next one…

Eneco Tour!

On paper, Stage 4 wasn’t supposed to be all that hard. A mere 152km, with only one ‘mountain’ sprint, and 5 laps of a flat circuit at the end featuring a short cobbled section.

We had time to gain back today for Greg, and fortunately, the first sprints came at 19.5km and 25km into the race which meant that if we could keep it together, we could set Greg up to take some bonus seconds and get the yellow jersey back.

When the flag dropped after the neutral, Martin Kohler and I were immediately at the front riding a very fast steady tempo. One or two guys tried to attack to get into a breakaway but we quickly reeled them in. After about the third attack I think the peloton got the memo, that no one was going to get away just yet, and that was the last of the attacks that we saw. The rest of the team worked their way up to the front, with Ballan, Frank and Murphy all getting their time at the front. Kristoff was on my wheel, with Greg behind him. The pack was very nervous behind us, I could feel it. Teams would creep up beside the back of our BMC train, trying to slot themselves into the best seat in the house, which was right behind Greg. As we neared the 1st sprint, Skil Shimano started to show themselves a bit more, and were almost riding neck and neck with us. No matter. At 1km to the sprint, Kohler ramped up the pace again and the road dipped slightly downhill. Perfect, I thought. On a flat road, no one can pass me, on a downhill, don’t even try. With Kristoff set to launch Greg after my pull, it was soon my turn at the front. My body bent over the bike, legs firing up and down like pistons I went like a mad man. I love going fast, and I love going fast at the front of a bike race, so these kind of things I look forward to. Kristoff came off my wheel at 300m to go, with Greg behind him and then some Skil-Shimano riders attempting to pass on the right. From my view, I couldn’t quite see the sprint but I knew Greg was up there, and the yellow jersey was not. We got 1 second back.

Vacansoleil (the team with the yellow jersey) worked their way to the front to try and capture the next sprint. I was feeling my effort but had been expecting to have to fight back to the front and get ready for sprint number 2. This time Vacansoleil was leading it out and I lined up right next to them, half in the wind, half in the draft with my boys sitting in behind me. As we wound up I maintained position, just keeping my guys out of trouble. With 700m to go there was a sharp left turn and the pack began to swarm leading up to it. I gave my final push to keep the guys in position and locked both Greg and Kristoff into the wheel of Vacansoleil’s train and pulled off. Greg made the jump off of Kristoff’s wheel and got another second over the yellow jersey. Boom. We were in yellow.

The race was on now. With no team controlling anymore, guys were eager to get in breakaways. Our team was quite worked after holding everything together for the two sprints and I sat at the back just trying to catch my breath as we trucked along the belgian countryside. The third sprint was at 56km or so and I was just praying a break would go before that so we wouldn’t have to sprint again. Vacansoleil had other things in mind however and managed to keep everything together. Again, we forced our way to the front, but the team was just a little bit too gassed. Greg was in a good position, he just couldn’t come by the yellow jersey. Down one second.

Now Greg was tied, again, for the jersey. It took 10-20 more km for the breakaway to form and it finally did much to my happiness as I couldn’t wait to take a ‘nature break’ and refuel. The rest of the stage went by pretty quickly, Vacansoleil kept the break in check since they held the jersey (technically Greg was the virtual yellow jersey, but we didn’t need to remind them of that). As a unit, we lined up behind the Vacansoleil train. The last half of the race was to be contested on 4 laps of a 17km circuit which featured a nice 1.5km cobbled section. As per usual, before the cobble section on each lap the pack was quite nervous with everyone wanting to be at the front. We all stayed out of trouble however, and soon enough the finish was coming up. The last 5km was very technical and my job was to take care of Kristoff and give him a lead out in the sprint. I hung back a bit until around 2km to go when I made a big effort to get up to Kristoff and take him up to about 8th wheel. The last 500m were slightly uphill making for a hard sprint. As Leopard Trek ran out of guys early on the front I saw my chance and gunned it with 300m to go. I could only hope Kristoff was on my wheel (it is hard to hear or see anything at 65km/h), and was relieved when he came whipping by me. A couple wheels ahead Robbie McEwen was giving a good kick but Kristoff was approaching fast. The finish line came quicker however and we had to settle for second, with McEwen taking top honors. Greg was 8th and back in yellow.

Another day on the front awaited us.