Tour of Flanders
The Belgians are a tough, resilient lot, as seen in their public response at this astoundingly beautiful “Ronde”. Broken hearted after their star Wout van Aert, cracked himself into pieces the previous week in an 80-kph crash, depriving them of their Ali-Frazier moment - the hotly anticipated matchup between Van Aert and Dutchman Mathieu van der Poel – the fans came out in force just the same, creating what seemed a wall of people all along the 280-kilometers racecourse. The start in Antwerp was packed, the villages and towns were decorated and in full celebration, the race was simply a marvel. There’s so much talk of “fixing cycling”, of creating newly formatted events, shortening 100-year-old races and above all “monetizing”, that dreadful term, the sport in a more efficient way, when in fact, cycling works beautifully. It’s an art form: confusing, chaotic, on-the-edge and dangerous – simply magnificent. A race like the Ronde van Vlaaderen unites huge swaths of people in a day of celebration and, barring desires for some VIP treatment, the race is free to all. How does one “fix” that? How to recreate that 111-year-old groundswell of love and passion for cycling in a different way? Better to cherish and support the miracle of what we already have in this ever-less romantic world.
Van der Poel’s Alpecin-Deceuninck team has been constantly underrated. Lacking the massive Ineos or Visma-Lease a Bike budgets, rarely speaking of “marginal gains” nor flexing scientific approaches, the old school team has been dominant in the classics this year. They took control right from Antwerp, putting Silvan Dillier on the front where, almost singlehandedly, the Swiss kept the early morning eight-man breakaway in check, allowing them less than four-minutes lead. The peloton began to really heat up with 120-k to go, curb to curb, everyone fighting to position on the approaches to the first of the series of narrow and steep cobblestoned climbs that define the race. The distance was starting to tell, almost half the peloton already gone from the race.
Mads Pedersen, who had beaten van der Poel mano-mano the week before, exploded up the Molenberg climb with 100-k to go, drawing all the pre-race favorites with him, including a lively Matteo Jorgenson, the American having replaced van Aert as team leader. The Dane’s acceleration sparked a counter moves by the Visma-Lease a Bike team, and suddenly 13-men, including Pedersen and former Ronde winner Dylan van Baarle (Visma) were in front – but no van der Poel. His wily teammate, Gianni Vermeersch, was there, however, keeping watch. It was here that one could see the true strength of the Alpecin-Deceuninck team, which comes from the confidence their leader has in them, in his willingness to do whatever he can for the collective. You saw it at Milano-Sanremo when, although in position to win, van der Poel decided it was best for the team to switch focus to their sprinter Jasper Philipsen, who brought home the win. This is how ‘into the breach’ mentalities are forged.
The 13-men were flying up the road, the gap increasing, the race splintered into pieces. Van der Poel calmly sat up, looked back and with an incredible display of sang froid, waited for his troops to regroup, go to the front, and begin to reassemble the race. Then occurred one of the most bizarre, self-inflicted cases of cycling ‘Rope-a-Dope’ that I’ve ever seen. Mads Pedersen, the man on form, attacked with 86-k to go, alone – except for Vermeersch, VdP’s teammate of course, who was firmly planted on the Lidl-Trek racer’s wheel. Pedersen, a former World Champion, stubbornly continued his self-immolating effort for almost 30-k with Vermeersch even taking the occasional pull to sucker the Dane into thinking that somehow this was a good idea. All the while, the Alpecin boys were controlling from the back, keeping the duo within 20”. So crazy. Especially when they hit the Oude Kwaremont for the first of two ascensions and the Mathieu van der Poel show began.
The World Champion flew up the cobbled wall, blowing up the remnants of the field: Pedersen still had the strength to hold on, one of the few, exposing even further the sheer folly of his previous attack. Bit of a regrouping, some hopeful counterattacks, then the dreaded Koppenberg, seemingly covered in slime from the light rain (what is the Ronde without rain?) falling on its 19% grade. Mass confusion, VdP, the off-road racing expert, seeming to float up the cobbles, while behind, crashes, slipping and sliding, riders trying to run up with plastic shoes….beyond wild. And that was it. VdP was gone, the field was now racing for second.
Unheralded Luca Mozzato won the race for second, while that most gentlemanly of sprinters, Michael Matthews for once tried to do the nasty, moving Nils Politt into the barricades, and was rewarded for his initiative with a DQ.
Matteo Jorgenson and rising star Kiwi Laurence Pithie, both so active and strong earlier in the race, learned the difference between “200 and 250-kilometer men”, finishing a crushed four-minutes down. American Magus Sheffield, like Jorgenson, a graduate of Toby Stanton’s Hot Tubes Junior Team, soldiered to a fine 7th place, while fellow Yank Riley Sheehan, confirming his “Who is he and where the hell did he come from??” win at Paris Tours last year, won the sprint for 13th, only two-minutes down.
Mathieu van der Poel, as his ashen face showed at the finish, had given his all, confirming what we all know: champions have talent, skills and motivation. But what they have, most of all, is the ability to hurt themselves that much more than anyone else.