PRO ROAD CYCLING RACES
Every issue, Cycling Plus writers take a subject and debate their all-time top five. This month, we mark the start of the road season by recalling our favourite races...
JOHN WHITNEY: What makes a great race? A tight, rollercoaster finish, an outstanding individual performance, the result going against the script or the weather playing a big part? One of the races that sprung to mind was the 2013 MilanSanremo, AKA the one with all the snow. Milan-Sanremo is one of my favourite races full stop. I love how all the action is condensed into the final hour. But the 2013 race had more than an hour, as they took shelter on the team buses. Really, this is more of a memorable race than a great one. There shouldn’t be a half-time in a bike race. Weather can be a useful antagonist, but it can become too decisive a factor. PAUL ROBSON: I’m not a fan of riding my bike in the cold and wet, but I find watching races in such conditions utterly compelling, despite having to watch the descents through my fingers. The weather was foul at the Tour of Lombardy in 2010, the most beautiful race of the year reduced to a battle of attrition in semi-darkness, but from those conditions emerged a performance from Philippe Gilbert that still delights me. He went for it on the descent of the Sormano and, after Vincenzo Nibali crashed, Gilbert knew it was his moment. Michele Scarponi managed to get across to Gilbert on the run to Como, but there’s a moment on the final San Fermo della Battaglia climb where Gilbert shifts into the big ring and rides away. He crossed the line soaking wet, filthy, cold and alone – the performance of a champion.
PETER COSSINS: 2010 was a good year, because I’ve gone for the 2010 Giro d’Italia stage 7 to Montalcino. It was a race that introduced the white roads of the now very popular Strade Bianche race to the cycling world. It was packed with big names: Bradley Wiggins, Nibali, Ivan Basso and Cadel Evans. Again, the weather was bad, the usual dry chalk roads transformed into a gloopy skating rink. The result was something akin to the early days of road racing, with riders in small groups, crashes and mechanicals. It was a wonderful lottery. And amidst the mayhem, Evans produced one of the great rides in modern grand tour history. Caked in pale mud, he judged the finale perfectly, picking the best line through the treacherous final corner to outpace Damiano Cunego and Alexandre Vinokourov perfectly. His muted celebration, barely raising his arms – probably because he didn’t have the strength – showed how much it had taken out of him. It was extraordinary watching the riders come in, each of them looking like they’d been dunked in porridge. JOHN: I’m going to buck the trend and pick a gloriously sunny day at the 2012 Vuelta a España. Stage 17 to Fuente Dé was, by Alberto Contador’s own measure, one of the highlights of his career – a kamikaze attack on one of those stages that, on paper, nobody was talking about beforehand as being decisive. Like all the best stage race performances, it meant something – it won him the race.
PETER: How about the 2003 Tour de France? I know it’s one from the Lance Armstrong era, but how do you strip it out?
It’s like Ben Johnson’s 100m win at the 1988 Olympics, so much of it remembered so clearly because it was exceptional, and that includes the aftermath. I joined the race as it entered the Alps on stage 7 – almost every day following that there was a significant turning point. Joseba Beloki’s crash on the descent into Gap that forced Armstrong to improvise through a meadow. Jan Ullrich thrashing Armstrong in the stage 12 time trial. Armstrong clipping a fan and hitting the deck. Amid all this, of course, he hung on to win overall – a win he was, of course, stripped of. But like Johnson’s astonishing spring in Seoul, the memory remains.
PAUL: I’ve mentioned Claudio Chiapucci on this page before, but the defining memories of our youth live within us and this is mine – stage 13 of the 1992 Tour de France. At 254km with five brutal climbs and a finish at Sestriere it was a Chiapucci kind of day. He attacked repeatedly, winning the battles each time. He forced his way through the massed hysteria as he neared the top of the final climb and had to round the motorbikes that were supposed to be clearing his way. It was the best expression of the idea of a rider and fans working together to achieve their dream. We don’t see scenes quite like that anymore, probably rightly, but such a mass of colour, frenzy and death or glory endeavour is what made me fall in love with cycling in the first place.
“I know it’s one from the Lance Armstrong era, but how do you strip it out?”