Every July comes sport's most celebrated and arguably brutal test of will, lungs, and legs. The Tour de France is in full swing, and this year, like most years, is full of high drama and heartbreak. Floyd Landis, the winner of last year's Tour, is in the middle of a trial to determine if he is actually the winner of the race, due to an anomalous drug test showing disproportionate amounts of testosterone in his urine. No matter if he's a doper or not, the 2006 iteration of the race will forever have an asterisk next to it, only for the fact that a certain set of hard-to-answer questions will be made of that win, and likely, never answered.
But on to 2007.
The racing this year's been fantastic. That mantis of a man, Michael Rasmussen, is in yellow and barring any disaster, could wear it to Paris. One of my favorite riders, Alexandre Vinokourouv, a rider for Astana, crashed heavily in the first week and spent most of the next recovering from his injuries. Take a look at the picture above, taken minutes after the crash. Blood is streaming down his legs and elbow; his face is grimaced in pain and likely the realization that he's in for a rough ride for the next couple of days. At 33, his career as a pro cyclist is near over, and if he doesn't take a win in the Tour this year, his chances of winning the general classification race (the fastest overall time) are slim.
However, France is thousands of miles away and Chicago is so close. Last night, I rode up to Evanston, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago, only about three miles from my house, in order to watch the Evanston Northwestern Healthcare Grand Prix of Cycling, or rather, the Evanston Crit. I got there around 6:20, just in time to watch the Pro/1/2/3 cats do a 100K (62 mile) race on a fast course with about 7 turns. Snagged a spot just feet from the finish and watched some great racing. Two guys, both of which I didn't recognize, had a solid break, at some points over 50 seconds from the peloton. They kept the lead for laps and it was only in the last 10 that they were caught by a 6-7 rider break. But those two brave riders stuck together, and brought it in, even if they didn't win or get a podium position.
That's bike racing, though.
And while the Tour is in full swing, I'll check the results, look at the photos. But, while those mutants are over in France, I'll support the local races and my teammates. I can relate to the guy on a beat-up bike, who may be the local hero, but still has a day job and has no problem with blowing off training in order to go out with some friends – because that guy is me. I race and ride because I enjoy the riding with other guys who are into shaving their legs, wearing funny clothes, and getting onto an overgrown kid's toy for 50-80 miles in the countryside. Those professional cyclists are fun to watch, and I revel in the drama and heartbreak of a rider whose aspirations for glory are crushed, but I'd much rather keep tabs on those local racers, those people who manage to get training in, and maintain a semblance of a social life, while still laying down the hurt on their teammates and opponents.
It's all about perspective, I guess.
