This year’s Giro d’Italia is turning out to be a stellar race. From Cameron Wurf’s Vesuvius-like explosion from the stage one start line in Napoli, to John Degenkolb’s long distance chase-and-capture sprint on stage five, the Giro has been chock full of action and attacking riding.
Throw in the odd surprise, some fickle weather and a range of winners and you have the perfect start to the race.
No doubt last night’s stage provided more of the same.
But it is not just about the winners. With in excess of 200 competitors, each stage potentially contains hundreds of stories that could be told – stories that don’t necessarily involve a podium place or a classification jersey, but instead speak of the sacrifice and effort involved just to finish.
The thing I love about cycling, and the Giro in particular, is that it highlights human endeavour.
It is no secret Mark Cavendish, the world’s preeminent sprinter, likes to win. He trains hard, rides hard and expects his team mates to do the same. If they don’t, then they hear about it. In short, he expects to win.
Stage five to Matera was pancake flat and earmarked as a day for the sprinters. The only hurdle was a short but nasty little climb within the last 20 kilometres.
Omega Pharma-Quickstep had looked after Cavendish well all day and he appeared comfortable approaching the Montescaglioso, a climb that has a hit and miss record when it comes to foiling sprinters.
It destroyed Mario Cipollini in 2003 but allowed rival Robbie McEwen safe passage. McEwen went on to win that race, but was later relegated for irregular sprinting.
At two kilometres long and with a ten percent gradient, there must have been some doubt in Cavendish’s mind, but the Manx Missile is not one to be told what he can and can’t do. After all he had won Milan-San Remo in 2009, when even the most ardent of Cavendish fans doubted his ability to survive on the final climbs.
Cav didn’t quite make it over Montescaglioso, but it was not through the lack of trying.
He approached in good position and hoped to be able to slowly fall back through the group as they climbed the slope and still be in contact as they crested the summit.
Halfway up, Cavendish was grimly trying to hang onto the coat tails of the peloton as they trailed and flapped in front of his face. Behind him lurked the race director’s car, a shark-like predator, itching to get past and consign him to mediocrity.
But Cav battled on. Even after contact was lost with the main group and the race director had moved on, Cavendish did not for one moment think of quitting.
Despite the pain, despite the breathlessness and despite the fact his legs were screaming for him to stop, Cavendish kept going.
Even when he began to zigzag from one side of the road to the other, he pushed on. Even when all hope was lost, he still strained for effort, willing himself across the summit and onto the descent.
His teammates were there with him, urging him on, encouraging him, screaming at him, and although he couldn’t deliver, he hadn’t let them down. He had given his all and everyone watching knew it.
He hadn’t won the stage, but he was worthy of a write up anyway.
The effort of Marco Canola on the same stage deserves similar praise.
As the race entered its final kilometre, a 90 degree turn to the left wiped out several riders at the front of the main group. Canola found himself in front and alone, but he was too far from home.
On what must have seemed like the longest finishing straight in the history of bike racing, Canola pedalled his heart out, head down with his nose buried in his handlebars.
But with each piston pump of his legs, it became obvious that his power was failing.
Still he pressed on with no thought of sitting up and bringing an early end to what everybody could see was inevitable.
His head drooped further, his shoulders rocked wildly, but he hung there for a tantalising amount of time, the crowd willing him forward, and for a moment it seemed that the German sprinter John Degenkolb would be unable to bridge the gap.
But then it was as if the race shifted into fast forward.
If Cav had thought the race director’s car was like a shark, then Canola had a whole shiver of the man eaters behind him, each wishing to feast on his carcass as first Degenkolb and then a raft of others cut him down within metres of the line.
He ended up finishing 12th.
It is a cruel game, but Canola lost his place on the podium while striving for a win, and it is hard to be critical of that.
Surely this is how bike racing is meant to be.
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