Trying to make sense of a wild Strade Bianche

Strade Bianche 2021 ended two days ago and I am not ready to move on quite yet.

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I should have known early. As the women's race finally came on air (how on earth can RCS think it is a good idea to only show 30k's of the women's race?) I recognized the white and blue of the FDJ kit and the distinctive pedalling style of Cecille Uttrup Ludwig, I knew today was the day. I slid my way to the kitchen to turn the coffee on. Today was the day for victory.

Once they had successfully navigated the gravel in one piece, I really dared to dream. Uttrup Ludwig looked strong and Van Vleuten and Van der Breggen had looked mortal. SD Worx still had four riders in the group but no matter, Uttrup Ludwig still had Cavalli. Some stray attacks were going off the front but again, no matter "so long as Cecille can get to the final climb with this group she can out kick them. She has the best legs, it will be a dramatic first major win" (I talk to myself when I watch bike races. I am not really sure why). Today is the day. Only 7k's to go now.

I don't think I even saw Chantal van den Broek-Blaak's attack to the right-hand side of the road. When I looked up, I thought nothing of it. It wasn't Van Vleuten, it wasn't Van der Breggen so Cecille is ok. Trek had two riders still in the group, Cavalli was still in the group, they can close this down no problem. SD Worx were riding for Van der Breggen not Chantal van den Broek-Blaak. Even when Elisa Longo Borghini attacked across I still wasn't panicking. There wasn't long until the climb, surely, they could bring these two back before that final climb begins.

It's become an all too familiar site as a Cecille Uttrup Ludwig fan; watching a reduced group riding up the road while you stare at the time gap, trying to mentally will it down to zero. It's a helpless, sinking feeling really, as you watch the race slowly slip away. As Longo Borghini and Chantal van den Broek-Blaak inched closer to the final climb, I recognized that same sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. A late Marta Cavalli attack did little to make me feel any better (why did she not pull for Cecille?). As I watched van den Broek-Blaak pull away from Longo Borghini, I was resigned to another day of Cecille Uttrup Ludwig missing out on a final split and left helplessly in the chasing group. The evil empire had won again.

But no matter. There was a whole other race coming. The first real chance to see the boy in the Rainbow Jersey win this year. I grabbed my second cup of coffee of the day, put on my Julian Alaphilippe world champion T-shirt, donned my replica St. Raphael cap and sat back down. I was ready for round two.

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As the first live images of the men's race started to flash on my T.V., I scanned the peloton for the rainbow bands. A habit of mine when coverage begins, just a check to make sure the boy is ok. Thankfully he hadn't punctured yet. He was still there in the front of the bunch. I watched as the group made their way onto the gravel sections. The first half of the coverage consisted of me praying that harm would not befall Mr. Alaphilippe during the difficult gravel sections. Alaphilippe looked strong, he was driving at the front of the race. When the group was cut down to seven, he was still there. And what a group it was: Pogacar, Bernal, Pidcock, Alaphilippe, Van Aert, van der Poel, and Gogl (?). Even when Matheiu van der Poel attacked the first time on the final gravel section, I wasn't too concerned. Wout Van Aert, the biggest threat, was dropped. I Neglected Van der Poel's cyclocross background and I assumed that this attack was it for Van der Poel. He had burnt his last match in a desperate attempt to get away before the final climb. The kick was strong no doubt, it had taken Julien a couple extra seconds to close the gap, but in the end he closed it. He had taken Van der Poel's best punch and stayed alive. All he had to do was hang on until that final climb. Just hang on.

And then there were three. But what an odd mix they were: A Colombian climbing sensation and former Tour De France winner, A puncheur of the highest order and current world champion, and maybe the most talented cross discipline cyclist of a generation. The three of them, pulling turns as they made their way back into Siena. I wrote in my preview that Alaphilippe just needed to make it back to Siena with the lead group. If he could do that, he could win this race. As the kilometers ticked down, I started to believe.

By this time, my nerves were at a breaking point. It was almost 11:00am. I had been up since 6:30am and I was working on my fourth cup of coffee sans any solid food. My right leg was bouncing uncontrollably as I stared at the screen through my fingers. I had noticed the last time that I had ran out to the kitchen for coffee that my left hand was quivering slightly as I tried to pour more into my cup. No time to worry about that now, the rainbow jersey was 7k's out from Siena. "C'mon Ala, C'mon kid" I mumbled to myself (quiet enough so my roommates wouldn't think I am a lunatic of course) as the three men powered towards home.

Van der Poel's descent attack was shut down easily. The actions of a desperate man I told myself. No time to think now though, the church is in site. The Van Aert group is a distant memory. It will be between these three. I pulled out my phone and started a video of my television screen. It's a habit I started during stage two of the 2020 Tour de France when Julian Alaphilippe took home the fifth stage win of his career. I like to pretend I am a commentator on the videos. I think of it as a cross between a good luck charm and the realization of a childhood dream. The video starts, the group of three crosses under the 1k to go banner. My voice is slightly shaking with nervous anxiety, as I explain the situation to the imagined audience:

"1k to go, Bernal is not a factor here. Ala is in a good spot second wheel..."

It's the waiting that really plays tricks on the nerves...

There goes Van der Poel. Julian has to hold it here and then attack over the top if he has the legs...this is perfect for Alaphilippe, this is perfect...."

Alaphilippe closed the initial gap and then for about three seconds, time stood still. Alaphilippe on Van der Poel's wheel, Bernal below the two of them, suspended on the slopes of the Piazza. It was perfect. It would be a famous win for the world champion. The world's best puncheur was in position to pounce. I was out of my chair, a little less concerned about the volume of my voice:

"Jump over the top. If he has a match left he has got to jump over the top..."

In the video, there is a second. There is a second between my final exhortations and the instant that Van der Poel detonated his monster final attack. I would like to say I knew in that second. I knew that Alaphilippe didn't have the legs. I knew that Van der Poel's initial attack was only a feint. I knew that the world champion was not going to come gliding out of Van der Poel's wheel and into a famous victory.

But I didn't. I had no clue.

This was the man I had stumbled upon flying towards the finish at Le Grand-Bornand making faces at the camera and shaking his head in disbelief. This was the man I saw crest the top of the Galibier in the yellow jersey, take a drink of water, and proceed to descend like nothing I had ever seen before to save the yellow jersey for another day. This man was the reason I started following cycling. The reason I wanted to buy my own bike and start riding myself. In that second, my only question was why wasn't he jumping. It never occurred to me that he didn't have the legs. It never occurred to me that he didn't have a kick left.

A second later, Van der Poel kicked again and it was over. The final kick was something to behold. He made the world champion look as if he was standing still. Truly one of the most powerful uphill punches I have ever seen. The video ends in silence.

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This was only my second complete Strade Bianche. With Paris-Nice already begun and further showdowns between Wout Van Aert, Mathieu van Der Poel, and the world champion looming at Tirreno midweek, I will be forced to move on from this incredible morning. Wednesday brings another race, another opportunity to see the rainbow bands cross the finish line first. But I won't soon forget that incredible day in Siena.