Despite his career success and notoriety, Quintana is an easy man to walk by away from the race. He is remarkably anonymous. You just don’t notice him.
Nairo is a bit of an enigma, wrapped up in a conundrum. He can’t be reached. You can try – and people do. But nobody has made contact. Not really.
Juan Antonio Flecha, jolly as you like, lovely guy, former rider. A no-pressure interviewer because he doesn’t need to be. He gets a lot from riders, as he is well respected and super-well-informed: ‘Hey, Nairo, what a day with so many changes out there. What was the battle plan?’
Nairo: ‘Er . . .’
Flecha: ‘Was it to send satellite riders up the mountain to bridge to?’
Nairo: ‘Yes. . . it was.’
Flecha [smile fixing with anxiety]: ‘Well, it seemed to be going well until that penultimate test!?’
Nairo: ‘We work hard.’
Flecha [heading into begging mode]: ‘So where did it go wrong, Nairo?’
Nairo: ‘My legs, not good.’
Flecha [abandoning while filling in the gaps]: ‘Thank you, Nairo. Good luck for tomorrow. Let’s hope with two days of hard climbing to go, the strategy comes good for you guys. All the best.’
Nairo: ‘Yes.’
Nairo remains seated, staring into space, waiting for a crew member to collect him.
The Joker
Peter Sagan is a man who has defined an era. His freewheeling style is a joy to behold, except if he’s shoulder-charging you in a sprint. He is the definition of freestyle cycling. He rides like nobody else. When the fashion was for long lead-out trains, Sagan went the other way. With so many trains at the station, he simply hopped, hobo style, on to other people’s carriages. Long lines of riders, each in team order, would approach high-speed finales as well-drilled units. Meanwhile, Sagan merrily hopped from one to another, barging his way in. He got a free ride from the best. His teammates were used up far earlier in a stage. They set the approach pace with about 20km (12 miles) to go. One by one, they burned themselves out as other teams began to panic. Riders were strewn everywhere as teams tried to hold it together as a unit. Sagan stayed mostly solo and solid, part of a team but the ultimate individual. He would choose his time and charge on alone. Sagan might go early, might go late, but nobody knew when. That was for Sagan to decide. It’s brought him three World Championship titles and effectively killed off long lead outs. They’re much shorter these days. Two in front of the sprinter is now a maximum inside the flamme rouge. Sagan showed the way on this. Being flexible and wheel-hopping is difficult if you are working a line dance. Sagan might use one lead-out man before going it alone far earlier than most.
Sagan is his own man. Which makes him a devil to deal with in an interview. He plays reporters like a kid boxer. He knows he can knock them out at any time. They can pretend to spar with him, but this just makes him laugh. Get serious, and he goes the other way. Get funny, and it’s over. He is a tough nut to crack.
Ashley House, the Eurosport anchor who loves his cycling, and is an engaging, enthusiastic good guy: ‘Peter, great to see you out there and so dominant in the end!?’
Sagan [voice like a hornet trapped in a jam jar]: ‘Well, you know how it is. Bah! Life . . . what can I say?’
Ashley: ‘Well, talk us through those last 500 metres.’
Sagan [smirking as if trying to hold in a giggle]: ‘Well, some go left, some go right. I go straight. I win. What can I say?’
Ashley: ‘Well, hopefully a bit more! [Nervous chuckle.] You look solid in green, Peter. Is this your target now, to stay safe, or can we expect more from you over the next few difficult days?’
Sagan [clearly impatient]: ‘Ah, we will see.’
Ashley [with one last attempt]: ‘Tell us about those ski goggles you have around your neck? It’s 35 degrees!’
Sagan, who is blatantly wearing a sponsor’s kit from another sport entirely: ‘I like them a lot. . . Bye!’
And with that he’s gone stage right towards another poor soul who will try and dig deeper. No chance.
The Zen Monk
He’s called Cadel Evans but some of us wonder if his real name is Kunchen Evans – this being a Tibetan name that translates as ‘All-Knowing’. Cadel knows what he likes. And he doesn’t like talking much. This is not because he doesn’t want to engage, it is simply that his mind is so powerful it kind of gets in the way a bit. Cadel is a thinker extraordinaire. Ask him a question, and the silence will be broken only by a faint tinkling of bells coming from his ears as he goes deep to find meaning in the words you have uttered. He will answer, but this may take time. Many things must be considered before Kunchen speaks.
It’s 1998 and Cadel Evans is doing great things as a youngster at the Tour VTT Mountain Bike Tour de France. I am the reporter. A bit of polite banter before we even begin: ‘Hi, Cadel, how are you today?’ Silence.
Uh oh, he’s off already. Cadel begins to stare. He looks past my left ear into the distance. I’ve lost him; Cadel has gone deep. The question bounces around his massive brain like a bee in the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral. After a while, his lips begin
