Evenepoel, before Bardet, on the climb to Larrau. Manuel Bruque (EFE)
Who will win the Vuelta? A jumbo. Which Jumbo? Who of the three who are the first three in the overall standings and always walk hand in hand, close to each other, and when one accelerates, the others wait a little and go looking for him? WHO? The Yankee, the Slovenian, the Dane? The Dutch team asks the public and the media whether a friendly cast of their three boys could solve the problem. Who do they like better?, they ask, who do the fans prefer? Kuss speaks Spanish and lives between Catalonia and Andorra. He is very nice and funny. They love Roglic in Spain and he has already won three Vueltas; Vingegaard is not unpopular either … Some indiscretions also suggest that from day one, before the boy from Colorado showed his paw climbing Javalambre, the Jumbo management had decided to adopt a strategy of generosity that he the Most notable would be gregarious and applauded, the Sepp Kiss of all sauces, the hidden leader, the runner for whom his characters would work, whom they would help. Jumbo would thus win the third major of the year with a third rider after the Giro de Roglic and the Tour de Vingegaard, a triumph of his style, of his game, which is more cooperative than hierarchical. Everything studied. Everything is image. They don’t want their dominant character, overwhelming tide and hangover to be associated with that of the unfriendly and annoying Sky from the era of Froome and his scooter, or with other teams from other decades who are remembered as the bad guys . They make the stages attractive with varied attacks. They let others play. And in their infinite kindness they even allow Remco Evenepoel to find himself again the day after he buried him in the deepest misery and applaud him. Evenepoel is on the run. The Jumbo feeds the herd, which arrives more than eight minutes behind the Belgian, who conquers, redeems and redeems, and his new blue polka-dot jersey, King of the Mountains.
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In Larrau, where everyone trembles, the terrible port on the border with Navarre, Remco Evenepoel throws himself headfirst with his eyes wide open, like someone who has thrown himself into the raging sea and has forgotten.
He is Remco again, the runner who only enjoys when he attacks, the runner who no one can resist, neither in Liège nor in Donosti or at the World Championships in Australia, the wonderful boy who wants to be Eddy Merckx and things does that only the Cannibal has dared. Unafraid. The first big mountain day of his life, the Friday of Aubisque, Spandelles and Tourmalet, was his first big day of suffering on the bike. He lost 27 minutes. He lost the Vuelta, which he had won the day before, and lost sleep. He says he went to bed crying. Negative thoughts in bed. An hour of restless sleep, an hour of wakefulness. He is 23 years old. All of his tests of maturity are carried out in public, amidst expectations, desires and resentments. He failed the Great Pyrenees test. Sweaty body, account blocked in Aubisque. Inexplicable. The champion test for Merckx was solved the next day with distinction in also enormous mountains, mountains where champions suffer and build, in Murkuillako Lebua (Hourcére), where he listened to his wife’s advice, which restored his motivation. Dreaming about it while he was sleeping, the sun already high, in the bus on the way to the start – “champions always react” – and he starts his descent towards the village of Sainte Engrace and its cemetery, where the eternal sleeper Jean Cormier sleeps, and where the Frenchman Romain Bardet accompanies him on this adventure.
As the first lesson that cyclists learn is that before eating what is on their plate, they should eat what is on their neighbor’s plate, shares Bardet, sensitive and wise, and will never be a winner, his plate and eats only the crumbs, and into it the scorching heat of Larrau, an oven when you leave the cool beech forest and climb the bare vertical slopes, the place where Miguel Indurain suffered on the 1996 Tour like never before had suffered before, and with the utmost dignity Remco’s burning head was irrigated with a bottle of fresh water. He then begs the public for water for him. And on the final climb, towards the Muga of the Hiru Errege Mahaia (Table of the Magi), he holds on to the Belgian’s bike. Four kilometers away, Bardet leaves the forum, knowing the scenic value of a solo victory, the image of a revived winner, alone, applauded, all the spotlights on him. It’s deleted. Evenepoel cries as he crosses the finish line. Bardet hugs him a few minutes later. Kiss, so nice, leads on. The end. The Pyrenees novel is over. The Vuelta still has chapters left.
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