The 2010 Giro was the toughest, yet most exciting Grand Tour I have ridden, and I think from a spectator’s perspective probably one of the most thrilling in recent years. The race was a spectacle from start to finish. In the last two decades professional cycling has become formulaic and the Giro’s organization set out to create a race that cracked the formula. In recent years teams have figured out how to control the variables by eliminating the unknowns. the unknowns are what make cycling interesting, dramatic and thrilling, for both the cyclists and the audience. The courses have become predictable and the racing mundane.

Yearly, the Giro organization works to break that mold to form a spectacle.  This year, they mapped a course, which was both challenging and entertaining. Daily, I knew I was racing a stage that I would one day recall fondly.  Somehow, it seemed we were returning to cycling’s roots where unpredictably makes the race and provides the challenge. The unknown elements are what make a bike ride memorable.

The mountain time trial up to Plan de Corones is a ride I will forever remember. The ascent was tough but the last kilometre was the steepest bit of road I have ridden. We usually clip through the last kilometre in a minute, or less, but on the climb every pedal stroke was laboured and every meter counted. At the finish line, the views were spectacular. On the mountain peak at 2000 meters altitude we were surrounded by a wall of snow capped peaks and covered by a crystal blue sky. The descent off the peak in the cable car was equally memorable. Each of the riders sat in his own personal gondola, with his bike. The silence in the gondola was calming after the intensity of the crowds and the effort up the climb. For half an hour, I was able to reflect on the ride, the race, the Giro and absorb the beauty of the countryside.

I put together a helmet camera clip of the last 450 meters of the time trial. The camera, a Gopro HD, was mounted on the following motorcycle driver’s helmet.  The music is by Paolo Conte and the song is “Bartali”–an tune about the Italian cycling icon Gino Bartali.

As the peloton of 198 riders crowded around the start line in Amsterdam there was an air of nervousness and excitement.

Crowds of people leaned over the steel barriers craning to see the peloton, Bradley Wiggins’ maglia rosa, and the under-dressed fashion models who pranced around the start line waiting to send us off.

As we stood on the cobbled street, anticipating the drop of the starter’s flag, some riders fidgeted, others slung their heads low on their bars and stared down at their front wheel, while others chatted inanely to avert their focus for a moment before the race began. The ambiance was as electric as that at the start of Paris-Roubaix.

First stages of grand tours are inevitably chaotic as every racer holds on to a thread of hope. Legs are fresh and every rider has a dream and a goal. As the race wears on those dreams evolve as some find a level of performance they hadn’t imagined while others come short of their goals and abandon their dreams.

With each passing stage, the nervousness in the group dissipates as the race progresses and riders find their place in the hierarchy. The race will become too hard to pretend or hide as the speed and course create a natural selection.

To professional cyclists Northern Europe is windy, flat, wet, and dangerous. The riders who thrive in the conditions are considered the hard men of cycling, as they seem to fear little but massive mountains. The Giro d’Italia is known for the scenery, nice weather, pleasant breezes, steep mountains, and coastal roads.

Riders who raced the Giro a decade ago speak of calm starts, where the peloton cruised along at leisurely speed, nobody attacking and everybody chatting. As the television audience tuned in the show began, and they attacked the last hour of racing with vigour.

Somehow, the descriptions of the race seem to mirror the Italian culture where people enjoy relaxing but also explode with passionate gusto at the right moment. With the globalization of the peloton the Italian way of racing has vanished and, like in every other race we ride, the peloton strikes the course from the first kilometer and doesn’t seem to relent until the finish. Having the Giro begin in Amsterdam was like mixing opera with Ska.

At the start in the Netherlands we all knew the racing would be physically and technically intense. From start to finish, we raced over dikes, roads barely wide enough for an SUV, and through tiny villages, which became a maze marked by traffic islands, poles, and roundabouts. There were few moments where we could relax or even take our eyes off the road ahead to glance over at the masses of people who lines the courses from start to finish. The Dutch, like the Italians, love cycling. In the Netherlands, like in Italy, the Giro brought a party of pink to each small town.

Our race began with a bang as my teammate Bradley stormed out of the gates in Amsterdam to convincingly win the first stage. Hearing him talk about the effort after the race provoked goose bumps on my neck. He was either going to win or crash. His focus and lucidity under pressure ensured he wouldn’t fail. He left everything on the eight-kilometer course and virtually collapsed at the finish.

The team was committed to defending his jersey. In the wind, we rode together in the front, split the peloton and made every selection until the final 10 km when we came crashing down. On both road stages in Holland, half of the team arrived at the bus scraped, bruised and bleeding but still in good spirits. The music blasted through the bus’ speakers, the boys sang along, we laughed at our bad luck and our focus changed to the future. We had fought a valiant battle, know we have the legs to continue the fight in the coming days and weeks, and realize that good morale will keep us buoyant and firing.

After racing a relentless 220 kilometers the peloton boarded buses for an hour-long drive to the airport where we then stepped onto planes to travel to Italy. Finally, at 11 PM the plane landed in Cuneo. Drummers and trumpeters greeted us and ushered the weary, worn and bandaged peloton into a massive tent where a thousand VIP’s waited for autographs and photographs. Starving after having not eaten since the finish we ate like animals as the VIP’s snapped photos. At 1 AM we boarded a bus with two other teams for the hour-long trip over tiny farm roads to our hotel. At 2:30 AM we were finally tucked into bed. We would be on our TT bikes in 12 hours.

Like a crowd of thousands surging for a door, which has just opened into a stadium the riders in the peloton push, shove and panic as we near the cobbles. We all know that our position will determine whether or not we make it through the race.

Riders use every inch of the four-lane road on which we ride as they race for the head of the peloton. Some jump up on the sidewalks at 50kph, weaving through the spectators, skipping ahead of the chaos on the somewhat clear sidewalk. After weeks of racing in Belgian and French Classics we become accustomed to the surge. Risk is calculated and accepted. We become immune to the shocking sound of riders crashing and carbon snapping with each race.

The cameras shooting us from the helicopters above, or the motorcycles up front, can’t capture the intensity of the peloton. From their perspectives we appear to be flowing as one, like stream down a canyon. Several directeurs sportif have told me that only in a team car following the peloton you can feel the speed and witness the technical madness.

As the European cities have grown, towns have become increasingly congested making bike races harder to orchestrate. Twenty years ago there were few roundabouts, speed bumps or traffic islands. Now, as we enter towns, policemen’s whistles blast to warn us of the concrete islands sticking into the road with their short concrete stumps. We swerve around the parked cars but occasionally hear the terrifying thud of a rider slamming into the metal.

The races in northern Europe have a different intensity to those ridden later in the season. In northern European Classics, the racing demands constant focus.

Sometimes we are like rally car drivers as we wind our way through narrow farm roads dodging sign posts, spectators and cars. While later in the year we’re like alpine touring cars, flying through the countryside at a steady speed.

The Giro d’Italia, which I will start this week, will perhaps be a hybrid of both types of racing. This year we begin in Amsterdam and race south towards Italy. In Italy, we’ll race on the white gravel roads, which lie like a ribbon on the lush green Tuscan hills. In the Netherlands the peloton will face similar wind swept maze-like courses to those we rode on during the Classics.

Every rider knows that the three week race could be lost in a short few kilometers and every team director will remind his riders to be in front as we near the dangerous bits of road. In the weeks prior to the race teams were already planning for those moments. Races are won or lost in the panicked surge.

Three days prior to the start of Paris Roubaix the team drove to the Arenberg forest to ride the course. From Arenberg it is roughly 100 km to the finish. Each of the 17 remaining cobbled sectors is separated by less than 10 km of tarmac. In Arenberg the race becomes relentlessly difficult—the 100 km that follow the forest are perhaps the hardest 100 km in professional cycling. The vibrations beat the cyclist’s body, his muscles are torn from the effort and his eyes burn from the dust.

The cobbles were relatively dry when we rode them although there were a few muddy sections where puddles had formed or tractors muddied the road. In the video, you can see the riders slipping and sliding on the slick sections. The crowds were already gathering in anticipation for Sunday’s race and the media was out to photograph the protagonists testing their legs and their equipment on the cobbles.

The countryside the course crosses is grim but comes alive for on race day. The video captures the fields that are open to the wind. The grey clouds which blow in from the North Sea look ominous. The spring air in northern France is damp and cold.

In an ironic twist we ended up finishing our ride with Saxo Bank, as we were both out on the parcours at the same time. There are few sports where rival teams will chat in training three days prior to the big event. In cycling, rivals are friends and there is a shared respect that somehow transcends the race. And, despite those friendships we will battle with them until the bitter end on Sunday.

Here’s a gallery from the past few days. You will find a few pictures from before Flanders, and then the task of prepping tires for Roubaix.

While training on the Tour of Flanders course last week I rode with a helmet camera and captured some of the cobbled sectors. The camera came loose a few times so my teammate Juan Antonio Flecha edited the segments on his computer and we put together a short film . The team riding on the cobbles was: Juan Anotonio Flecha, Kurt-Asle Arvesen, Edvald Boasson-Hagen, Mathew Hayman, Greg Henderson, Ian Stannard and G’ Thomas. You can make out a few of the faces in the film. The rider who takes off on the cobbled section, the Holleweg, is Flecha–we rode the section quite quickly which the camera captures.

The camera doesnt come close to capturing the gradient of the cobbled climb though. It was neat to see commuters riding the cobbles in the other direction on their way to work–you can see a woman riding her city bike along the smooth bit of stones on the left side of the road coming towards us. Riding the course is something unique even when we are not racing. The history, the culture and difficulty brings out an excitement in the team not felt elsewhere.



The Tour of Flanders course is extremely technical and for riders who don’t live near the course and know the roads well, a reconnaissance ride prior to the race is vital . The fight for position before the cobbled sections is as crucial as a rider’s skills on the cobbles, as the peloton splits on the small roads due to bottlenecks and crashes. Most teams ride the final 100 km of the course prior to the race to preview the stones and find the smoothest and quickest line. We rode the course the day after Dwaars door Vlaanderen–a midweek semi-Classic.

Most of the boys were tired from a hard and well fought race while Edvald Boasson Hagen and I had fresh legs from a few days of rest post Milan Sanremo. The weather was abnormally warm for Belgium which made the countryside all the more beautiful. This weekend will be big: E3 Prijs-Vlaanderen-Harelbeke and Gent Wevelgem. The team is prepared for a tough battle–rain is in the forecast and the temperatures will drop.

My teammate Juan Antonio Flecha filmed the descent off the Cipressa with a helmet camera while we were out pre-riding the racecourse. The Cipressa and the Poggio are the two decisive climbs in Milan Sanremo where the descents are as important as the ascents as position and a rider’s ability to handle his bike often determine the outcome of the race.

Yearly, a rider crashes in the one of the numerous hairpin turns coming off the climb. The road surface is smooth and the climbs are in the final hour of the race so the speed will be high. Every rider is tired and on his limit from the distance and the intensity of the race so errors are made and splits in the peloton occur. When the peloton reaches the coast road after the descent off the Cipressa the peloton will be in a long thin line and will often split near the back of the group as riders are unable to maintain the speed.

The Classics punish the riders, the bikes, the mechanics, team vehicles and soigneurs. The roads, the weather, and the intensity of the races drain teams. Each team prepares in its own way to deal with the wear of the races.

The Classics bikes are designed for comfort and practicality with frame clearance around the tires for mud, larger tires are used, special clothing is designed, team car suspensions are customized, wrists are taped, handlebars are padded, thicker chamois are fitted, and anything that can increase performance, comfort and durability is considered. The extremes of the Classics push the human and the bicycle.

Last weekend, in Het Volk and Kuurne Brussels Kuurne, we started the spring cobble campaign. As it was our first time back on the cobbles after almost a year away from the north our directeur sportifs, Scott Sunderland and Steven de Jongh flew us in a day early to preview the course.

Pedaling over the cobbles in training is entirely different to the race. While training, we don’t force like we do in the races, and therefore feel the bumps. At speed the bikes float over the stones with a unique fluidity. Tire pressure, tire diameter, and quality make a significant difference in performance. With low pressure the rider has more traction, the bike doesn’t bounce but floats beneath him, which also eases the wear on his body while also reducing punctures. Finding the right pressure is key as the bike must also perform well on the tarmac—too low a pressure only slows the rider on smooth surfaces. The other factor the mechanics consider when pumping the tires is how much air they lose during a six-hour race. Most tires lose a bar or two of pressure so they are pumped harder at the start of the race in expectation for the loss.

We have been testing several different tires. For the opening weekend I rode on FMB Roubaix tires—handmade cotton tires from northern France—, which were glued on to 32 hole rims and laced to Dura Ace hubs. The wheels handle incredibly well on the cobbles—personally I prefer the ‘classic’ aluminum wheels to the carbon rims although Flecha rode a carbon Shimano 35 to victory. I think a lot is dependent on the rider’s height, size and riding style.
The team has prepared a unique truck for the mechanics and soigneurs. Often, there is foul weather during the early part of the season and the mechanics suffer while working outdoors on the bikes in the pouring rain. So, the team has bought two trucks with pop-outs, which allow the mechanics to work on the bike indoors. They have a television, music and everything else a normal workshop might have so they can focus on the job instead of worrying about frozen hands and feet. The soigneurs area is equally as unique with space to prepare our race food, storage for the massage tables, a fridge, washer, dryer and everything else they need to take care of the team. Like our team bus, the truck is somewhere you actually want to hang out or work in, which in the end makes the long racing season much easier–comfort brings happiness, happiness brings performance.