Wegelius?
What is up with him? He's touted as a climber and yet he is finishing with the sprinters in the grupetto. I know he occassionally shows on mountain stages and did well on a couple of stages last season but he seems to have done nothing. I may be wrong and it is just that I haven't spotted him supporting VDB but it just seemed odd when I saw his finish position come up. Millar was even further back, seems to be very tired but has ridden a lot this season.
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Millar was last - someone said on another thread he has broken ribs0
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How much of the race did you see today? A lot of the work that goes on in the peleton is unseen by the TV cameras. Wegelius, and other domestiques, might not have been at the front of the race when the serious business started, but that doesn't mean they hadn't put in their work for the day already.
That Wegelius has carved out a long career as a trusted domestique would suggest that teams know, value and respect his worth.0 -
I watched most of it online on and off but with no commentary hence my comment that I may have missed him. I wasn't expecting to see him in the winning group but he is usually present on the final climb. Considering the number of riders still in the main group hitting the Madelaine which I commented on on the stage thread I was just surprised to see him finish over 30 minutes down with the guys who went out on the Colombiere and wondered if he was unwell or injured, even after working on a stage he would usually be in the top 50.0
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Yeah, it's often hard to see and know what these guys do early on during the stage, but the fact that he started all 3 GTs last year and the first two GTs of this year means that he must be doing his job well and the team have faith in him.0
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Maybe that's the issue then - too many GTs? I like him as a rider it's just a shame he doesn't get any opportunities to go for a stage but I suppose that's just the job description.0
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Yeah he's not been so obvious but he had a great Giro...0
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I imagine, like Millar, it's more to do with fatigue and injuries - they both crashed 3 plus times in stages 1,2 and 3.
Here's his Twitter from today:
"That went straight into top 3 of worst days on a bike in my life. Had to turn myself inside out to finish. Feel a bit sorry for myself now."0 -
When Wegelius was riding for De Nardi, he was in the situation in the Giro where he was with the lead group on, I think, a stage that finished on the Terminillo. Honchar, his team leader was dropped, and the DS gave Wegelius the option of riding for the GC himself and becoming the team's protected rider, or waiting for Honchar. He chose the latter because he is happy working for others but doesn't want the responsibilities of leading a team.
As for yesterday, I imagine once his work is done then he sat up and rode in with a group at a comfortable pace, thus ensuring he's conserved energy to help Van Den Broeck later in the race.0 -
From http://blog.canyon.com/?lang=en
Today was one of the hardest days I ever had on a bike. I find it quite hard to describe the kind of pain I endured today. I spent the whole day trying to persuade my body to do something that it was in no mood to do. My job today was to look for breakaways. Ironic, really, when you think about how the day actually turned out. It would have been great for the team to have a rider like me a few minutes up the road, and able to help VDB in the final. Unfortunately, life doesn’t always work out as you want.
On the first climb I was already very uncomfortable. My body was in no mood for high performance. I have a little experience, so I told myself not to panic, ride myself into the stage, sure that things would get better. Things went from bad to worse, I couldn’t get any power through my legs, and all the food and liquid I took on board just floated around in my stomach, never making its way to my legs.
As the day went on, I felt weaker and weaker, and had real difficulties following the sprinters group. My body began aching all over, even in my arms, as I pushed it on to try to get through the stage. I have to admit, many times i wondered if I would make it to the finish. The big group of sprinters was my safe haven, I knew that if I could stay with them I would make the time cut, but my body seemed to be conspiring to keep me out of that group. I yo-yoed on and off the back of the group, and each time they distanced me, panic went through my mind as I saw months of work disappearing down the road.
And that, my friends, is how and why I made it to the finish. Whatever my body may have been thinking today, I refuse to let hard work and months away from my darling wife go down the toilet. So I crawled to the finish, and when I got to the hotel, I crawled into my bed. But tomorrow I am going to continue arguing with my body, and I will persuade it how things need to be done. Because that is what I have always done, and I’m not changing now.
CharlieMañana0 -
Sounds like he's in a bad way. Hopefully it was a one day thing, possibly a reaction to riding in such hot conditions?0
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and here's David Millar's day yesterday:Today represents a brand new entry into my top five worst-ever days on a bike. I spent 180 kilometers by myself convinced I was going to abandon or be eliminated.
I crashed three times on Stage two, and the third time I flipped over the handlebars and knew I’d really hurt myself. Ever since I’ve been battling injuries from that crash, plus a fever and stomach bug, and just basically hanging on for dear life.
I started today motivated, but knew immediately something wasn’t right. My left side where I’d crashed just locked up and then my back started having spasms.
I spent about three hours packing in my head. At 100 kilometers to go I was 30 minutes down on the leaders. All I could see in my head were the contours of the stage from the maps. I broke it up into 5-kilometer climbs and kept thinking – I have to get through this.
The fans on the side of the road were brilliant, they were cheering and telling me not to give up, and that made a huge difference for me.
By the time I got to the finish, I didn’t know if I’d made the time cut – all I knew was that I’d finished. And at the Tour, it’s about finishing.
From http://www.slipstreamsports.com/2010/07 ... -dear-life0 -
Some very brave rides yesterday - Millar, Cadel, S Sanchez who looked to be fighting cramp, Jens who looked like he was going to fall off after riding for Andy. Shows what it takes to make it to the top.0
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I found the contrast of reading Millar's blog and seeing Jens' performance quite interesting. They both clearly rode themselves into the ground, Jens to help his team mate and Millar just to finish. Opposite ends of the peloton, very different rewards, but similar amounts of suffering.Pross wrote:Some very brave rides yesterday - Millar, Cadel, S Sanchez who looked to be fighting cramp, Jens who looked like he was going to fall off after riding for Andy. Shows what it takes to make it to the top.0 -
As you probably know Charlie hasn't started today, intestinal virus. Can't keep any food or drink down, possibly what caused him to have such a rough day on Tuesday, or his rough day on Tuesday caused this.0
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On the repeated highlights show on ITV4 yesterday, they had a short interview with Charly where he talked about retiring from cycling. Hope rest and recuperation will make him reconsider0
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I've always liked Charlie Wegelius, and I do hope he returns.
Last year, he postponed his wedding in Finland so he could ride the Tour.0 -
A blog post from Charlie on leaving the tour
http://blog.canyon.com/?p=2793&lang=enCharlie Wegelius wrote:
I felt like a water bucket with dozens of bullet holes
Leaving the Tour de France prematurely is an unpleasant experience, one that I had never tasted until now. I sincerely hope I will never have to repeat it. It is a cruel process, that only adds to the physical discomfort that caused your failure in the first place. In my particular case, I didn’t have any scars to show the press, or broken bones. Just a slow, painful, draining of all my energy. I felt like a water bucket with dozens of bullet holes, I was leaking energy left, right, and centre. All the food and liquid I put into my body seemed to evaporate, and my legs got weaker and weaker as the hours passed. I had no strength, and slipped endlessly towards the back of the race. I knew I was in trouble when I was struggling to hold the back of the group while many of my colleagues were stopping to pee.
The night, my favourite time, became a torture. I passed from sticky, damp sweaty skin, to burying myself deep under the covers in search of warmth. I woke in the morning, feeling more tired than the night before, dreading the day to come and the suffering I knew was awaiting me. My appetite, something that often attracts amazement from observers, was gone. At breakfast I would sit and stare at my food, while my stomach seemed to just want water. More and more water, though the parched lips never left me.
When you are in bad shape, for whatever reason, it is an entirely different discomfort than the one felt by the chap at the front of the race. When you have good shape, hurting yourself is almost a pleasure, you revel in it. You feel how fast you are riding and become curious to see how much faster you can go, its like a spiral. When you are in the doldrums, however, the road and wind seems to conspire against you. No gear ratio is ever the right one, the bike feels like someone else’s, and however you try, you always seem to be on the edge, a pedal stroke away from being ejected from the group.
And then came the final night. I went to bed early, feeling drained from a day holding on the the arse end of a bunch that the press described as being “on a siesta”. But the restful, comforting sleep I know and love never came. I rolled the entire night, from one side of the bed to another, my eyes wide open. I felt as though a mechanic had inflated me to 8 bar, a swollen, sweating wreck. I watched in a daze as the daylight began creeping through the curtains, and waited to hear the mechanics begin to work. I had been awake the entire night. I went to the mirror and saw a hollow faced old man.
And then I did something I have never done, and hope I will never have to do again. I went to our team manager, Marc Sergeant, and told him that I couldn’t go on. The end.
In a matter of seconds, my world changes. I become a displaced being. A rider who doesn’t ride. The rest of the team busies itself with its preparations for the stage, and I watch on, in a daze. You don’t know where to sit, its as though you are always in the way. Then comes the ride to the start, team meeting, fans, press…. its the Tour. But I am sitting on the bus, with the weight of guilt and shame pushing down on my shoulders. In my mind, I forget the state I am in, and start to tell myself I could have gone on. You are a quitter, a failure, a hoax
People don’t know how to treat you, as though someone, or something has died. Some offer a pat on the shoulder, a kind word, and others avoid me, looking away, almost worried that I will infect them not only with my virus, but with my failure. I want to crawl into a hole in the ground, as far away from the Tour de France
as possible.
How could it come to this? I had one of the best Giro’s of my career, lived like a monk in June, and came to the Tour full of hopes, and even after eleven years, dreams. How childish and naive of me. Something, I don’t even know what, got into my body and began to unravel all my plans. And the ironic thing is that it is probably something quite banal, like a gastric virus or god knows what. But the fact remains that it was enough to send me crawling home, weak and pale, with my tail between my legs.0 -
Well written Charley, my legs went weak just reading it. So sorry that you had to quit but you obviously had no option.0
