Richard Carapaz launches his candidacy winning the 11th stage of the Italian turn | Cycling | Sports

Blueber arches, mushroom search engines for the fungus champion, and, in the light of the moon, her goddess, Druid who collects mistaken in the Pietra Bismantova, plus a great ship stranded in the middle of the apron than a mountain upside down, narrow base, great lands bicycle, its resurrection and victory.

The clouds darke and crowd and fall thick drops of rain, announce in the RAI momentarily interrupting their gloss of the Parmesan Mountain cheese, the most of the most, what aromatic, which occurs with the milk of the cows that graze under the stone next to the mistlet Radiant, to all the greats of the turn, the superb uaes, Pello Bilbao that pulls Tiberi, Ciccone, and everyone looks at the Ecuadorian as looks at an astronomical phenomenon or a gigantic wave, paralyzed and speechless. Egan Bernal also, also affected in the counterreloj of Pisa, Latin solidarity, looks admired, and says so, “deserves victory, started very strong, congratulations.” And Nairo, another winter of rotation, conqueror of Dolomitas and Nieves, has been escaped and has been hunted, and only has one word, and exclaims it: “Latin America!”

Then Nairo, pioneer this century of Colombia in the Tour, in the turn, in the return, among the champions, throws himself to hug and kiss, and to lul The second place, such is his exuberance, his vigor, and looks back, looking for Juan Ayuso who sees far, and lifts his foot and everything, but he cannot avoid being second and taking 6s of bonus, and already gets out at 31s to his partner and leader, and friend. It is difficult to follow him, to enter his head, as unique, as that of any champion, and seem to Pogacar, always in the lead, like the truth champions, and when he tries to contradict an attack by Egan at 100 kilometers, so luminous his rose figure, so agile; And then you have to stop when, after Carapaz attacker, jump from the group to chase him alone. “I have to learn to calm and listen to veteran companions,” he says. “I knew I was going to attack Carapaz, but I didn’t want to be the first to throw myself, and when I saw that the distance I just wanted to get quickly to him, but I didn’t see my teammates in good position, so I decided to wait with them and try to go back together.”

Nine kilometers are missing for the goal. Old Carapaz pedal, tremendous development, low hands, ass above. A dry, dry attack, of which only the Ecuadorian knows the formula, and his dynamite legs, such as the one that led him to victory, an unknown kid, in his first turn in Montevergine 18, or the two of the 19, his victorious turn, in Frascati, where he laid Roglic, and in the Aosta Valley, where they could only look at Roglic and Nibali. No one can approach him. Carapaz does not remember what his last victory was – “he does so much,” he says, and yet it is not so much, nine months from the stage of the Tour in Superdevoluy, and a mole of moles – but, while his past speaks for him, he thinks of the future. “We have great opponents,” says Tokyo’s Olympic champion (before Pogacar and go aert, behind him on the podium), already sixth in the general at 1m 56s from Del Toro. “And, well, I want to try to win the turn until the end. I will not stop fighting until the day we arrive in Rome.”

In the tremendous climb to the town of San Pellegrino in Alpe, the turn is counterpoint, a youth and nervous line, so much ambition, so much anxiety, of the bull, Juan Ayus Fuga, and only Mikel Landa is missing so that the imagination shoots, how much we lack the Basque that broke our backs in Tirana when the mountain that calls the climbers and fantasy arrives. There are more than 90 kilometers. Young people do not let the escape grow up without knowing that with them the oldest and most strong, Carapaz travels; The old can only move on.

Balance, harmony, breaks it, disruptive, Mads Pedersen, a Danish and unclassifiable phenomenon that has no age or more love than independence with contempt for the consequences that some call madness. When the escape is impossible, after almost two hours, he gets 50 to follow him, and from that crowd the excellence arose. When Nairo and friends seemed that they could arrive alone, Pedersen, his Maglia of Ciclamn already obscured by sweat, manages to reduce his advantage to leave it to the greatest tray, so that his Ciccone takes advantage of. Then, he raises his foot and, as moved by the same nervous signal, immediately the squad opens in half as the waters of the Red Sea opened to bury the Egyptian evil of the pharaoh, and let him go back without disturbing him, almost like a corridor of honor. “Hello, Mads, you have run like a Madman (crazy)”, He tells him, funny game, the Danish journalist. And he responds with a sincere smile, because useless effort does not lead to melancholy to people like him, but to happiness. “What a disaster, I went out to look for points without realizing that there were always people in front of them that took the flying goals. And then I had to carry out Ciccone … It was horrible to have to climb ports in front with the people of the general. Weigh a lot for that … Luckily I don’t have to do it every day.”