Tadej Pogacar’s Alpe d’Huez

There were forty-two men seeking a day to remember in a place which, at least in the world of cycling, rivals the Parthenon, the Colosseum and even Mount Olympus: Alpe d’Huez. They were all cycling with their eyes fixed on that dream nestled amongst the peaks of the Grandes Rousses massif, whilst the corners of their eyes were watchful for the fear of seeing the yellow spot of that mythological beast appear behind them, driven by an atavistic and insatiable hunger. For even the most daring dreamers cannot truly ignore reality.

For over a hundred kilometres, these forty-two riders – a number that gradually dwindled – racked up minute after minute to make it as difficult as possible for the rider in yellow to catch up; a rider who seems capable of anything, even making the improbable possible. He’s done it again today. Tadej Pogačar has once again made the improbable possible. Over twelve kilometres, he made up three minutes on those who’d tried to delude themselves that it might be enough. It wasn’t enough.

Tadej Pogačar turned the final twelve kilometres of Alpe d’Huez into a game of cops and robbers. He was the cop; everyone else was a robber. He caught them all. Even Richard Carapaz, Lenny Martinez and Sepp Kuss – hard-headed riders with powerful legs, men unwilling to resign themselves to the law of the strongest, to the absolute power of that rider who seems incapable of racing in his own team’s jersey, UAE Team Emirates-XRG, but has to cover it with whatever other jersey they give riders as a prize for a victory.

Tadej Pogačar accelerated twelve kilometres from the finish. A few dozen metres on the pedals, then a pace that was brutal for the others, whilst he sat impassively on the tip of his saddle. One by one, he overtook those who had believed that the collective will of many could beat that of a single rider. The Alpe d’Huez, however, is an irresistible lure; it is a long, winding snake dancing before you, coloured by hundreds of thousands of heads, eyes, smiles, cries of ‘allez’, litres of beer and joy, and which whispers ‘catch me, try and catch me’. The Alpe d’Huez is a siren’s song, and there are no posts to tie yourself to.

Tadej Pogačar heard that song, chased after it, feared for a moment that he had lost it, and, through sheer persistence, caught up with it again at the point where the road loses its alpine charm and becomes a town road.

Perhaps the Slovenian had hoped for a long period of solitude, the sort reserved for the very best. Solitude, up to a point. When the Tour de France arrives, the road leading to the summit of Alpe d’Huez becomes a living entity, stirred by a frenetic and joyful buzz, which for two days buzzes with a celebration that seems never-ending. And yet it ends every time with the most intense moment of satisfaction, as the riders of the Grande Boucle pass by

With a team decimated by illness, they had to settle for a comeback. It didn’t go too badly for them. Especially as Richard Carapaz, Lenny Martinez and Sepp Kuss did justice to the magnificence of Alpe d’Huez with their sprints, counter-sprints and fierce competitive spirit; they gave the hundreds of thousands of people who had decided to line the roadside to enjoy the spectacle of the Tour everything they could have hoped for. Richard Carapaz had even managed to break away from the other two; for about a minute, he’d even believed it might be possible to relive the joy he’d felt the previous day at Orcières-Merlett.

Tadej Pogačar was the first to cross the finish line at the summit of Alpe d’Huez. He had set off from the valley floor wearing the yellow jersey; he reached the summit wearing a yellow jersey of an even more vivid shade, with yet another victory under his belt and the certainty of having etched his name into the history of Alpe d’Huez and, by extension, into the history of cycling: no one had ever been so fast over the 13,800 metres of tarmac climbing at an average gradient of 8.1 per cent leading up to the Alpe. It took him thirty-five minutes and twenty-seven seconds – one minute and thirteen seconds faster than Marco Pantani’s time in 1995 (that is, thirty-six minutes and forty seconds).