but where did the fierce Vikings come from then, where are the mists and the mysteries and the smells, if forgotten Andersen, Sorensen, Riis, Rasmussen, all the Danish cyclists of today have a clean face and a sweet adolescent look, like Jonas Vingegaard whom everyone praises and proclaims the only rival of Pogacar.
Where is the tragedy? Did it all come from Shakespeare's imagination?
There are tragedies and tragedies, answers the clever one.
No storms or lightning or fresh blood are necessary.
An open wound two years ago.
A mistake.
A knock on the door triggers the end of the conflict, a change of pace, a stretch of cobblestones at 10 kilometers, a narrowing, a funnel, a drop, an impossible gap past Sagan and Van Aert, and a hit of the kidneys in the sprint, the saddle on the belly at 65 per hour, the arms stretched out to the impossible, the handlebars, the front wheel, makes poetic justice triumph, two, three centimeters.
Tour de France
Tour de France 2022: teams and favorites to wear the yellow jersey
And the catharsis: Dylan Groenewegen leaves the bike leaning against the barrier, sits on the curb, lowers his head, begins to cry, and gets up, and behind the fences his father appears, who eats him with kisses and more tears .
It is the fifth victory in his Tours for the Dutch sprinter, a wide and muscular colossus who a year and a half ago served a nine-month suspension for crashing his rival in the sprint, and compatriot, Fabio Jakobsen into the rickety barriers of the Tour of Poland. , who spent two days in a coma with a broken face, no teeth.
Jakobsen won on Saturday.
Groenewegen, on Sunday.
Both in Denmark.
Jakobsen has not forgiven Groenewegen.
Groenewegen wants to turn the page, "the blackest page of my career," he says.
“Fabio is a mentally very strong boy.
His recovery proves it.
He made me very happy that he won on Saturday.
I congratulate.
And today I win… That's life”.
The scene is already round.
Jacobsen does not speak.
Groenewegen cries and remembers his father, who loved him before the incident and loves him more after, and his new team, the Bike Exchange, who trusted him when he felt sick.
A new guest, the parsley of the Tour could be said, completes the picture.
Wout van Aert, second in the sprint on Saturday and second in the sprint on Sunday, and also second in the time trial on Friday, and in his good body both the green jersey and the yellow jersey enter, is introduced by Groenewegen, who He tells how, when the two were in the Jumbo, the Belgian told him that when he wasn't sure if he had won a sprint, what he had to do was celebrate like crazy, and that he did that until his father's kisses.
But Van Aert is not up for many jokes.
He reluctantly admits that Groenewegen was faster than him.
"He beat me because I was wrong to stay too long on Kristoff's wheel," says Van Aert, who wages inside himself, in his huge ego, also a hard battle between joy for having achieved his dream of dressing in yellow on the Tour and because of how well he is heading for the green jersey, and the disappointment of having been defeated three days in a row.
"And each time I've lost for less," he says.
"I should be very happy, but I am, above all, a winner, and it hurts not to have won yet."
also a tough battle between the joy of having achieved his dream of wearing yellow on the Tour and how well he is heading for the green jersey, and the disappointment of having been defeated three days in a row.
"And each time I've lost for less," he says.
"I should be very happy, but I am, above all, a winner, and it hurts not to have won yet."
also a tough battle between the joy of having achieved his dream of wearing yellow on the Tour and how well he is heading for the green jersey, and the disappointment of having been defeated three days in a row.
"And each time I've lost for less," he says.
"I should be very happy, but I am, above all, a winner, and it hurts not to have won yet."
The Tour flew on Sunday night to Lille.
In France, the peloton will pedal again on Tuesday.
The favorites tremble.
The pavés arrives, the sweet smell of Denmark is over, the poppies in the wheat fields, the placid sea.
Van Aert smiles as jackals smile.
Smell blood, smell victory.
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