If you’re a masochist – which, if you take your cycling seriously, there’s every chance you are – you might have enjoyed watching Simon Yates fall to pieces on the slopes of the Colle della Finestre today while Chris Froome took flight.
But if you’re anything resembling a normal human being with a heart beating in your chest, that heart will have broken just a bit.
By the time the commentary team spotted the pink jersey number 118 hanging off the back of the peloton on the hairpins of the climb, Yates’ race was over.
Swaying on the bike, form in tatters, and ninety kilometres or so of mountainous terrain to ride.
A Grand Tour win gone, just like that.
He knew it, and we knew it.
Judging by the conspiratorial chat between Froome’s Sky henchman at the front, word had reached them too. Their punishing pace had…
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