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This article was published May 26, 2015 at 19:24.
The last change is the 26 May 2015 at 19:28.
Here it is the stage of the Mortirolo. That long-awaited. That dreaded. One that must give the judgment. And the judgment of this upsurge, which cuts like a knife, is without appeal: Alberto Contador is unrivaled. It is the number one, the ruthless despot race.
Then, of course, it is a wise leader. And like all great leaders know the toggle stick and carrot. Cala stick when the attack of the Mortirolo, with almost a minute late for a puncture, has to go to resume rivals dell’Astana. Not only he retrieves them, but after they acciuffati, on impulse, leaves behind his last opponent, the young Fabio Aru, which is the only thing you can do: let his lieutenant, Mikel Landa, the task to keep up with that Satan who never leaves anything to chance.
A Pistolero Sad, indeed. Because he knows that making the most of this job involves a huge effort. And then, even when you win, there is little to laugh. Indeed, we must already think about tomorrow, just go up immediately on the reels as it does after Contador crossed the finish line. They say that Spanish is not as Pantani, who does not give the same emotions. It’s a cold fish, a sample without heat and without flare-ups. Maybe, but in the end he is always there. Pantani, however, there are only memories, beautiful but also bitter, and the inscriptions and signs on the road.
Before the stick and then the carrot. Contador, from enlightened despot, offers the carrot when 4 kilometers from ‘Aprica sees Landa take flight towards the final goal.
Who knows: maybe the pink jersey could also respond to his attack, fight for the victory of stage. But Contador knows that we must not exaggerate. That in the great revolutions there is room for everyone. It is better to give then to receive first. Maybe when needed. So Mikel Landa, who was also Spanish, flies to the second victory, after that of Madonna di Campiglio.
For Landa is a double satisfaction as told after the finish: “I did not think I even going so strong. When the Mortirolo Contador is distributed attack, Fabio told me to go, that he at that time could not take it. So I snapped. Contador is the number one, but we are the strongest team “
Here are the novelties of this stage full of emotions and twists. Rain and hail of attacks and counterattacks, with rugged hills and descents in apnea.
Contador consolidates his power by bringing in four minutes his lead over second place. According to that is no longer Fabio Aru, but his teammate Mikel Landa. The Basque has a rising edge. You can see it, must remain nearly as much pedaling smoothly. And rightly so it is given the chance to win the stage and to grow in the hierarchy of Astana. A promotion on the ground that he is given by his captain. “It’s just that if one is better, has a chance to prove it,” says Fabio. “Unfortunately I have suffered so much making a tremendous effort. I cycled over his head with his legs. I have not given up, and this is the only thing that comforts me. ” A distorted face, that of Fabio. Off like ashes. Eyes wide, his mouth open in a grin unnatural. Almost he missed the air, as if he needs a surplus of oxygen.
What about Fabio? Now that is third in the standings, nearly five minutes? That was a bit ‘naive, as it is normal to be 24 years, in a challenge with a giant like Contador. Fabio has spent too much, are not fed into the climb, it was almost an empty bag after arrival. All true. However, in that its sad pursuit, in here 40 km made with the cross of loneliness, has shown to have a strong character, he was ready to new races, new tours. And ricucirsi the rank of captain for the new challenges that await him. With Contador, or anyone else in its path. E ‘him after Nibali, our new champion. And it showed in the most difficult day. The winners are all good. To lose only samples. He said a certain Alfredo Martini, one of the races, men and runners he meant.
And now? Anything is possible, of course. But this tour is in the hands of Contador. The road is still long. And there’s always some trick. But four minutes, for Pistolero Sad, have a nice nest egg that almost makes him even smile.
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