In case you even needed it, here’s some further incentive to never jump on the back of a bicycle again and stick to griptape-covered four wheel transportation which is, thankfully, significantly closer to the ground and involves fewer spinning parts designed to maim and rend.
I don’t pay much attention to the Tour De France, because the only bike I’ve ridden in the past five years was training-wheels equipped, a delightful shade of pink and had a bell covered in glitter attached to the handlebars. It is safe to say the fixed gear trend that burbled forth from Williamsburg’s hungover gullet never quite resonated with me. However, after the outpouring of brutal imagery coming from this year’s death race, my interest is certainly piqued. How Lance Armstrong won this shit without any balls is beyond me.
Several weeks ago I was at a bar and caught several thousand replays of this grueling crash on the establishment’s wallpaper of flat screen TVs. During the first stage of the race, Rider Maxim Iglisky clipped an idiot spectator who was standing far too close to the road, apparently under the mistaken impression that wearing bright yellow would help riders avoid her. A wrong assessment. A very wrong assessment indeed.
A pile-up like that is probably enough for any one bike race, particularly an unforgiving 2,200 mile one where riders routinely shit themselves in the process. Nonetheless, it can hardly be considered a “good omen.” Accordingly, later on in the race, The Netherlands’ Laurens Ten Dam (photo above) went hurtling over his handlebars — fortunately his face was there to break his fall. Now, if only I could wrap an ace bandage around my eyes to get that image out of my head.
At the risk of being gratuitous (and I think it’s probably too late anyway), I would be remiss if I failed to point out this other crash where a collision with a car sent a herd of cyclists careening into a barbed wire fence. Seriously. As if getting hip-checked by a car wasn’t bad enough. It doesn’t get any more unintentionally sadistic than that. This is about the point where the Tour De France appears much less inspiring and much more like a blood-stained nightmare that could only be attempted by somebody with a severely broken sense of self preservation.
Speaking of images I wish I could get out of my head… YEESH. This dude looks like he was assaulted by a gang of Wolverine clones. Surely, there must be better ways to earn a paycheck. Hell, there are definitely better ways to earn glory, if that’s all you’re after. You know dudes here in the states just eat a whole lot of hot dogs and people think they’re tough shit, right?