The Dane zigs where everyone else zags, not that he cares whether he’s doing either.
Ponder this question: What, ultimately, do you want from your superstar cyclists?
Presumably you want them to be supremely good at riding their bike. That one is obvious. Otherwise they must settle for tags such as ‘fan favourite’ or ‘cult hero’ rather than seeming to bestride the sport the way the best riders do.
You also want them to make you feel something. If cycling was a purely facts-based enterprise then we could do away with standing on mountain roadsides and even switching on our televisions to instead simply read the results sheet at the end of each day and just leave it at that.
But what do you want these humans paid to ride their bikes really fast to make you feel?
Many want to experience excitement, shock, awe. They want to witness riders doing otherworldly things with such style and gumption that it takes the breath away, with a willingness to throw caution to the wind and go out on a limb in the hope, rather than calculation of, victory.
Often these riders will feel both otherworldly yet relatable. Their gentle humour minutes after an inordinate amount of exercise makes them seem like the perfect companion for a sunny afternoon in a beer garden. The likes of Julian Alaphilippe and Tadej Pogačar, the biggest riders in their respective eras, fit into this category. But cycling champions are not all alike.
My writing deadlines can’t take it day-by-day, so we’ll jump the gun and say the man about to win the Giro d’Italia, Jonas Vingegaard, is not like them. Jonas Vingegaard is just a man.
Did we do a good job with this story?