between jokes
Entering a bar in Tortosa, a reader might quickly sense a language of bikes looming in the air. Back on the street, figures in the know press for more, as if the old pressrooms of yesterday still hold sway. The press, a constant companion long before the internet, is not choosy about the form. It wants pages. It wants print that endures, pages that carry narratives beyond headlines and beyond critique. More newspapers mean more chatter, more stories to lift into the light.
Bar staff typically keep two newspapers handy for patrons: one for general information and another for sport. Over a coffee or a beer, these pages travel from the shop to the printing house, arriving in neat parcels that wait for riders, masseurs, and repair technicians. The desire is simple and insistent: a steady stream of pages, a library on demand. It matters not whether the articles cover politics, the economy, society, culture, or sport; even pages that recount the work of historians writing about Volta find a welcome place. It is a craving that feels almost primal, a hunger for paper as if the ink itself could feed the mind.
between jokes
In moments of humor, the staff tease about substituting newspapers with one of the bikes themselves, priced with a reserve of ten thousand euros. The idea hangs from the ceiling of the room like a curious sculpture, while some reserved bikes sit unused as DJing competitions falter. The scene evokes a portable museum of gears and pages, where motion and print share a space and a purpose.
The Tortosa heat becomes a character of its own, and some assistants even shed the usual cycling shorts reserved for the Tour, letting the climate push the day forward. Time, though, remains tangled in the afternoon, and the teams press on with renewed energy. The exact names elude notice; what matters is the journey from the mountain routes of Mont Caro or Lo Port to the harbor, where buses wait to ferry competitors to hotels in Salou. It is a rhythm of ascent and descent, a cycle of preparation and travel that defines the day for every rider.
best of inventions
There is no device more trusted than weather protection when one is moving through a day that begins cool and ends warmer. Yet even a sturdy jacket and clever fabric cannot replace the simple shield of a newspaper carried like a light garment. A sheet of print, worn as if it were a sun-warmed T-shirt, stands between skin and wind, keeping the chill at bay. The image of team assistants wandering Tortosa’s bars in search of older editions becomes a small portrait of dedication to the craft of print.
There are moments when a rider, chilled by dawn and warmed by exertion, finds comfort in a quick read at the kiosk. The newspaper acts as weatherproof armor, a tiny, practical talisman as cyclists prepare for the day. The ritual is efficient: scan the news briefly, then tuck the pages beneath the jersey, letting the ink settle into memory as the road takes shape ahead. The exchange is simple and universal: news in the hands of athletes who trust the paper to keep them grounded.