They all wore smiles at the Movistar door. The team bus sat parked beside the San Mamés stadium. The principal figure, not present, hovered in the background because this Saturday the eldest son of his brother was getting married in Girona. Juan Carlos, an ALS patient, was also in the mix, and the rest of the leadership gathered with warm expressions that matched Enric Mas’s upbeat remarks, spreading a simple, shared positivity. The question echoed among the Mallorca-born rider and team spirit: why weren’t Vingegaard and Pogacar available? He repeated the doubt, a hint of concern in his voice. The arrival from Vivero, twenty-six kilometers from Bilbao, hit hard, signaling the end of faded illusions and the abrupt truth that sometimes races bite back with brutal force.
Vizcaya became a vibrant festival as the cycling mask was worn with pride. Mikel Landa was celebrated at the shrine of the Virgin of Begoña, his yellow jersey gleaming in the sun. Yet there was a resting tension beneath the surface, a mix of pride and unease as some faced the hospital walls seeking acknowledgment for a career built on endurance and risk. The sport, admired for its beauty, remains a strenuous, sometimes cruel arena. A similar moment had shadowed the sport six years earlier in Düsseldorf when Alejandro Valverde crashed into the track’s fencing in an Individual Time Trial, suffering a knee injury so severe that many would have chosen retirement under such circumstances.
In good mode
Even as the moment looked heavy, the mood stayed buoyant. He carried a flutter of nerves as the Tour de France loomed, a few minutes from the start, and he even teased a waiting journalist who had not greeted him during a training session a few days prior. The loyal home terrain lay in Andorra’s Cortals d’Encamp, a rugged gateway and a reminder of where he trained and lived. It became clear that the plan was to be cautious, to protect his form while continuing the hard work of preparation for one of cycling’s grandest stages. The moment suggested the unspoken truth that no one could have predicted what would happen next.
He rode with a stubborn optimism, a level of confidence that came from years of steady practice on the Basque Coast roads and along the island routes north of Mallorca, where his family has long called home. The Basque country remains a testing ground for many riders who use these routes to develop rising talents who aim to turn pro and make a mark on the sport’s biggest stages.
Landing
On a descent, one stays sharp and tries to maintain top speed, often pushing beyond 60 kilometers per hour. The risk of being pinned behind a wheel or losing momentum by getting boxed in is real, so the strategy is to stay smooth and avoid panic. The racer had already confronted a moment of fear a year earlier, seeking the counsel of a downhill specialist and a sports psychologist to keep his nerve intact when gravity and speed collide. The year 2022 carried its own sadness, marked by tough days on the Tirreno-Adriatico, Itzulia, and the Critérium du Dauphiné. He faced the Tour with a renewed mindset, then approached the Vuelta as a different cyclist, finishing second and drawing attention for his resilience. In Italy, he stood ahead of the field in a few key moments before the final sprint, a test that would shape the season that followed.
The Giro d’Emilia and a close second at Lombardy underscored his competitive spirit, even as a Slovenian rival claimed the final sprint. It was a reminder that cycling’s peaks demand both courage and precision, and that a rider’s journey is a long, winding story of training, patience, and sudden opportunities.
1989 precedent
The Vivero descent carried its own weight as the riders navigated the course. The scene included a gathering of team staff and journalists who watched the effort with a mix of concern and admiration. The support staff tried to keep the mood steady while the Ertzaintza assisted with safety measures, and a team manager finally conveyed the difficult news of a fall and the need to carry a rider off the course. The moment carried significance for Movistar and the Biscayan cycling community, a reminder that a day of triumph can shift in an instant to one of challenge and perseverance. The sight of a rider in pain and the willingness of the organization to collaborate and adapt reflected the sport’s collective spirit.
The Tour’s opening phase, in Luxembourg back in 1989, had its own dramatic track. A rider named Parrot lost his way amid the crowd and said farewell to defending his Paris victory from the year before. That episode has since remained a vivid memory, a stark counterpoint to the festive nature of a Basque Country welcome for the Tour. The race, always intersecting with personal stories, has continued to fold into the yearly tapestry of a Majorcan rider’s journey—one marked by ups and downs that refuse to fade with time. The echoes of that era still resonate in today’s aerobatic efforts, shaping how teams prepare for the grand tours and how fans understand the sport’s enduring appeal.
Citation: Movistar archives. Citation: Basque cycling history. Citation: Tour de France archival materials.