Wout van Aert wins Paris-Roubaix and the world cries.
An emotional victory after an amazing edition of the Hell of the North.
I cried.
Does that seem silly, overly emotional, un-masculine?
Never forget the epic-ness of the race, that every top race favorite flatted, crashed, was left behind, that all of them responded like champions to misfortune and disappointing fate.
Three time-in-a-goddamn-row winner of Paris-Roubaix, Mathieu van der Poel, cursed fate, as he suffered a mechanical in the infamous Carrefour de l’Arbre. He’d lose over 90 seconds. His race was already over and yet he said no.
Van der Poel fought to the absolute death over 50 kilometers, trying against all odds to close that gap with help from absolutely nobody. That’s a champion that refuses to surrender.
In tribute to his immense talent, he closed to within 20 seconds several times but his fate was sealed. Each time we thought maybe, just maybe, he will bridge up. Sadly, he didn’t even make the podium. But we marveled at his strength and perseverance.
It was time same story for all the top star favorites. Mads Pedersen, bad luck, battled gamely with Van der Poel but made no inroads. Filipoo Gonna looked like he was game, working with VDP to cut the gap until he slid out on a corner and was never seen again.
As usual, there were many hardback stories in Paris Roubaix that will he told in the cold showers in the velodrome and immortalized with digital immortality . Big stars, bookmaker favorites, dark horses, they all met their end.
But in the emotional moment of victory, Wout van Aert’s tears of joy put every other story in the distant background. This was his Paris-Roubaix, the one he had dreamed of for far too long.
Van Aert and the Greatest Cyclist Of All Time, Tadej Pogacar, now officially in ALL CAPS, entered the famed and run-down velodrome together.
Pogacar, who had raced but three times this season but won all three — Strade Bianchi. Milan San Remo, Tour of Flanders, had tried to drop Van Aert on every cobblestone sector three stars or over. Didn’t work. Van Aert stuck to his wheel — at time so close he risked disaster if Pogacar moved even a few inches off his bumpy, bone-shattering line.
Van Aert, for all his own other worldly-talents, has also suffered over the last few seasons from an enduring and almost comical run of bad luck. Crashes, illness, flat-out bad luck, questionable tactics. He’s been beat up so many times in the Belgian sporting press that it’s surprising his face isn’t purple and bruised.
However, on this day, the end of Holy Week in Belgium, he was finally, almost magically, on form. Old Wout, Tour de France Wout, the guy who could win mountain stages and sprint stages and still have fabulous hair at the finish line.
They entered the velodrome together, with Pogacar in front. I’m praying for Wout; Belgium, in every bar in the country, is praying for Wout, willing him to victory. Cycling fans worldwide with any love of tragic underdogs are urging him on.
And yet, who bets again the guy who put Eddy Merckx into second place on the greatest cyclists of all time list? I figured, somehow, someway, the man in the rainbow jersey is still going to win.
Wout makes his jump at around 200 meters, gets a gap instantly, stretches it quickly. Pogacar has NO response, nothing left, shockingly, stunningly, resigned.
The Belgian crosses the finish, pointing skyward with one finger, like 20 times. That salute goes on and on, sort of like Paris-Roubaix itself. It’s a movie end-scene for redemption.
He collapses in the throng of journalists and photographers. Drained of every ounce of energy, he lays on the ground, in that momentary period between shock and joy.
He brings both hands up to cover his face and sobs. Tears of happiness, release, freedom, redemption, the entire emptying of his soul. Yeah, I’m not being overly dramatic.
After standing, he tries to compose himself. Asks a team staffer where his wife is and then she’s there with his two young sons. Both boys give him a high five and he starts sobbing again.
I showed the replay of Wout crying to my wife who doesn’t care at ALL about bike racing. She started crying and I started crying again.
What a glorious Paris Roubaix.