With the thoroughness and sense of duty, and the precision, typical of a calligrapher, and the pride of someone who knows he is very good at what he does, and his unique typography, what magnificent handwriting, Tadej Pogacar, the best cyclist in the world , debuted his rainbow jersey on a dog afternoon, clouds at ground level, constant rain in a flooded land, with a victory on the hill of San Luca, Bologna and its red arcades at his feet, the sanctuary of the virgin to his right . Six days after placing a tick green in the World Championship in Zurich, the Slovenian continues in his personal endeavor, which is not to equal Eddy Merckx’s record of achievements, even if the Cannibal falls in the way, but to win all those races in which he participates.
The empty square next to the Giro dell’Emilia, which is the official name of the Bolognese race, a classic of 215 kilometers and 115 years of existence, like the Giro d’Italia, was one of the ones that bothered him the most (although not as much as the of the Milan-San Remo, the race, he says, that will take him to the grave), since he had competed in it three times and two of them he had finished second. And he could add a fourth time, the unofficial Giro dell’Emilia that was the second stage of the last Tour: Pogacar attacked on the San Luca hill and was resisted by Carapaz, Vingegaard and Evenepoel. He did not win the stage then, but at least he wore the yellow jersey there, symbol of a Tour de France that three weeks later, in Nice, he would win for the third time.
“Mission accomplished,” says Pogacar. “I’m super happy to do it with this jersey, the rainbow jersey. I felt very good the first four days after the World Cup, until Wednesday, when it was like nothing had happened. And then I arrived here, I received all the equipment, all the jersey and I felt a little bit of pressure. The first race with the rainbow jersey and you have to prove again that you are the best. “I was under pressure to perform, but in the end it was a good day.”
The first of his life with the rainbow on his chest is the 87th victory in the six seasons that Pogacar, 26, has been in the WorldTour, the 24th in 2024 in 56 days of competition; the fifth victory in a one-day race in the years of the Giro and the Tour, after the Strade Bianche, Liege, Montreal and the World Cup, and all five have been won in the same way, with his unique and inimitable cycling handwriting, attacking from afar, alone, going alone, sowing chaos, fear, calculation and envy behind their backs, where the best runners in the world enter a state of stupidity that leads them to behave like cycle tourists. It’s the Pogacar effect.
When the world champion attacks on the hill this first Saturday in October, full autumn, and mushrooms, on the great Italian plain, no one can follow him. Nor does Remco Evenepoel try, the Belgian who wants to be the greatest, world champion himself two years ago, third in the Tour, and who until that very moment – 38 kilometers to go until the finish – is the first of the five ascents San Luca, a mound barely 200m high, just over two kilometers long with an average slope of 9.7%, was the fiercest of the rivals. Evenepoel, his golden helmet of an Olympic champion trying to capture some ray of light to shine, the headlight of a motorcycle perhaps, accelerates as much as I could, releases all his watts and can only watch, helplessly, how, with his mouth closed, Pogacar plant at its wheel, calm. He waits for his moment and the crazy attack of Lorenzo Fortunato, a fierce Astana on the slopes, precipitates it. Pogacar responds – his usual breathless 700-watt blast of jazz trombonist metal – and only dares to challenge him, just like at Mont Royal in Montreal, Matteo Jorgenson, a tall, dark-haired American from Boise (Idaho). and disbelieving that, as in the Canadian race, quickly succumbs.
Pedaling happily, or so it seems, happily, Pogacar, the rhythmic movement of his shoulders, his hands firmly planted on the top of the handlebar, the zigzag of his curves when he stands on the pedals to increase the pace, quickly pulls out a comfortable advantage to the lost platoon – it is reduced to 12 or 14 runners, chilled, uncomfortable, and in their heads a question, what am I doing here, a one-star showgirl – who at the end of the fifth ascent, next to the sanctuary and the virgin Close to two minutes (1m 54s), above the second, the brilliant Englishman Tom Pidcock, who in the last meters overtakes his two trio companions, the Italian Davide Piganzoli and the Canadian Michael Woods.
Pogacar, more than the best cyclist in history, perhaps, as he goes, personifies the end of the so-called paradox of effort that so confuses scientists. While we admire and value more than anything tasks that require supreme effort, we always followed the law of minimum effort, so deeply inscribed in the human psyche. We fooled ourselves into thinking that we were doing it to save energy because we were afraid of reaching the limit before finishing the task, and leaving ourselves empty, but in reality, the law of least effort is pure laziness, say the Bologna psychologists, we don’t do something because we think it will kill us. It’s going to cost a lot. Since he has discovered that his body can transfer up to 200 grams of carbohydrates per hour diluted in his drums – “and my stomach resists it well: five years ago I always dirty my shorts,” he explained a few days ago to physiologist Peter Attia –, Pogacar is not afraid of running out of energy and has turned the effort into a paper tiger, like imperialism, he neither fears it nor embraces it. And perhaps that is why, while all the rivals, including Primoz Roglic, the king of San Luca, his pride, can be seen pedaling with their backs sunken by the burden of a superhuman effort, Pogacar pedals like someone who is whistling, and whistles while pedal.
To the scientists who wonder about his special being and who, not finding a logical answer, give up – “he is touched by the magic wand”, is the conclusion reached by his coach, the Sevillian Javier Sola, admired for his ability to put himself in minimal shape—Pogacar responds that he doesn’t do anything special, that perhaps this year he does more strength and core exercises in the gym and that, since he is getting older, he pays more attention to nutrition. “I’m not as obsessed as before, when I ate everything and didn’t gain weight, with junk food or cakes,” he explains to Attia in a podcast, “but I don’t restrict myself to the limit either. And from time to time, very little, I sin, because if I didn’t, if I didn’t eat a chocolate bar in six months, there would come a time when I would burst and it would pass me by. And so on vacation I don’t have cravings. I eat healthy and not much, and I don’t gain weight, I stay at 69 kilos at most, when my weight in the Tour is 64 and a half.”
He celebrated the World Cup with a long party and the next day, hungover, he went out on a bicycle with his friend from Monaco Carlos Sainz, and together with him he sinned by eating a focaccia. To celebrate his Giro dell’Emilia, he will surely not allow himself such a waste. The year is not over yet. On Tuesday another Italian classic awaits him, the Tres Valles Varesinos (this one he has won, in 2022 ahead of Sergio Higuita and the farewell autumnal Alejandro Valverde) and next Saturday his favorite dish, the Lombardía, the last monument of the year that He has already won three times, the last three years. If a fourth wins it, and few doubt it.
