la vuelta: week two in poems

Stage 10: Elche to Alicante A day of whiplash— trading mist-soaked green slopes for flat, palm-studded shores. The great whooshing rush of the pack, all shouts & gear shifts, traded for the solitary sawing of disc wheels. One by one, the riders stop atop the big ramp below the golden stone fortress before they’re sent to attack the walls of themselves. Going from rest to sheering away the sense of self as anything other than motor, perched aero over bars—becoming an extension of the bike. Passing one more test, along the coast this time, before red can be fully held at the end in Madrid.

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