Читать книгу My World онлайн

50 страница из 72

Stage 3 was 170 kilometers with six king of the mountain primes and over 3,000 meters of climbing around San Jose. Not a Sagan kind of day at all. So it felt pretty fine to win the kick for second spot; a great long solo effort from a Latvian guy, Toms Skujinš, held us all off for the win.

The next day I was too quick for Cav for once, and I bounced my wheel off the road a couple of times as I crossed the line then pulled a big wheelie to show how pleased I was. Now that I didn’t care if I won, I was winning again, and I remembered that I liked it.

After Cav turned the tables again on the next stage, I surprised everyone, including myself, by pulling out a win in the next stage. No surprises in that, you might think, Sagan, you greedy bastard, but hold your horses . . . it was a time trial. In my new mode of not giving a shit, I smashed it round the flat 10-kilometer course to not only take the victory, but also the yellow jersey. Not my usual color, but I liked it.

I liked it so much that on the queen stage to Mount Giovanni, sorry, Mount Baldy, I dug in and finished in the top 10, losing less than a minute to Julian Alaphilippe and coming to the summit ski station in front of climbers like Haimar Zubeldia and Gesink. Alaphilippe had taken the jersey from me by two seconds, but with time bonuses to be won on the final stage, I was still confident.