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The Real Pro Cyclists of Euro County: Holiday in the Sun

Summer is fast upon us, and while mere mortals seek refuge from their cubicles in the warming suns of some far off place, professional cyclists find themselves in full-on race mode. However, this isn’t to say that they don’t carry a bit of a Spring-Break-Daytona-Beach-2007-Forever mindset with them to southern Europe for the season. As you’ll find, most still seize the opportunity to work on their tan lines, play games, mock the unsuspecting, and most importantly for the Euro pro, score some chicks. So, insert a little hoop earring, throw back your silk polkadot scarf, and see what’s been happening in the commonly cringe-worthy world of professional European cycling.

No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem

First off, we have Dolph Lundgren Marcel Kittel posing all, “Hey, I have a keg back in my dorm room,” style for the paper. From what I can gather, the title translates to something like, “Kittle, irresistible, not only in the sprint. Marcel massacres of hearts…” something, something. Now, one pop shot about his hair is enough for an article, but you have to remember that, for all I know, in Europe, the whole Der Falco thing might still be working to this day. If nothing else, being 6’2 and 190lbs will certainly set you apart from the Puritos of the peloton. Ultimately, though, articles like this fill me with envy when I consider that Europe gets Kittel’s Tiger Beat cover, while we’re just stuck with more Lance indictments from insurance companies.


…You’ll Take Away the Biggest Part of Me

Speaking of Lance, I can’t help but get off topic and share a post from his own Twitter account. It’s almost getting kind of sad now:

“Just another night playing Cards Against Humanity…”


You’ve Got the Magic Touch

Admittedly, this took a double, maybe even a triple take for me to wrap my head around. Yes, that is Rigoberto Urán rolling up his sleeves and getting to work on, well, rubbing down some ass. Honestly, I just might not be versed in this aspect of European cycling etiquette. Is it a thing that the GC contender of a team has to demonstrate humility by anointing the feet of a domestique, followed by a real good deep tissue massage? I really hope so. Either way, it looks like Rigoberto truly does have the “Magic Touch,” albeit more biblical than The Platters.


What They Don’t Know Can’t Hurt Them

“Welcome to the gun show” is something that almost no pro cyclists can ever say with a straight face, well, that is except this dude from Neri Sottoli. I scoured the team roster to find a matching body type, but honestly, I came up way short of tracking down who he is — maybe Andrea Dal Col. Regardless, it seems that the start line was at least amused with him, getting in a solid troll session before the gun. I can’t help but find the humor in this role reversal, though. In America, it’s the emaciated cyclist that get’s the sand kicked in their face by big ol’ Brutus, but in Europe, Brutus is the dweeb worthy of humiliation. But seriously, this guy makes Pervis look like Pee Wee.



The Most Interesting Man Alive

I know that many of you think that I like to pick on poor Pippo, but really, I love this guy. I mean, seriously, who else would taunt themselves like this? Now, if America could only be so lucky as to have this cutout on our beach boardwalks. Then again, I’d rather it be a cutout with his mistaken Roma Maxima win.



Meanwhile, across the pond…

Taylor Phinney refused to be upstaged while stateside. He speaks fluent Italian and lives in Lucca, so why can’t he impart some Euro charm on the podium girls in California, too?


And as you can gather from the picture below, his manners of advancement have certainly improved with age — even if he is only 23.


photo: Beth Seliga/

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