One, one hundred, one hundred thousand Thibaut Pinots at the Tour de France

On the Petit Ballon, the penultimate climb of the twentieth stage of the Tour de France and the penultimate climb of this edition of the Tour de France, Thibaut Pinot was alone in the race lead. It was above all one Thibaut Pinot among thousands of Thibaut Pinots. Thibaut Pinot was everywhere: he was a face on a cardboard, his name written on a banner, there were four shouted syllables sung incited.

The Petit Ballon at the passage of the stage 20 of the Tour de France it wasn’t just a climb it was an open-air temple dedicated to the passage of the great tenant of these mountains, the Vosges, of the great imperfect hero, more conquered than victorious, perhaps for this very reason truly loved.

Thibaut Pinot was the mirror in which we could see our strengths and weaknesses, we could intercept our lives, made up of small bad luck, great satisfactions and equally great disappointments. Mainly made up of chasing one illusion after another, almost always ending badly, because otherwise they wouldn’t be called illusions. It applies to the French, it applies to all those who can not give a damn about a dislike that is as chatty as it is boring, that for the French.

On the Petit Ballon Thibaut Pinot greeted everyone giving everyone the last illusion: an irresistible progression to get rid of the adventure companions, the solitude found before the big meeting with his followers, the feeling that he could continue to reach the finish line since he was increasing his advantage over everyone, including the group. Thibaut Pinot’s finish line was not that of Le Markstein, he was there on the Petit Ballon, it was just before the summit of the Petit Ballon, he was being found there to greet his people.

There isn’t always just one finish line in racing, especially in stage races. Giulio Ciccone had passed him about forty kilometers earlier, at the top of the Col de la Schlucht. He also raised his hands to the sky, he had won the race: polka dot shirt. Best climber, striker from the first mountains of the day, a mad desire to paste polka dots on his pedigree. Mission accomplished, as a gift the chance to get on the podium in Paris, not for everyone.

The real, last, definitive one, however, was overtaken first by Tadej Pogacar, sprinting faster than Jonas Vingegaard. On the Col du Platzerwasel the Slovenian took back his role as direct challenger for the yellow jersey that he had abandoned on the Col de la Loze. He took it back more by force of will than legs, more resistance than power. The feeling is that Jonas Vingegaard had much more than Tadej Pogacar, who could have distanced him again, but he didn’t. Felix Gall was with them. For him, the last big race of a Grand Tour.