Gilbert makes Bilbao another monument. Deia, Bizkaia News

bilbao – When the Vuelta appeared in Bilbao, the race schedule was altered because the crowd flocked to see the bulls. For the cyclists to be duly received, between applause, enthusiasm and revelry, the departure of the stage, which was stitching in Santander, was delayed one hour. That was in 1935. In Bilbao, the Belgian Gustav Deloor won. Decades later, in the capital of Biscay, the bulls are of fallen cape. The lines are emptied. Vista Alegre walks the sad and crestfallen look as the bright eyes of the city of the future light up with electric bikes, which illuminate mobility in Bilbao. The city that breathes in red and white rolls on the Gran Vía. Athletic is always present. The mantle that covers Bizkaia. The race, which will leave San Mamés today, observes a man who listens to indecipherable music while pedaling with the Athletic jacket, like that team that had the club last century, in the crazy 20s. A few meters from the public address system that the cycling party shouts, a bishop claps his shoes, or what is deduced from his clothing, ring and crucifix. But it may not be. In any case, divine help, you know, is always necessary. More in a day that is a shot.

This is how Philippe Gilbert sounds in days of lightning, thunder and lightning. The Belgian, a portento, a huge, cult cyclist – world champion, five Monuments in his showcase as well as stages in the Giro, Tour and Vuelta – carved a Herculean triumph in Bilbao, which was a celebration. Wedding day. Gilbert, the man of the classics, a monument on the bike, showed the material that is made in a classic-looking stage. “The last 15 kilometers reminded me of the Ardennes classics. I felt very good, ”said the Belgian, who stirred in Arraiz to be crowned in Bilbao. Gilbert took over from Deloor on a passionate day, a wonderful outburst that drew Bizkaia and put Bilbao, overflowing, lush, proud, the town of receiving Gilbert cheering.

The cyclists, tied to madness, were unleashed from the Circuit of Navarra, in Los Arcos. Speed ​​and vertigo. The escape, which in languid days forms almost pure inertia, was a festival of anarchy and rock and roll. For a lot of kilometers everything was attacks, threats and counterattacks. Thus, from stick to stick, in the middle of the chaos, the race circulated. At full speed The first two hours of competition were a sprint, a challenge to the record time. “I had to make 20 attempts to enter the good escape. If you didn't get it, you needed another 8 kilometers to get back on top, ”Gilbert confessed. The squad flew, always ahead of time, until the puzzle was composed with a large caliber leak, the outlaws willing to knit Bizkaia's arteries quickly, without distractions. José Joaquín Rojas (Movistar), Manuele Boaro (Astana), Heinrich Haussler (Bahrain), Felix Grosschartner (Bora), Fran Ventoso (CCC), Philippe Gilbert, Tim Declercq (Deceuninck), Tosh van der Sande (Lotto), Tsgabu Grmay (Mitchelton), Willie Smit (Katusha), Nikias Arndt (Sunweb), John Degenkolb, Jacopo Mosca (Trek), Valerio Conti, Marco Marcato (Emirates), Alex Aranburu, Jonathan Lastra (Caja Rural), Fernando Barceló and Cyril Barthe ( Euskadi-Murias) shared effort until the chained Urrutizmendi, the Nursery and the unprecedented Arraiz, the stones set in the outcome, made Bilbao a jeweler of enthusiasm. The Ardennes

It was an ideal ecosystem for the fantastic Belgian, who discovered Mount Arraiz, the camouflaged port that observes the city sideways. From his gut Gilbert extracted a resounding triumph. Those extraordinary slopes, which they say, broke Grosschartner and Grmay, annihilated by Declercq's push. "Without him, this victory would not have been possible," Gilbert acknowledged. The impossible ramps that challenged the sky were the springboard for the glory of the Belgian in Bilbao. Gilbert, magnetized to Declercq, which they call a tractor because of his ability to drag, attacked as if there was no tomorrow in the emboldened Arraiz, a beautiful, cruel, hard and rough discovery; a dry-stick port, only attenuated the effort for the hug non-negotiable hobby, relief on the kneading skin and bone of cyclists, wound in pain. The public caressed each tile of a brutal ascension with exalted affection. "It reminded me of Flanders," Gilbert said. The Belgian felt at home. He ran in house slippers. In the hidden port of Bilbao, Gilbert did not cover himself, who, when he raised the necks the ascent, a starched wall, understood that it was his moment. The brave Fernando Barceló and the intrepid Alex Aranburu were stapled to Gilbert's attack. Both, in his neck. The Belgian of a thousand victories, of the overwhelming medal winners, opened the zipper of an impressive ascent, scalloped by the spirits, the soundtrack of a town that venerates cycling. At his altar he raises cyclists like Gilbert. "Those slopes that generate pain, I like them," he described.

huge resistance Aranburu, son of that telluric force that moves mountains, was subjected to the Belgian. Also Barceló. They were not willing to give up. Not at least the first shot. Gilbert had to resort to the second round because he couldn't knock out Barceló and Aranburu's enthusiasm in his snatch. So when the port turned even more, on another twist, on a 20% ramp that devoured wills and spit them like olive bones, with Bilbao in the background and the Iberdrola Tower as a lookout, Gilbert, waving his pride in the middle from the roar of the gutter, as effervescent as it was respectful, clicked another lash. The Belgian of the dry attacks, of the punches on the table, stuck Barceló in parallel to the vineyards that await the txakoli harvest. A bad drink for the oscense. A toast for the Belgian. On the heights of Bilbao, in one of its corners, Gilbert drew the perfect parable. Awakened Barceló, Arraiz crowned with enough time to handle the ins and outs of triumph. Gilbert managed every second with the rigor of gray-looking accountants, braces and a pencil resting on his ear. Reliable types Few like Gilbert in the end with such a physiognomy.

With a score of seconds in the bag, Gilbert adjusted the descent to the circumstances. It was enough that it was not stamped looking for the skyline from Bilbao, who was looking at Arraiz from the ground. Aranburu and Barceló, musketeers at the top, glued in their suicidal descent, threw the clock in the gutter. They just wanted to hunt Gilbert. The descent was an obsession. They were shirtless. All or nothing. The capture ofMoby dick. Experienced, full of the curriculum of victories, Gilbert looked at the rearview mirror to control the desperate attempt of Aranburu and Barceló, angry. The duo sanded Gilbert, but he didn't catch him, always watching what was going on behind him. Further back, Primoz Roglic, the leader, well parapeted by his team throughout the day, controlled the ascent to Arraiz without trouble following the footprint of Kuss and Bennett, their porters. In the palisade, no one of the favorites moved an inch. There was peace. Soler pastored the rest of the hierarchs. Valverde, López, Quintana and Pogacar resolved the day without damage. Gilbert, who rapped cautiously, also avoided any slip in the final framework. It was his maxim. The Belgian did not want to lose in the descent what was conquered when Bilbao concentrated on Arraiz, a merciless wall embroidered with nature and a flood of fans. The tide that never goes down. Live tide Aranburu and Barceló, from behind, were disheartened in a tremendous chase, to the limit. Getting closer, but not enough. “Barceló and I have done a good job and we understood each other well, we had him there, but we know who the opponent was. He has won us one of the best in the world in his specialty, ”said Aranburu, again second. The Belgian, mathematician, skirted the Sacred Heart. He received his blessing. In the Gran Vía, a human corridor like the one that greeted him in Arraiz, received the Belgian with honors. Gilbert made Bilbao another monument that looks at the Tour.