Llucena – Dolls wax and skins of nacre. A decorated arid western. A place where the flames have devoured life. Montes washed away. A post-apocalyptic vision. A road that spits fire, a dragon, terrified run the numbers. Huyen fire squirming. Jumbles of bones. Ashes. Crematorium. If anyone wanted to imagine an oasis or a better life, two huge graffiti remembered that awaited them hell Mas de la Costa, a wall of masonry lifting Vuelta. At the gates of Mas de la Costa, a port with a short neck, barely four kilometers-but with much nut-ramps to 21% – reads: Here hell begins . The white paint shines like a neon road on the gray asphalt, gaunt, without scales. The signal is the announcement of a narrow, narrow gorge, with the road that rises histrionic, hysterical and twisted. At the summit, the painted graffiti tone is called: red, orange, yellow and some black. Mourning. The color of heat and artistic path with fat letters. Graffiti is written in English. Welcome to hell . What it comes to be: Welcome to hell. From bottom to top. Among the rudimentary graffiti landing port, access, and convoluted expression of the crown of thorns, the duel in the sun Quintana and Froome, sheltered by Chaves and Contador, matched all concentrated. By then had come the devil. Mathias Frank was presented in the underworld to rule his smallholding. The estates belonging to Nairo Quintana, who in Mas de la Costa, shrugged off another day to Madrid. “I knew there would be attacks, has been Contador and Chaves, who have their particular struggle for the podium, but it was mine, to see that it was Froome and has been a saved day,” he said the Colombian, to a finger of ultimate triumph. Each tie with Froome is a victory for the leader, who arrived in parallel to the British, and Contador stuck to Chaves. The four horsemen of the apocalypse riding together
Froome bade them farewell with a whistle in his mouth. Priiiii! He lowered hell out toward the team bus after cross off another day of competition without anything to move. Your Turn continues in standby since Formigal is despeñara. He pushed the ambition of Contador, again active, showing the incisors and dancing shoulders in Mas de la Costa. He extinguished the stage without burns, climbed the roller counter to lower lactic acid, the poison of effort. After deflating the legs, suffering intoxicated, he went to talk to Quintana, still doing roll. Counter whispered tips. Nairo listened, smiling. Good vibes. Attunement. Quintana ran counter for Formigal. He chose to win. intimate enemies. Madrid and the leader just said nothing of the meeting. Contador said he had been a good stage and wished him a good night’s rest to Nairo. Colombia contributed his version. They had talked about the climb. How hard it had been. The speech Contador was considerably longer than his memory, but remained under a gag order.
Pello Bilbao, fourth Not so Mas de la Costa, trumpeted a port, another unique dimension of the Vuelta, which collects slopes of goats and exageradísimas rises where the bodies pile up. Morgues ideal for close-ups and mimicry, but with less impact for accounting purposes. “In ramps as well as you can take is to be a kilometer per hour faster,” said Contador. Around commitment to less it is more. Minimalism. As the stage, reduced to four wild kilometers, cuestón to stick with Newton and the law of gravity. Cataldo and Frank put the first mark on the latest discovery of the surveyors of the organization. The Italian and Swiss had left a UN convention, a meeting of thirty runners. There’s rebellion Pello Bilbao and Haimar Zubeldia was. The gernikarra sought his option Mas de La Costa. Bilbao, selective, advanced, but trailed the shadow of Gesink, the Dutch won stem Aubisque and this time could not beat Frank nor Konig. He persevered Pello in the corkscrew to be fourth.
Four were those who contended with in matters of more hierarchy. Orica and Movistar landing heated to hell, where they soon become more pronounced Contador, Froome, Quintana and Chaves in a stacked tremendous. The Briton, a couple of laps in the first dip is later welded to the trio, which protruded the momentum of Contador, who each day runs more tittle. “When I saw Froome behind sped up a little to see how things were going.” British, attached to the heart rate monitor, managed the rise: stretching here and there shrugging because it has little grinder. A shot of Chaves left him for a moment without echo against Quintana, but pulled himself together and shared frame with the leader in a port winded. A mural of suffering. Welcome to Hell. Frank, Swiss, son of the snow, cold and not melted. A glacier. After Quintana, Froome, Contador and Chaves gathered around hell. Ice cream.