Katy Madgwick

Katy Madgwick

Newcastle upon Tyne, UK X/Twitter

Writing about cycling - the stories, the facts, the opinions, the interviews, the silly poems, the movie comparisons. You name it, if it's about bike racing, I'm stringing sentences together about it.

Check out the latest posts

Tour de France 2021 – Rest Day Reflections 1

In the past, it’s not been uncommon to find the first week of a Grand Tour a somewhat staid affair; cagey GC teams not wanting to show their cards too early; often an emphasis on flat sprint stages as the mountains await deeper into the race. A succession of...

Agent of Chaos II: The Legacy Edition

The narrative around MVDP and his participation at the Tour de France has shifted quite dramatically over the past few months. As early as last December he said the Tour was ‘very inconvenient’ and once again in February, before the beginning of the road season, the Alpecin-Fenix rider stated that...

Tour de France 2021: Three-Word Preview

To coin a phrase drawn from American sports, sometimes life throws you a curveball. When you record a frankly top notch Tour de France preview for a podcast and the recorder cuts out after 20 minutes, that’s a prime example. Such a fate befell myself, Inigo Hawkings and Nathan...

Agent of Chaos: the Unfathomable Mindset of MVDP

The psychological burden of performing at the top level in any sport cannot be underestimated. It’s understandable that it’s sometimes neglected, given the physical strains that the body must endure, but it undeniably takes a master of both the physical and psychological to perform at an elite level...

The Giro, George and Me

It’s been a week since the 104th Giro d’Italia concluded yet its after-image lingers on. I, like many other devoted cycling fans, am trying to readjust to life no longer revolving around five hours of dramatic racing every day for three weeks solid. Even the quiet days had...

On the Deception of Time, as it Yields

The starter’s hand is a barricade, separating the rider from his conquest. The hand is raised in front of his face, fingers extended, slicing the sun’s rays into wedges that warm segments of his face as it dips in concentration. The clock ticks inexorably, time pressing forward, closing...

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