In Awe of Pogačar—And Kind of Over It

As Tadej Pogačar rewrites the record books with ease, I find myself both awed and exhausted. Loving the sport means loving the fight, but what if no one can touch him?

Hey cycling fans,

Let’s be real—most of us are mesmerized by Tadej Pogačar: the talent, the flair, the nerve. But you’re not alone if you’ve been feeling a little Pog fatigue lately. Dominance is dazzling… until it starts to feel like a story you’ve read before. And in a sport built on grit and surprise, what happens when one rider makes the outcome feel inevitable?

Today, I dig into the uneasy magic of dominance. What it gives us, what it takes away, and why sometimes the only thing to do is let it run its course.

I also spent a bit more time on the illustration for this edition. I used to draw a lot, as a teenager, then during my fashion industry days, and it’s been fun to pick up the (digital) pen again. Hopefully, it adds something to the stories I’m trying to tell.

Looking ahead—while Pog enjoys a little break—he’ll be back at the Dauphiné in June, with his eyes on the Tour in July, the Vuelta later on, and likely Il Lombardia to close out the year.

Hope you enjoy this read. And please, drop your thoughts in the comments. I’m curious to know where you stand.

–Rosael

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The Beautiful Problem with Tadej Pogačar

Illustration by Rosael

I’ve never loved dominance in cycling, or in any sport. Not really. What gets me are the shifting dynamics, the emotional arcs, the moments when a race cracks wide open and you’re hanging off the edge of your seat. I’m in it for the tactical swings, the bold risks, the quiet grit of someone clawing their way back—not just the winner, but the whole story playing out across the field. Dominance flattens all that. It turns the peloton into background noise and narrows the outcome to a single, predictable path.

It’s not that I want Tadej Pogačar to lose. He is, by any measure, a dream cyclist: beautiful to watch, generous with fans, aggressive in a way that recalls the old gods, and one of the few top men who speaks about women’s racing with genuine respect. This year, he committed to a full Spring Classics campaign before shifting to a more traditional build-up to the Tour de France. Even with flashes of vulnerability, like crashing at Strade Bianche and getting outsprinted at Milano-Sanremo, it was ultimately his machine-like consistency that defined his Classics season. He won three of the five Monuments and podiumed in every one-day race he entered.

Yes, the Merckx comparisons are everywhere, but this feels different. Less mythic, more clinical. (Then again, I was born in ’87, so what do I know?) Still, there’s something uncanny about what we’re witnessing now. Pogačar leads the UCI individual rankings with over 7,200 points. That’s more than 3,000 ahead of Remco Evenepoel, his closest rival. That’s not a lead. That’s another stratosphere. He’s not just winning. He’s isolating.

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I know that not everyone feels this way. For some, watching a once-in-a-generation talent like Pogačar is the whole point. Mastery has its poetry and can still nurture surprise and questions like: Can he continue to dominate? Can he attack from even further out? Can he win La Vuelta?

And there’s a beauty to maximum efficiency, of course. Something we often see in Pogačar but, perhaps unfairly, label as robotic. Maybe instead of fretting over what’s missing, I should just sit back and admire every perfect pedal stroke. There’s satisfaction to be found in that too, like watching a virtuoso violinist playing a complex passage. Or a skilled worker laying down perfectly flat cement, stroke after precise stroke. Not thrilling, maybe, but undeniably artful. In the end, we love it because none of us can do what he does. So why am I complaining?

Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe that’s what happens when you’re a cycling journalist (and fan girl at heart) with your nose way too close to the screen. But I’ve always been drawn to the messier stanzas that crack and crescendo, not cruise.

Still, it hasn’t all been predictable. This spring had its ruptures; those sudden jolts that remind us the sport still knows how to surprise. Mattias Skjelmose’s gritty sprint victory at Amstel Gold over Pogačar himself was a genuine jolt, proof that the giant can be rattled. At De Brabantse Pijl, Evenepoel outsprinted Wout van Aert in a fierce two-man showdown, a welcome return to form after his injury setbacks. These weren’t just wins, they were interruptions. And in a season so weighted by inevitability, even small disruptions feel like a breath of air.

So, while Pogačar recovers faster than a ketone-chugging U23, the rest of us are bonking on storylines. As Escape Collective put it in their Liège–Bastogne–Liège recap, “Pogačar has used up all our headlines.” But there’s a deeper truth there. When the same rider keeps winning, the challenge isn’t just for his rivals; it’s for the storytellers too. Language dries up. Superlatives get recycled. We start using metaphors about running out of metaphors. And in that loop, the storytelling shrinks. The sport becomes harder to feel, not because it lacks action, but because it lacks tension.

I’m no longer watching to see who will win. I’m watching to see by how much. And if I’m honest, that scares (but mostly bores) me. Because when outcomes feel inevitable, the emotional oxygen disappears. The sport shrinks to a single arc. It’s like the baseline effect of smoking too much weed—not paranoia, not even bliss, just… dullness. The edges blur. The tension fades. You’re still watching, but you’re not really feeling it.

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And in those foggy stretches, the inevitable fears start to creep in. Is this too good to be true? Is the dominance clean? I don’t want to go there, but the questions linger, quietly, like they did during Chris Froome’s reign. Admiration, yes, but also a quiet grief. Not for the champion, but for the many stories that never got to see the light of day. (And then another part of me rolls its eyes and says, “Oh please, cry me a river.”)

It’s not just journalists who feel this tension. Riders do too. Nathan van Hooydonck recently remarked that the Giro d’Italia was better off without Pogačar this year, reflecting on how last year’s edition “didn’t have much left to watch” after two weeks of Pogačar dismantling the field stage after stage. “Every stage Pogačar wanted to win, his team would take control of the peloton, and he’d go on to win it,” he said. “Sometimes he’d even win a stage by accident.” The remark wasn’t bitter—it was a recognition of how dominance can drain the life from a race, even one as grand as the Giro.

Van Hooydonck’s point lands hardest when you rewatch the spring’s biggest moments and realize how little was left to contest.

Let’s revisit Liège–Bastogne–Liège. Pogačar attacked on the Côte de la Redoute and soloed to his third title, finishing over a minute ahead. His ninth Monument. The kind of performance that earns you comparisons to Merckx, Fausto Coppi, and Sean Kelly. Greatness, in motion.

But when Ben Healy crossed the line nearly a minute later, arms raised in a bittersweet salute, what were we really applauding? Joy? Resilience? Or resignation? Has dominance rewritten the rules of celebration? Are we now so conditioned that second place feels like victory, simply because the real race happened somewhere we couldn’t reach?

And it’s not over. After a brief pause, Pogačar will return at the Critérium du Dauphiné in June, using it as a launchpad for his biggest target yet: a fourth Tour de France title, starting July 5. If all goes to plan, he could also line up at the Vuelta a España in late August—aiming to complete the Grand Tour set—and close out the year chasing a fifth Il Lombardia win.

Even Alberto Contador has expressed unease. “It is not the best preparation for the Tour de France,” he told Eurosport after LBL. “If I were the UAE Team, I would be afraid.” He wasn’t doubting Pogačar’s power. He was questioning the logic of trying to win everything, because when you do, you risk distorting the entire field.

So, how do you solve a problem like Tadej Pogačar? If the peloton can’t stop him, maybe it’s time the UCI did what it does best: focus on the truly pressing issues, like implementing a few totally reasonable rule changes to slow him down, such as:

• Regulation 1.3.93a: Riders who have won three or more Monuments in a single season must compete on a steel frame equipped with toe clips and down tube shifters for all remaining races.

• Regulation 2.5.21: A mid-race gravel detour shall be added exclusively for the GC leader, featuring at least one goat path and a water crossing.

• Regulation 6.6.66: Riders leading by over three minutes must receive live race commentary from Jonathan Vaughters via their team radio. Volume: non-adjustable.

And if all else fails, someone might have to sneak into his hotel room and snip off those aerodynamic blonde tufts.

I’m obviously kidding, and I want to be wrong. I want someone (anyone) to crack the code. Evenepoel, all instinct and fire. Mathieu van der Poel, blunt-force brilliance. Jonas Vingegaard, clinical and cool. But outside of Mathieu on cobbles or Jonas in the Alps, it feels like we’re left with scraps.

If you stayed tuned in after the men’s race at Liège, you saw it: a women’s race that raced with tension, tactics, and risk. Puck Pieterse raced fiercely, Demi Vollering never gave up, and Kim Le Court didn’t just win; she disrupted. She threaded a needle of unpredictability, outfoxed the favorites, and rode into history as the first African rider to win a Monument. If Pogačar’s win felt predetermined, hers was gloriously, beautifully contingent.

Of course, women’s racing isn’t immune to dominance either; just ask anyone who’s watched SD Worx squeeze the life out of a race, or remembers the era when Team Rabobank (now Visma–Lease a Bike) controlled nearly every major result. But the sport has evolved. No single team controls the narrative anymore, and performances like Le Court’s remind us just how far the women’s field has come, and how much more interesting the racing is because of it.

So maybe one rider’s dominance comes with a silver lining. Let the men’s races become inevitability machines if it means the sport’s emotional center of gravity shifts. If fans start tuning into the places where the drama still lives: the ever-shifting women’s peloton, the grit of a World Cup XCO final, the sheer weirdness of a gravel showdown. Let editors greenlight more women’s features. Let sponsors, bored of solo parades, start betting on riders still fighting to be seen.

Let the men’s field flatten, if it gives the rest of cycling room to rise.

Maybe if we stop hanging on Pogačar’s every move, he’ll feel the need to make them wilder: go earlier, take more risks, throw in a little chaos. Not that he owes us anything. But hey, it’s worth a try.

Maybe that’s how balance returns. Not by resisting Pogačar’s dominance, but by redirecting our gaze.

I’d love to know. How are you feeling about all this? Let me know in the comments.