2008 Tour de Pologne: Stage 3
Air: Humide, Pavé: Nouveau
Yesterday, just after team massage, I receive word from home that my prize Mokave feline died from a complicated bat bite infection. It was a long fight for Remi, but yesterday he crossed the river. My brave hero.
We made fast to the no-man’s land of a break. No chase on Stage 3. I was supported nicely and we had worked well together; Däv and I always do. When he run out of cash du legge, he slow back to the gruppe. I stayed off tête by myself, focusing my efforte on turning the pedals .01% harder with each stroke. Agréable, for now.
I watched the rates. I heard chatter in the radio écouteur but the sound was fading. I felt well situated to produce new contract possibilités. My days with this squad are numbered.
I put my nose on the stem. I listened to the hum of traction coinciding with the transference of energy from legs. I thought about Saint-Tropez last fall, après-saison. Remi was chasing roache du coque from the kitchen in a bright window sun. The hum got louder to me like corduroy in the isle of the cathedral. Or like someone popping knuckles during the movie. So loud.
It was fogge. Stark. Sad, and beautiful. That is when the tears came.
It was Remi.
The Tête de la course, for me, has always been the place where I safely cry. Only when leading can I feel right to take out an emotion. Leading is the only place that gives comfort like that. Last fall, Saint-Tropez.