Somewhere near Annecy, towards the back of the peloton, Voltaire and Jean-Jacques Rousseau are gaining steadily on David Hume.
Voltaire: Life is sown thickly with thorns, and there is no better remedy than to pass quickly through them. Watch out there!
Rousseau: Thanks! The world of reality has its limits.
Voltaire: Look at fat Hume up ahead there, wobbling all over the road. All styles are good, except for the tiresome.
Rousseau: Hee, hee! Happiest is the person who suffers the least pain. Hume will never make it up the Col de Romme.
Voltaire: Optimism is the madness of insisting all is well when one is miserable. Look, he's slowing down to take on more food.
Rousseau: Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. Let's go!
Voltaire: It is the flash which appears, the thunderbolt will follow!
They pick up speed, and soon draw level with the fat Scottish philosopher.
Hume: Everything in the world is purchased by labour. I do not intend to lose.
Voltaire: Too bad! It is hard to free fools from the chains they revere.
Rousseau: Wheeee! Blame yourself for this, Hume!
Hume: I have no enemies, except indeed the other riders in Team Philosophe.
He grabs his food bag, slings it over his shoulder, and picks up speed at an astonishing rate.
In moments, he draws ahead of his two rivals once again.
Voltaire and Rousseau ( in unison ) : Sacre bleu!
Hume: A purpose, an intention, a design, strikes everywhere even the careless, most stupid thinker. So long boys! What is the greatest number? Number one!
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