Embrun to Chorges: Electric Blue

Today is the day of the Individual Time Trials.  Slowest riders go first. Freud-Niko goes early.

Did you notice, Paul? says Phil Liggett, to Paul Sherwen. He's wearing Ageless lobster's jersey.

We'll have to check into that, says Paul Sherwen.

Vello goes next, followed by David.

Then Arthur goes down the chute. They all think he is Surfing-With-Whales.

Arthur does well in the time trials, finishing early, before the rain.

He waits at Chorges with Belle et Bonne.

You look edgy, says Belle et Bonne. What's the matter?

I have a plan, says Arthur. I'm waiting for Surfing-With-Whales.

A plan to get back your money? says Belle. Unni told me you'd lost it in a ditch. Why don't you just go to lost property and claim it?

Can't says Arthur. They'll think it's not me.

Oh I see, says Belle et Bonne. So Surfing-With-Whales is going to claim it. Do you think that that's wise?

They'll give it to him, says Arthur. Then he'll give it to me.

You hope, says Belle et Bonne. He's best friends with Sweezie. And much as I love Sweezie, I wouldn't trust either of them with money.

Here comes Sweezus, slightly damp, having ridden an excellent time trial.

Oh well done, Sweezie! cries Belle et Bonne.

Thanks Belle!  You're so supportive, says Sweezus, panting hard.

Little you know, thinks Arthur. Women!

Surfing-With-Whales arrives, dripping wet.

Geez! says Surfing-With-Whales.  I did rat-shit. And now the road's drying. Froomey'll get it for sure.

Never mind, says Belle et Bonne. Blame it on the rain. At least you made it. Not like poor Jean-Christophe Peraud.

Yeah, says Surfing-With-Whales. And it doesn't matter. They all think I'm Arthur

He winks slyly at Arthur. Arthur shrugs.

I'm off to lost property, says Surfing-With-Whales. No time like the present.

Wait! says Arthur. Change of plan.

But Surfing-With-Whales has disappeared into the tent marked Lost Property.

Bonjour! says the Lost Property Officer. Qu'est-ce que c'est?

Lost some gold coins the other day, says Surfing-With-Whales. Names's Arthur. Arthur Rimbaud.

Mais non? says the Lost Property Officer. I do not believe you are Arthur Rimbaud. You do not look like the famous young poet.

I am the famous young poet, says Surfing-With-Whales. See. Name on the jersey?

But your eyes, says the Lost Property Officer. They are not the electric blue eyes of our Arthur Rimbaud.

Surfing-With-Whales scratches his nut.

Far bloody out. Just his luck to meet a Lost Property Officer who knows something like that