A mountain stage.
Anything could happen.
But first.
Mouldy is talking to Terence.
Terence is telling him that he ought to wear socks.
But, says Mouldy. My legs are too skinny.
But, says Terence, Arthur wore long socks yesterday.
But, says Mouldy, he nearly got disqualified.
But, says Terence, he didn't, and they made him go faster.
Give me socks and I'll think about it, says Mouldy.
Bang! The race starts.
Nietszche is riding next to Nairo Quintana.
Nairo Quintana looks good, but it's early days yet.
Nietzsche accelerates.
He catches up to Gaius.
How did you enjoy the funiculaire yesterday? asks Nietzsche.
What a jocular mood he is in, thinks Gaius.
Fine until I realised Terence was calling me grandpa, says Gaius.
Who is his grandpa? asks Nietzsche.
He normally thinks of Marx as his grandpa, says Gaius. Because of the beard.
So who is his real grandpa? pursues Nietzsche.
It's complicated, says Gaius. Who would you expect a so-called holy infant's grandpa to be?
You have lost me, says Nietzsche.
God, says Gaius. I know it's ridiculous.
Especially when God is dead, says Nietzsche.
On this they agree.
Sweezus rides past them on the slopes of the col du Soulor
Trying for KOM, says Sweezus.
Arthur is right behind him, in yesterday's socks.
Sprocket is sweating.
Vello and David are munching on Power Bars some way behind.
A clown is watching from a grass verge with a steep drop behind him.
Was that Proust? asks David.
Missed him, says Vello. What colour was his wig?
Yellow, says David.
Probably was him, says Vello.
Later, on the slopes of the Tourmalet.
Nairo Quintana is dropping back.
Bardet and Yates are flagging.
Julian Alaphillipe is going like someone inspired.
Thibaut Pinaut is determined to make up for those dastardly crosswinds that brought him bad luck on stage ten.
Two hundred and fifty metres from the finish he accelerates rapidly.
Weeeehah!
He powers to victory, beating Alaphilipppe by six seconds.
And obviously, everyone else.
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