The teams roll out of Brest.
Marcel Proust watches from the side lines, in a curly blue wig.
Two ancient bishops stand beside him.
They made Marcel's acquaintance, after the Team Presentation deception.
There goes Team Philosophe! Vello, David and Gaius look confident.
Bonne chance, les gars! call the bishops.
Marcel smirks.
Only these ancient bishops would call Team Philosophe les gars.
Sweezus, Pablo and Arthur ride past in their frog coloured jerseys, with brown ovoid patches.
Perhaps it is good to be dull, thinks Marcel for one does not stand out and make oneself a target, whereas, I, now, wearing this blue curly wig, have already been noticed by the cameras, as have the bishops, in their robes and mitres, costumes which, while........
We must not remain until the end of his sentence, however. There's a crash up ahead.
A fan with a large piece of cardboard has up-ended Tony Martin, and brought other riders down with him.
Quelle disastre!
Who is in this tumble?
Sweezus has avoided it. Pablo has swerved onto a grass verge, stopped, righted himself, and continued.
Arthur has fallen, although he lives a charmed life.
It does not mean he can't fall off his bike and split his knee open.
The riders who can continue, continue.
Lucky I avoided that crash, thinks Chris Froome.
Shit a brick, thinks Richie. It's starting already.
Julian Alaphilippe, does not think anything, but thunders on.
No! Closer to the finish another large tumble.
Chris Froome is down. So are Konovolovas, Lemoine, Soler, Hirschi and .....Secundus.
Secundus! Isn't that Gaius?
The fallen are taken away, for xrays and scans.
Those who can continue continue.
Alaphillipe is unhurt. He powers up the final steep climb to Landerneau, eight seconds ahead of Michael Matthews.
It's a good day for some.
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