A tough day in the Pyrenees, with three big climbs in the last 60k.
Some of the teams are in trouble.
But Team Philosophe is okay.
David has had a miraculous recovery from his fall yesterday.
Or so goes the story.
What really happened was this.
Saints Arnoc and Ténénan had been hovering near the wall when David catapulted over it.
Saint Arnoc had taken David's place.
Saint Ténénan had performed first aid and kept David out of sight till the race passed.
Just as well, for David had been muttering:
Kakapo-potato-gigolo-no-no-no-oh-my-toe......
Saint Arnoc had caught up with Vello and Gaius, finishing the stage in a creditable position.
Gaius had been so preoccupied with his poem (in Latin), that he had not noticed.
So all was well.
But now it's today. Bastille Day. How nice it would be should a Frenchman win the stage.
But the French have not counted on the excellent form of Tadej Pogacar.
There he goes now. What good legs!
Sweezus and Pablo are labouring up the Col de Peyresourde, eating chocolate panini.
The best of friends, having cleared up the matter of Belle.
Arthur is up ahead, talking to Gaius.
David did well yesterday, says Arthur.
I hadn't noticed, says Gaius. To be honest my mind was focussed on my poem.
How's it going? asks Arthur.
Very well, says Gaius. I'm just tinkering with the last line. Perhaps I could run it by you. How are you at Latin?
Top of the Latin class at school, says Arthur.
Then see what you make of this, says Gaius:
Ars ducis est? says Arthur. All you can see in the beautiful scenery is the arse of the leader?
Ars, says Gaius. Meaning skill.
A double meaning, says Arthur. That's clever.
Gaius has not realised it was so clever.
Now he does.
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