A flat stage.
A crash happens.
Many riders fall off their bikes, but not Pogacar.
However, all legs are tired.
Some teams conduct poetry competitions.
For example, Team Israel Startup.
Chris Froome: Finished!
André Greipel: Let's hear it then.
Chris Froome: A good day is a flat day, after a mountain day.
André Greipel: Is that it?
Chris Froome: It's one of those haikus.
Dan Martin: No, it isn't.
André Greipel: At least it rhymes.
Dan Martin: They aren't rhymes if you use the same word. Happy birthday André, thirty nine today. Is that a poem? I don't think so.
André Greipel: Never mind. I vote we accept it. Perhaps I grow old.
Team Philosophe is riding behind them.
David is struggling.
David: Poetry is harder than I thought.
Vello: It needn't rhyme, you know.
David: Then how will you know it's not prose?
Vello: Because you've used poetical language. For example: The sweat drops on my brow trickle down my face like a slow mountain stream.
David: Did you just come up with that then?
Vello: Yes.
David: I thought so.
Gaius: It was very good, Vello. An evocative simile.
David: Perhaps I'll give up on the kakapo.
Gaius: Don't give up. Why not talk to Pablo?
David: He's too far in front.
Vello: Tomorrow then. During the time trials.
So that is decided. Tomorrow David will seek advice on poetry writing from Pablo Neruda.
What else do we need to know?
Who wins stage nineteen? Not Pogacar, not Cavendish.
Matej Mohoric.
Oh.
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