Terence has his shorts back.
They have really stiff pockets.
He stands at the start in Morzine, with his team.
How come we weren't invited to yesterday's picnic? asks Quiet-Tartus.
Underpants, says Terence.
Quiet-Tartus grins at the knowlesi.
We know, says Quiet-Tartus. We spied.
The grown-ups were singing, says Terence. O lord thy bounty made David the winner la la.
We heard, says the knowlesi. That was bollocks.
That's another reason I didn't invite you, says Terence. Or I wouldn't have if I knew.
Thanks a lot, says the knowlesi. Have we got dried mealworms today?
They got washed, says Terence. In my shorts. And they're still in the pockets. But I think that they've dried.
THOSE pockets! says Quiet-Tartus.
Yes, says Terence. Want to try some?
He reaches into a pocket and breaks off a chunk of dried mealworm.
Quiet-Tartus tries it.
Crunch crunch. Huuh.
What are the white bits?
But it's time for the start. Off they go.
We have wasted so much time on the mealworms, that now we must fast forward to 36 kilometres from the finish.
Or 36 and a half, even better
Team Philosphe are rolling along in the middle of the peloton, discussing Grunty's hymn.
You made it seem as though David had won, says Vello.
You can't praise the lord for inspiring a man to come second, says N F S Grundtvig.
I didn't even come second, says David.
But then....
The race has been stopped for some reason.
What is this chaos? Protesters on the road! Chained together.
Protesting about Mont Blanc's environment.
They are dragged off at last, and the race is resumed.
Bettiol who was in the lead before, is allowed to go first.
Then the chasers, after twenty five seconds, then the peloton, about seven minutes later.
The race continues as before.
Chasers come and go, Bettiol is passed and attacks again.
But to no avail....
Nick Schultz looks like winning it from Magnus Cort! No he doesn't.
Yes he does!
A photo finish!
No.
He doesn't.
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