First day in the Pyrenees. Will it be a bit cooler?
Sirene is filling Team Condor's musettes, watched by Viollet-le-Duc.
Why do you watch me? asks Sirene.
Your legs intrigue me, says Viollet-le-Duc.
My legs are perfectly normal, says Sirene.
I know that, says Viollet-le-Duc. I observed them yesterday.
As I was cutting the Mandarelle? asks Sirene.
Yes, says Viollet-le-Duc. But I couldn't help noticing in your arms a certain stiffness.
It is the bronze, says Sirene. Well, not the bronze exactly, but I have had many reparations. My arms have more than once been broken off by bad people.
I heartily sympathise, says Viollet-le-Duc. I know what it is like to mend valuable objects that are broken.
But not to be one of them, says Sirene.
No indeed, admits Viollet-le-Duc.
He changes the subject.
What's that you're giving Team Condor?
Ice, says Sirene. There is also some tripous, which I bought in Rodez.
Tripous! says Viollet-le Duc.
He is about to say that not everyone likes small bunches of sheep's tripe stuffed with sheep's feet, but decides ...no... it's too late now.
The race is starting. Sirene goes off with Katherine to the first feeding zone.
Viollet-le-Duc remains at the start.
Jonas Vingegaard cycles past him, looking like someone who has lost two of his best men.
Which he has. One is Primoz Roglic. The other is Steven Kruijswijk.
Tadej Pogacar passes, looking chirpy.
Team Philosophe approach, guts rumbling, from the cassoulet yesterday.
Who will win today, Grunty? asks Vello.
Who indeed? replies N F S Grundtvig.
He is in no mood for future predicting today.
Viollet-le-Duc catches his answer, but thinks little of it.
Later, however when Houle wins in Foix, dedicating the win to his late brother, Viollet-le-Duc recalls the words of N F S Grundtvig (albeit wrongly).
Houle indeed.
It's how legends begin.
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