At last the final stage.
Shortened because France is burning.
But that need not concern us now.
The riders do seven laps of the Champs Elysées.
The crowds cheer.
There goes ... who are those guys?
One has a parrot on his shoulder.
The other two look quite old.
One of the older ones is waving at the crowd as though he is famous.
Stop waving, says David.
They love me, says Vello.
But it's not over yet, says David.
Isnt it? asks Surfing-with-Whales.
It is and it isn't, says David.
Very true, says Vello. I'll stop waving.
When we've gone up and down Montmartre three times, that's when to start waving, says David.
I'll remember that, says Vello.
Me too, says Surfing-with-Whales.
I'll remind you, says Prong
Time to ditch that parrot, says Vello.
Don't worry, I'm going, says Prong.
She flies off to Montmartre.
Landing on Terence's shoulder.
How are they doing? asks Belle.
Arguing about waving, says Prong.
That's a good sign, says Belle. I thought they'd tired themselves out yesterday.
What about Sweezus? asks Terence. Did you see him?
I flew over him, says Prong. But I didn't land on his shoulder. I don't think he likes me.
He does like you, says Terence.
How do you know? asks Prong.
Because I like you , says Terence. And we're the same person.
What nonsense, says Belle. You and he are not the same person.
We're going to be, says Terence.
No you're not, says Belle. Have you forgotten you're Spanish?
Yes... no, says Terence. And I'm going to ask him to take me back to Barcelona to rescue his sister.
Belle laughs.
Like this is going to happen.
The race is heating up, by the way.
Up to Montmartre. Once. Twice. Three times.
Last chance you guys!
Who's in front now?
Matthieu Van der Poel, Jasper Philipsen, Mads Pedersen.......
Van der Poel accelerates with 600 metres to go.
Whah! He wins it.
Look at him now, breathing heavily.
He looks utterly knackered.
But no doubt he thinks it worthwhile.
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