And if I only could, I’d make a deal with God

I present the following exchange as cast-iron evidence that the bike boom has approached hitherto unforeseen levels of cross-cultural and pan-generational contamination. wp-1468692963875.png

My Mother has taken up a new role, that of armchair commentator and cycling expert. She was keen to see whether Porte had the legs or not. She also informed me of the rules affecting different stages. Fortunately, I was watching at the time of the first spoiler. You’ll also notice that I called it correctly.

Froome did himself proud. Running uphill in cleats is hard work. The last time I did any running in cleats I resembled the proverbial quadruped on frozen water.

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Froome seemed much more balanced. In fact, he seemed more balanced off the bike than he is on it.


The internet went a bit batshit crazy in the aftermath of this stage. However, misplaced ire from modish, bike boom zealots aside, it’s a fantastic representation of everything the Tour is about; a hallucinatory spectacle and an intense and unpredictable narrative.



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