ants on the move; it was in fact our men nibbling away at the monster employing their pedals as teeth . . . It was freezing cold up at the summit, and when Georget passed, having placed his victor’s foot on the head of the monster, he passed close to us, dirty, his moustache full of snot and food that he’d eaten at the last control point and his jersey smeared with the grime from the last stream that he’d had to ford his way through, he directed at us the barbed but august comment, ‘I bet that’s surprised you!’
