The stage was a 16 mile road race to the top of Mt. Locke, a forbidding peak suitable for little life other than nasaly astronomers. Yet Jacob would ascend it, and so, he hoped, would he ascend the GC.
Jacob: Hah! Alright, I can do this. I’m a good climber. I’m a thin guy, I’ve got the power, I’ve got the relatively low-weight, I’ve got the cajones, time to become the GC leader I was meant to be!
POOF!
Jacob: Alberto Contador? Levi Leipheimer!
Alberto: Si. Jacob, we are here to help you be a GC leader
Levi: You summoned us when you wished you were a GC leader.
Jacob: Well, I didn’t really wish-
Levi: We can leave
Jacob: No, stay. It’s comforting having you here.
Alberto: Jacob, you need to do well in the climb today, it is the only way you can be all that you were meant to become.
Jacob: Sure thing, Alberto. I’m staying towards the front, keeping an eye on everyone, and playing things conservatively.
Levi: Good work. Here comes the first climb.
Alberto: You are just behind the lead group, catch up to them.
Jacob: I, I can’t.
Levi: What’s wrong?
Jacob: It’s, it’s my heart rate, I can’t sustain my usual intensity!
Alberto: That is really a shame.
Levi: We have to go now, we’re needed elsewhere.
Jacob: Conti, Levi-Nooo!
Jacob: I wish I was a GC leader!
Alberto: Stop that.
Jacob: I need help!
Levi: Oh, fine, we’ll send someone else.
Jacob: Roman Feillu?
Roman: Oui, it is I, Roman.
Jacob: Why are you here?
Roman: Because I can only do well on the GC with crazy breakaways, which is what you’ll need.
Jacob: Gee, thanks
Roman: Don’t thank me sarcastically, thank you’re weak little legs, lungs and heart, for not being able to sustain you up this climb.
Jacob: Are you always so caustic?
Roman: I am French, non?
And so their useless bantering continued, until eventually Jacob finished, well down on the GC.
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