Grand Tour Season has Begun

So have a Love Unchained freebie chapter 💋

Happy Saturday! And happy Giro d’Italia to those who celebrate.

For those who don’t follow road cycling, the Giro d’Italia is the first of the three grand tours on the race calendar. The second being the Tour de France, and the third, the Vuelta a España.

The Giro is just as glorious as my favourite, the Tour, but has a pink jersey, the maglia rosa, so not only is it brilliant to watch, but it’s also cute.

Today’s stage is an individual time trial, where each rider in the peloton rides the course alone, against the clock.

And to celebrate this, I’m posting the time trial chapter from Love Unchained, the Tour de France sports romcom I’m currently querying.

(two fulls out, and a lot of form rejections, incase you were wondering. This really never gets any easier.)

Onwards, to the chapter - hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 8

Stage 5 - Changé to Laval

A lot of people find individual time trials boring, and although I love them as much as any other stage, I can understand why. For many people, the best bit of racing is the battle.

It’s madly exciting watching a sprint, and even more so when the rider you’re rooting for wins. When it’s heads down and power through the pedals so explosive that the bike tips with every push. When the lines are set and the end is so close that it’s a photo finish, and thousands of images, each only one pixel wide, are analysed to see whose wheel crossed the line first.

And the attack on a climb; something you’re looking out for because you know it’s going to happen, and you're pretty sure who’s going to do it, but you’re on tenterhooks waiting for the moment.

And then, that massive burst of energy, all those watts and that determination and drive to get in front, to break the slip stream and go. Not as fast as a sprint, but just as brilliant.

But time trials are a little different. Each rider has a set time to start, and they ride alone, contre la montre, in reverse order of their race positions. Meaning today, Sem is going last, and the only thing he’s racing is the clock.

Today I’m keeping things simple with photos of everyone’s race and some clips behind the scenes. None of the Udemy-Swift riders are up until the afternoon so I have time to record Chris, one of our mechanics, do a full cassette change, and Sean Lamont and Rafael Martin giving soundbites to press, and to grab some cute shots of Bas with his wife, Nina, and their toddler, perched on his forearm. The scene is achingly familiar and seeing them makes me want to call home.

‘It’s hard to get family photos,’ Nina says, looking down at their daughter, after Bas has disappeared back inside the bus, and I know, acutely, how she feels. Even though Mum and I came to Dad’s tours, we didn’t get to stay with him. We had our own hotel rooms, and he was busy warming up or down, or racing, or doing press, or being massaged, or having drug tests, or… the list of reasons why he couldn’t always felt endless.

‘Let me airdrop these to you,’ I say. ‘Then they’re yours.’

‘Don’t you want them for your Instagram account?’ she asks, but I shake my head.

‘If you post it, I’ll re-share, if not, then no big deal.’

We hold our phones close as the pictures transfer and she scrolls through them.

‘Are you busy now?’ she asks, and it feels sort of tentative.

‘I mean… I have to get clips of the guys as they come down the start gate, but Ryan’s first and he’s not for another hour yet. Do you want to grab a coffee? Maybe this one can help me get some more photos.’ I look down at Bas and Nina’s child. ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know her name.’

‘Fleur,’ Nina smiles. ‘A coffee would be great, but only if you have time.’

‘I definitely have time,’ I say. ‘I’ll grab a couple from the bus though. It’ll be better than what’s at the village.’

‘We’ll wait here,’ Nina says, strapping Fleur back into her pram. ‘If she sees–’ she nods towards Bas on the bus, ‘–she’ll cause a fuss.’

‘Got it,’ I say.

Nina and I walk with our drinks along the line of team buses, past riders warming up in their skin suits and aero helmets, and mechanics working on bikes, and spectators ambling around with cameras and intrigue. It starts to spit with rain and she fixes a plastic cover to the pram and we both put our hoods up.

‘I wanted to thank you again for the photo,’ she says. ‘I really appreciated it.’

‘Ah, you’re very welcome,’ I say, wafting my hand about. ‘Fleur will really love them when she’s older.’

‘Do you have many of you and your dad? I don’t want her to feel like she’s missing out.’

Christ, even the WAGs know! Probably best to assume knowledge of my parentage is common.

‘Erm. A few, but not as many as I’d like, but then people weren’t walking around with smart phones when Dad was racing so pictures weren’t so abundant. Obviously lots of copies of photos from his wins, but fewer candid ones or snaps. It would be nice to have some that capture the atmosphere of this, you know?’

I gesture up and down the road, at everyone milling round. A Caixabank-Telefonica rider glides past on his way to the start gate. The team cars inch along. ‘I’m sure she won’t feel like she’s missing out though. She’ll be super proud of him.’

‘Have you worked for the team for a long time?’ Nina asks.

‘A little over a year,’ I say. ‘Joined at the beginning of last season. Certainly wasn’t expecting to be let loose here, untethered.’

‘Well, we especially loved the video on day one, didn’t we, Fleur?’

She peeks over the pram and little Fleur Jansen gurns up at us.

‘I’m glad,’ I laugh. ‘Wasn’t sure how it was going to be received, you know. And Sem wasn’t into it.’

‘Bas said,’ Nina admits, thoughtfully. ‘But Sem’s...’ She trails off.

‘Very focused and competitive, I know,’ I say. ‘Everyone tells me this.’

‘He’s just completely in his head about winning,’ she says. ‘Okay, you know his giant headphones?’

I think back to our first encounter, when he was wearing them, and he’d stepped back and bashed into me. ‘Yeah?’

‘Affirmations.’

‘Really?’ I laugh. ‘How do you know that? I assumed it was something really angry… screamo or death metal or something. No idea why.’

Nina joins in with the laughter.

‘Yeah, really. We don’t live far from him, so we see him socially sometimes.’

‘Amazing,’ I say, and I think that’s a good little nugget of information to have and wonder who else knows. Lisette, mainly.

‘The rivalry is going to be fierce today,’ she says. ‘If Kévin gets in that hot seat… Sem will go full gas. Tunnel vision, like a bullet.’

She makes a zoom sound and cuts through the air with her hand. ‘Shame about this rain, though. It’ll slow everyone down.’

‘He was so pissed at Matej Plečnik in the final sprint yesterday,’ I say.

‘Of course,’ Nina shrugs. ‘That was a real dick move.’

‘He told me he’s a little prick,’ I admit. ‘Oh, shit, sorry! Argh. Fleur! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to swear in front of your child.’

But she laughs it off with a wave of her hand.

‘Oh yeah?’ she says. ‘You spoke to Sem about it then?’

‘A little,’ I say. ‘When I posted the giveaway.’

‘He seemed to be into the cap photo,’ she muses. ‘Did you speak to him about that, as well?’

She’s looking at me now, eyes glinting a little, and the question feels pointed, and I can feel the beginnings of a blush start to bloom up the back of my neck.

‘I did, yeah,’ I say, staring ahead. ‘Just asked for it. No big deal.’

I don’t tell her how I was both scared to ask and thrilled when he agreed. I don’t mention that he found me on Instagram after I’d posted it and when he slid into my DMs, every single cell in my body felt like it was ablaze. I certainly don’t let on that the way he always calls me Raleigh Faber and not just Raleigh makes me feel warm in places that should remain completely indifferent.

‘It was cute. We don’t see that side of him often during a race.’

‘Ah, well… I don’t know him well enough to know one way or another,’ I say, and I take another gulp of coffee, mainly just for the pause.

‘All I’m saying is… I’ve never seen Zoe get jokey little photos of him posing in a cap, you know?’

I did know, but I’m unsure if that’s because she never asked, or if she was refused, so gave up, or because I’m just way more fun than she is. In any case, Nina’s clearly noticed my furnace face because she changes the subject. ‘Who are you sharing a room with?’

‘Lisette,’ I say. ‘From hospitality.’

‘Ahh,’ Nina says. We walk a few steps further. ‘And you knew her before? You get on?’

‘I didn’t know her before…’ I say, wondering if I should read anything into the question, and deciding not to. ‘But she’s been very welcoming.’

‘She and Zoe are thick as thieves,’ Nina says, and I find that interesting because Lisette hasn’t really even mentioned Zoe much since I arrived, other than to ask about the content plan, and why wouldn’t you talk about someone you were work besties with? We’re back at our bus now, and Fleur is getting restless, so Nina and I say goodbye. ‘Catch you later,’ she says. ‘Maybe at the starting gate?’

I get what I need over the course of the afternoon: video clips of warm ups, some candid footage and cheeky vox pops. I throw up a post on Instagram asking followers to guess what the riders’ times will be today, and the estimates come rolling in.

One by one, the bikes are checked over and cleared to race and one by one, the boys rocket down the ramp and up the road. Ryan goes first, then Sean, then Nico. A little later is sweet Rafael, who bounded onto the bus earlier and announced his cousins were in the crowd, and then Joshua, and Bas cheered on by Nina and Fleur, until it’s only Sem left.

And when he sits on the turbo trainer with those giant cans on his ears, all I can think about is that he wants this so badly that he listens to affirmations that help him to get there. He asks a soigneur for something, and as he scurries off to fetch it, Rufus offers me a ride in the team car, and only a fool would refuse, so I’m not there when his bike is checked or to wish him luck as he makes his way up to the gate, or even as he gives one of his bottles to a little boy watching at the sidelines. Instead, I am strapped in the back as they attach Sem’s name to the front of the car, and I watch him zoom down the ramp, like over a hundred and seventy other riders have done before him today, and charge up the road out of Changé.

The TV motorbike immediately follows, with a cameraman with his kit perched on his shoulder, and then we’re signalled to go. Rufus is in the passenger seat, James is driving. And I’m next to Leon, a mechanic, my eyes bouncing between the screen in the centre console, and Sem, in front of us. And he’s mesmerising to watch from behind. So smooth; almost swaying as he rides.

We’re soon in the countryside and as Sem bears left around a corner, James grabs hold of the race radio and starts talking into it as he drives.

‘Speed it up now, Sem,’ he’s saying. ‘Move the legs. We’re not rolling, we’re pushing.’

Meanwhile, Rufus is scrutinising race times on a tablet.

‘Three seconds behind Letexier,’ he murmurs, and James repeats it for Sem, and as I watch out of the windscreen I’m sure he speeds up. He’ll hate knowing he’s behind. We head straight on for a while longer, with James yelling encouragement directly into Sem’s ears, before turning left again, nipping around a tight corner straight after.

‘Four seconds behind,’ Rufus says, and I can’t help but worry. This is tense. If Sem loses this stage, the chances are he’ll lose the yellow jersey as well because the race is that close. We’re hugging the edge of a village now and Rufus points out we’ve done seven kilometres. In front of us, Sem speeds up again. We cross a river and James tells him to keep it up over and over down the radio.

Rufus confirms the time gap is back down to three seconds, and Sem gets his head down, quickly managing to bring it down to two. We follow him into another village and there’s a sharp right turn coming up.

‘Easy, Sem, easy,’ James commands. ‘It’s still wet on the road. Take this one carefully.’

But Sem doesn’t take it carefully enough and he skids hard on the turn, water droplets spraying out behind him.

‘Fuck!’ Rufus howls, and my hand whips up to my mouth. I press myself into the back seat, and next to me, Leon tenses, ready to jump out if Sem needs assistance. The time that follows seems to stretch out. The bike wobbles, the back wheel skidding hard to the left, jerking him off course. He struggles to maintain balance, but ultimately rights himself and propels forward again. We all collectively breathe.

But that wobble has put him back to four seconds behind Kévin, and as soon as we hit a straight stretch on the way out of the village and are heading towards Laval, Sem’s off again.

‘Full gas,’ Rufus hypes, and Sem pedals harder. ‘Three seconds behind… two seconds… one second.’

We’re getting close to the end of the stage now. Suddenly there’s only five kilometres left to go, and Sem and Kévin are neck and neck.

‘Come on, Sem,’ James urges. He’s steering single-handedly and holding the radio to his mouth, leaning forward as he drives, his yellow lanyard swinging side to side. ‘Right turn coming up, be careful, take it easy… okay there’s a left turn further up ahead and then we’re crossing the river again.’

I think back to everyone on the bus listening to this. To the rest of the team who’ll be sitting together. To Mike who’s probably prepping food and Inger and the other mechanics and swannies who will be on tenterhooks. And to Kévin Letexier, riding just a little further up the road, and I wonder if he’ll know they have exactly the same time. As it stands, if it stays this way, Sem will keep the yellow jersey, but this is far from over.

The route takes us parallel to the river, past a park with a playground, under a railway viaduct and quickly onto a smaller side street. We zigzag quickly, through roads lined with spectators, and Sem is getting faster and faster. Rufus keeps calling out the time gap and the excitement in the car is mounting. He’s now a second faster than Kévin. Two seconds faster than Kévin. Three seconds faster than Kévin, and James is yelling words like power and speed and push and urging him to give it just a little bit more for just a little bit further.

And suddenly, there’s only one kilometre left, and that’s nothing. Twenty-seven kilometres have flown by. The stage finishes at Espace Mayenne, a modern sports and conference centre on the edge of Laval, and its white facia looms ahead. The spectators are packed tightly behind barriers and even with Rufus and James yelling into the radio, I can hear them pounding on them and screaming for Sem outside. He rounds the final corner smoothly and the end is finally in sight.

‘Faster,’ James is howling. ‘You’re five seconds ahead, five and a half. Six.’

And Sem raises his arms over his head as he flies over the finish line at over 50 km/h, now eight whole seconds faster than Kévin, with the fastest time of the entire peloton. We’re all screaming, Rufus and James and Leon and me. James parks up and plants a hefty kiss on the side of Rufus’ head and Leon hugs me tightly round the neck.

‘You fucking legend,’ Rufus screeches into the radio.

Outside, Sem slows down and yanks his radio from his ear. He’s met by Inger and followed by press and a camera operator. He leans over his bike, panting heavily. Inger hands him a bottle and leads him out of the throng. I want to get out of the car and go to him, but by the time I’ve retrieved the camera from its spot on the dashboard, filming our reactions, and hopped out, he’ll be gone. So I stay with Leon instead.

In fact, I don’t see him again until the podium presentation. Nina and I decided to get a fan’s perspective and so headed into the crowd, just a little behind all the photographers. Sem stands in the middle, in a fresh yellow jersey and cap, looking tired but happy as he’s presented with another toy lion that’ll end up on the bus, and a pretty bouquet of flowers. I’m ready with the camera, holding it up high and squinting as I zoom in on him. If nothing else, it’ll be a few seconds for my best bits round up post.

‘Oh my god,’ Nina laughs. ‘Of fucking course.’

Christ. I’ll have to mute that. ‘Raleigh?’ she says.

‘Yeah?’ I ask, but I don’t look at her because my attention is held elsewhere, and we both know it. I’m too busy looking up at the podium in front of us, grinning at Sem, holding up his toy lion and flowers, and I know what she’s seen and what she’s going to say, and it’s made my heart bang in my chest, because Sem is grinning too. Not out at the crowd, and not even down the lens of the camera, held high above my head, but right at me.