Le Tour (Edwin Strong Book 2)

WHEN THE SERVICES OF PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR AND CYCLING FAN EDWIN STRONG ARE REQUESTED AT THE TOUR DE FRANCE, IT’S LIKE A DREAM COME TRUE. ALTHOUGH MAYBE TRUE ISN’T THE RIGHT WORD. AND MAYBE DREAM ISN’T THE RIGHT WORD EITHER...

No. No. No! No-no-no-no-no! Noooooo!! My speed is absurd. A judder under my hands as I hit a spot of rougher tarmac. I compress my lips and grip the bars tighter. I pass the rough spot safely. I’m glad I bought those cycling sunglasses. A fly in my eye at this speed doesn’t bear thinking about. Now a long, sinuous, sweeping left-hand bend, the downward gradient increasing slightly. The wind rushing past is all I can hear and my speed is now faster than absurd. I’ll check out exactly how much faster on the Garmin when I get home.

In search of aerodynamic efficiency, emulating a move I’ve watched my cycling heroes make, I ease myself forwards off the saddle and down onto the crossbar. The position feels solid, my weight holding my hands firmly against the handlebars, though my knees are bent at an extremely tight angle. My speed is still increasing as I shift my position slightly on the carbon fibre tube. The padded shorts were a very good investment.

But now, trying to get back into my normal position, the shorts snag on the nose of the saddle. I try pushing harder, with no success. Trying not to panic, I slide forward and then push up again – and this time regain my seat.

Yes. Yes. Yes! Yesssss!! Though I say it myself, I’m becoming a very skilful cyclist. I reach behind to check that my shorts haven’t ripped, and it’s as I do this, holding the bars with only one hand, that I hit the pothole.