‘But it was you,’ Didier responded, ‘three years ago – it was you who took the Giro, the Tour and all those other triumphs.’

‘No,’ Vasily said stonily, ‘it was not me. There was no victory. The triumph was not true. There was no sense of achievement. It was all bullshit. I cheated – I cheated everyone.’ Though the Megapac vehicles were close by, Didier automatically stopped, unclipped a foot and rested his bike and stared at Vasily transfixed, imploring him to continue. ‘More than being ashamed for cheating my fellow riders and the race commissaires is the disgust I feel for having cheated myself. How pathetic!’ Vasily had spat, shaking his head at himself in abhorrence. ‘I regret it deeply. What did I achieve? Where’s the pleasure? I recall that period with shame and no pride. I will not recount it to my grandchildren.’

Didier was looking hard at the ground. ‘LeDucq,’ Vasily said, taking his hand to the back of Didier’s neck to embrace the rider, ‘Didier.’ Didier had raised his eyes to meet Vasily’s. ‘Now I can sleep at night – without valium – knowing that my victories are genuine, my losses fair. I ride à l’eau. I am clean. My dignity is intact, as is my responsibility as a professional sportsman. However, my liver,’ he said with no hint of self-pity, ‘is not so good. The price I will pay will be far more expensive than the winnings I earned when I was charged on crap.’

He had then given Didier a friendly slap between the shoulder blades before riding off slowly towards the Zucca vehicles.

So here is Didier today, riding alongside his hero, mentor and saviour. Didier had asked Ben for glucose and vitamins and anything else the doctor suggested. He had asked his soigneur to work on his knees, had asked the mechanic to check the measurements on his bike. Today, he knows he is tired but the strength of his spirit and resolve is manifesting itself in a fantastic ride. Vasily is making everyone ride hard. However, the Russian’s pressure is not intended as a gauntlet to Fabian but as a challenge to Didier. Didier has accepted the challenge; he is riding on the rivet, he is suffering, but the pain is steeped in reality and he is glad of the self-knowledge it is establishing.

‘What a great Stage,’ Cat said to Alex, ‘true classic racing.’

‘Hurry and finish your piece,’ Alex remarked. ‘I want to have a shower and then go somewhere for raclette.’

‘I want Toblerone,’ Cat countered, her fingers skittering over the keyboard.

‘I’m happy to settle for the Swiss bank account,’ Josh piped up from the row in front.

‘I want Heidi,’ said Alex.

Cat recalled the concluding action of the day’s racing and grinned at the vivid memory of it and preserved it for posterity in the concluding paragraph of her report.

In the final kilometres, with the other four riders lagging behind, Jawlensky surged ahead with Ducasse and LeDucq sticking resolutely to his wheel. The pace was fast, the bike handling consummate and the road dancing breathtaking. The three riders exercised enormous skill and focus to match, counteract and produce strategic manoeuvres. The Stage was won in 4 hours 52 minutes and 26 seconds. Fabian crossed the line just ahead of Didier. The yellow jersey placed third. No change to the overall classification. Sassetta came four points closer to claiming the green jersey. Pick of the peloton today was undoubtedly Didier LeDucq, a normally quiet, unassuming rider who today displayed a beautiful and complementary mix of superb riding and utter passion for his sport.