At Cycle Sport and Cycling Weekly, many thanks to Luke Evans, Keith Bingham, Phil O’Connor et al.

At Procycling, and Tour Live to William Fotheringham for increasing my understanding of the sport and keeping me constantly entertained; to Jeremy Whittle for his support and enthusiasm, for checking my facts and figures and for being such a good friend both in the salle de pressé and out; to Andy Sutcliffe, for sending me that clutch of magazines back in 1996, for letting me ferret through his address book when I was ready to start my research and for the permanent loan (!) of books, back issues, videos and other stuff – my deepest thanks to you all.

This book is dedicated to the memories of Tom Simpson (1937–1967) and Fabio Casartelli (1970–1995), both of whom lost their lives during the Tour de France. Having battled cancer, Lance Armstrong won the Tour de France in 1999 and, for me, he personifies the essence of this great sport, this spectacular race. Triumph over adversity. Man against mountain. Whatever that mountain might be.

The Lance Armstrong Foundation, PO Box 27483 Austin, Texas 75755, USA

AFTERWORD

In January 1996, after four years happily writing in a little vacuum of my own making, developing a tough skin to fend off rejection slips from publishers and ignoring friends and family pleading with me to ‘get a proper job’, the unbelievable happened. Lynne Drew (then editor at William Heinemann and my editor to this day) offered me a three book deal. I’d completed Sally, I was halfway through Chloë and Polly was all planned. Jonathan Lloyd (my agent then and now) and I went to meet Lynne and her team. They wanted to know all about the books. Well, I said, my first novel is about sex and shenanigans in North London, my second is about love and lust in the UK at large, the third is a rampant romp through England and New England. And Cat, I said, well my fourth novel is set on the Tour de France. They looked at me a little blankly. Lashings of lycra? I offered. Thighs to make you sigh? I ventured. They were sold.

I’m often asked about when it first sunk in that the unbelievable had happened and that I was being paid to write and was a Real Author. It wasn’t when I struck my deal – I felt compelled to continue working as a temp, fearful to tempt fate. It wasn’t when Sally was first published in November 1996, nor Chloë the following year. It wasn’t even when I returned to New England for Polly on my first, official, tax-deductible research trip. The thunderbolt struck me in the Spring of 1998, in Manchester. I was there to meet world champion and Olympic gold medallist Chris Boardman – and it was possible not because I was a fan, but because I was a published author embarking on a novel set around his sport. Chris is an affable, down-to-earth chap – but when I spied him waiting in the hotel foyer, I had to nip into the Ladies to pinch myself and hyperventilate. The world had started to see me as a bone fide author – and, bizarrely, many people seemed as interested to meet me as I was to meet them.