Olav was hit by a wall of heat when they left the team bus. It was still early in the morning, but the German summer already showed a friendlier and brighter side than his fellow countrymen.

But still Olav started to feel nauseous. Dusseldorf, the starting stage of this year's Tour de France, smelled horrible. Like any other big city, Dusseldorf reeked of exhaust fumes and garbage, even though the traffic was closed off for the start of the Tour and even though garbage collectors almost seemed to have licked the streets clean.

Cameras started to click immediately. TV crews from all over the world had gathered in front of the barrier to get a good shot of the cycling stars. Olav tried to hide behind Haakon, but it was too late.

A blue microphone on a telescopic pole landed right in front of his nose. German television. „Wie geht es einem Olav Olsen so kurz vor seinem großen Comeback? Sind Sie schon nervös?“ (How does an Olav Olsen feel right in front of his big comeback? Are you nervous yet?)

Ah, German!

„Es ist, äh, gut.“ (It's, uh, good.) He had become a little rusty at speaking German and had some trouble to find the right words. „Düsseldorf ist eine sehr schöne Stadt. Ich, äh, freue mich, freue mich sehr heute hier sein zu dürfen!“ (Dusseldorf is a very beautiful city. I, uh, am, uh, delighted, very delighted to be here today!) 

Always tell the media what they want to hear. 

He formed a friendly face.

„Na das hört man gerne! Was sind Ihre Ziele für das heutige Zeitfahren? Werden Sie gegen Max Mustermann gewinnen? Der hat Sie ja letztes Jahr ganz schön alt aussehen lassen.“ (Now that's what I like to hear! What are your goals for the time trial today? Will you beat Max Mustermann? Last year he made you look pretty old.)

Max who?

Olav began to push around. Haakon's eyebrows twitched and he made a quick movement with his hands. It was probably meant to be a quick pedalling.

„Ja, Max Mustermann ist wirklich ein ausgezeichneter Sprinter und Rivale!“ (Yes, Max Mustermann is an excellent sprinter and such a great rival!) 

The expression on the face of the TV journalist brightened. „Also werden Sie ihn schlagen?“ (So you're gonna beat him?)

Haakon put his head to the side inconspicuously. Olav understood and immediately came up with the right answer. „Max Mustermann ist als Top-Sprinter eine Klasse für sich. Ich denke, im heutigen Zeitfahren wird der deutsche Star die Nase vorn haben. Aber wenn es morgen nach Lüttich geht, werde ich ihm schon zeigen, wo der Hammer hängt!“ (Max Mustermann is a top sprinter in a class of his own. I think the German star will be far ahead in today's time trial. But on the first flat stage to Liège tomorrow, I'll show him who has the real stones!)

Olav was surprised how well he managed to give such perfect answers every time. Self-confident show off wasn't really his thing. He just wanted to pedal, overcome his limits and stare at one or another butt.

„Max Mustermann hat selbst angekündigt, dass seinen Namen nach der diesjährigen Tour de France jedes Kind in Deutschland kennen wird. Aber ich bin mir sicher, dass auch ein Olav Olsen dieses Jahr Großes erreichen wird.“ (Max Mustermann has announced that every child in Germany will know his name after this year's Tour de France. But I am sure an Olav Olsen will also achieve great things this year.)

Olav thanked him formally.

„Liebe Zuschauer, wir können gespannt sein. Vielen Dank für das Interview. Das war Olav Olsen von den skandinavischen Viking Spades, der…“ (Dear viewers, I'm sure it's going to be an exciting race. Thank you very much for the interview. That was Olav Olsen from Scandinavian Team Viking Spades, who...)

He stopped listening to the rest of the TV journalist's talk. His hands had become sweaty. Olav nested at his zipper and nervously tugged his jersey.

Matti poked him in the side. "Looking pretty good now, our star!" When he smiled, the small gap between his front teeth became visible. Because of this gap the 19 year old light-blond Finn was already featured on the cover pages of numerous teenage magazines and received tons of fan mail from lovey-dovey girls every day.

Olav frowned and shook his head. "I don't really like time trials, so please do me a favour and break a new record for our team today, young Padawan."

"So that I will be the one to get interviewed in the future? I'm sorry, Brownie, but you'll have to keep up your pretty face for the German TV crews, I can only speak English." He chuckled.

After picking up their bikes from the team support they headed to the stage. Like every year, all teams and riders were presented to the local audience before the big start. It was even more show, even more smiles and even more waving.

Olav was looking forward to tomorrow, when it was finally time to get out of the city and straight into the adventure, out of Germany and straight into Belgium. Finally some time for patience, hard work and in the end maybe a good result in the sprint classification at the old town of Liège.

At this moment he remembered... "Who the heck is Max Mustermann?"

Morten grunted and rolled his eyes, but Haakon raised his hand calmly and pointed to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Team Bismarck Bells!" 

Nine riders wearing black-red-gold outfits pushed their bikes over a ramp onto a large stage. 

"Last year's team championship winners, with a truly outstanding performance by their time trial and sprint star, Max Mustermann!"

While a group of eight men with generic dark blond to brown hair and a arabian looking man formed a row on stage, the audience exploded into cheers.

"MAX SPEED! MAX SPEED! MAX SPEED!"

A long-haired blond man with yellow-tinted sunglasses started waving euphorically and showed his crooked canine teeth while grinning. "The star from Germany, Max Mustermann!"

I see. So that's him.

Max Mustermann.

A striking guy of maybe one metre eighty in size, but with at least 15 kilograms less on his ribs than Olav. He was built just the right way to squeeze the last hundredths out of the time trial.

And the so called Max Speed seemed to enjoy the attention. He started posing broad-legged with his bike, lowered his glasses and winked into the TV cameras with brimming self-confidence.

Yes, guys like him should be interviewed, not him, poor Cinnamon Roll Olav.