Olav fixed the rear wheel of his special bike for time trials and started his warm-up routine. Even though the individual time trial was only 14 kilometres in length, every fibre of his body had to be prepared perfectly. Although he was not a time trial specialist like Matti, who had already put on his special suit, which was supposed to reduce the air resistance on his body, there was no question that he, Olav the Cinnamon Roll Hero, would start from another point than the first group tomorrow.

No matter how precarious the financial situation of Team Viking Spades had become, they still had the best of the best equipment available. Instead of cutting down the equipment, they were cutting down the riders. Of the original 28 riders, only 16 were left, of whom nine took part in the Tour.

The team bus was also getting older and Alvar, the team's own physiotherapist, showed in his supporting role as bus driver that he could handle voluminous vehicles as sensitively as he could handle tense muscles.

Märtha and her father Malthe took care not only of the bicycle mechanics and electronics before, during and after a stage, but also took care of creating suitable strategic maneuvers, which in turn were implemented by Haakon in cooperation with all the riders.

This was not always the case, but after the disastrous performance of Team Viking on the Dauphiné in spring, even the sports director Giovanni threw in the towel in a rage. And Viking, a Scandinavian hardware store, was in the reds even without sponsoring a cycling team.

So the shit really hit the fan...

Why couldn't they just get sponsored by a big Swedish furniture store and build up cheap shelves and eat meatballs in nice commercials?

But Olav kept trying to convince himself that the current situation was not that bad. Team Viking Spades, as they were now, felt like a family to him. He still knew many of them from the Sports Academy where he had excercised since he was 14 years old. He saw them way more often than his relatives and it was no exaggeration to say that they knew more about him than his own parents.

Ten minutes later, when he slowly started to sweat, Olav started to feel much more confident. May Nobuhiko spit so much poison and may a Max Mustermann, the German national hero, brim with such self-confidence, he would simply not care about it. He would just do things in his own calm and serene way.

***

Finally the time had come. In the afternoon Team Viking joined the queue for the individual time trial.

Matti once again adjusted his futuristic looking helmet, checked every little off-standing ribbon, as well as the radio connection to Märtha in the support vehicle. When the countdown ran out he shot off so fast that he disappeared behind the first curve in no time.

Olav bobbed restlessly with his tiptoes and followed the collar of his racing suit with his index finger. He wore an aerodynamically shaped helmet, too, and, like Matti, would start today with a special bike: the handlebars were shaped in a special way and it had no spokes in the rear wheel, but a wind-reducing disc.

While waiting for his turn, he watched Matti's split times on one of the screens.

Tremendously loud noise was omnipresent. But Olav Olsen, the hope from Denmark, was somewhere else in his thoughts.

It had now been a year since he had taken part in such a gruelling long tournament. In spring he had timidly approached several small races, but since his accident he hadn't took part at a world tournament like the Tour de France. The expectations of the spectators and media weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Would everything go well? Would he live up to expectations this time?

He fixed his shoes in the pedals and sharpened his senses. Just a few seconds more and the Tour de France would begin for him, too. Up here, on the small starting ramp, surrounded by spectators behind barriers, by so many people who had been waiting in the sun for hours just to get a glimpse on him.

In the distance, he saw a purple banner fluttering in the wind. It had his face printed on it.

One year.

And unlike him, who had forgotten so much, the audience had not forgotten him.

GO VIKING.

GO CINNAMON ROLL.

GO OLAV.

Olav had to smile, licked his lips once more and took a deep breath. Now the countdown was over and his Tour de France began.