The one thing Olav liked most about Germany was sausages. German sausages were available in an unbelievable number of shapes and colours and each one tasted exciting and different. Those grumpy Germans also had a good idea about baking delicious bread rolls.

The bread roll, which Olav pulled out of the sewn-in back pocket of his jersey, had been a bit squashed during the last 20 kilometres, but the salami on it still tasted great. After he had eaten the last bite, he reached for a sports gel and forced himself to swallow the slimy liquid.

Strawberry flavour. 

Not his favourite flavour, but it was better to replenish his energy reserves in time before he collapsed in the sweltering heat of the second day of the Tour.

The second stage had started very average for Team Viking Spades. In the morning a small rain shower poured down on Dusseldorf, but their fans in rain ponchos were as euphoric as ever and raised their drinking horns whenever a purple jersey rushed past them. The peloton started moving slowly and with every kilometer they came closer to the city limits, the speed increased.

The crowd of cyclists soon resembled a long caravan and the German Bismarck Bells, with Max Mustermann's bright yellow jersey in the center, were able to get some distance very fast. Morten and Ebbe gave their best to take the first mountain classification in the Grafenberg Forest, but the Germans did not let themselves be challenged for victory on home soil.

Olav also had to give up the first intermediate sprint in Monchengladbach to Mister Mustermann. Maybe the scale was right after all and Olav had become a little bit too fat to keep up with the crème de la crème of sprinters. But whenever Olav looked at himself in the mirror after a shower and felt the firm muscle packs under his belly bacon, he thought that, after 21 stages and almost 3500 kilometres, he would be glad to have had some extra fat to convert into energy.

Lars, a rather silent fellow with dark blond curls, handed him a fresh bottle of water as he drove past and Olav exchanged it for his empty one. The supply vehicle of the Viking Spades had just approached them and brought not only fresh water, but also fresh information.

When Lars came to the front of their group and let Haakon exchange his water too, Olav could see a smile stealing into the leader's face.

Lars murmured something and then dropped back to hand back the collected empty water bottles through the open window on the passenger side of the car.

The blond giant raised his arm. "Guys, we just got the information that the German tank is planning a maneuver behind the next hill. So before this blond Dracula slips through our fingers again, we'll take up pursuit. Morten? Ebbe?"

Haakon let himself fall behind and sent the two climbers of the Viking Spades to the frontline.

Olav reached for the water bottle and took a deep swallow. He could not help but grin.

The German Dracula! A fitting name for someone who had sharp canines! 

And not just because of that. In the intermediate sprint, Max Mustermann had almost literally sucked the reserves out of him like a vampire.

He shifted up a gear and reduced the distance between his and Morten's wheels.

The bearded Dane pedaled as hard as a hungry predator, becoming even more eager to catch his prey because of the lost mountain classification. "Let's go!"

The field to the left and right of the Viking Spades became thinned out. Soon the clicking noise of the gear rims became quieter and the engine sound of the support vehicles and TV motorcycles became louder. The rotor of a helicopter rattled above them.

Haakon nodded. As he thought, most of the teams seemed to be planning a strategic overtaking manoeuvre after the short climb. That's why no one would expect them to break out before the climb was over and pull ahead as soon as the downhill run started.

Most of the teams seemed to stay behind, but not every team. A team of nine riders with white-green jerseys appeared 20 metres ahead of them.

"Oh no..." Olav lowered his head and tried to be as invisible as possible, but it was too late. As soon as Ebbe and Morten had caught up to the lead of the ShamroClovers, Punyaa turned around smiling overjoyed. "Olav! There you are! I was waiting for you the whole stage!"

Oh no, not him!

Olav felt the blood rush into his ears.

Images from yesterday popped up in his memory.

Kissed. Kissed. Punyaa had kissed him. Kissed him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Olav's pulse sped up and he took another big sip from the sports bottle to calm down his heart. Punyaa let himself fall back and approached Olav sideways. Their arms touched briefly.

Shit, shit, shit!

It hit him like a lightning stroke. Punyaa's soft brown lips, his curly long hair, untamable even under a helmet, and the funny, happy, almond-shaped eyes, which had an unusual amber colour.

Kissed. Kissed. Why had he done such a thing?

"Hi!" he pressed out and looked over to the small Thai.

Just don't lose your rhythm!

"Up until now it didn't go that well, but today is just the second day of the Tour!" He raised his thumb and tried to appear as cool as possible. He didn't want to embarrass himself at any cost. "You'll see, today I'll be the first to cross the finish line on Boulevard de la Sauvenière!"

Punyaa smiled in ecstasy. "I'm really looking forward to this!" He watched him from top to bottom. Then he rose from the saddle and began to dance. "You look a lot healthier than in sports rehab, even though you became a bit fat!"

He laughed and raised his hand briefly. "Bye bye!" Then he sped up and caught up with his team, which was still ten metres ahead of Team Viking Spades.

Olav watched him helplessly. 

Rehab... Sports rehab... Wait a minute, how did this whirlwind know in what condition he was at the rehabilitation hospital?

Morten switched positions with Ebbe and rolled his eyes. "Your face tells me you have a big black hole inside your head again, Brownie?"
Olav nodded silently.

"Well, ShamroClovers, remember?" He made a gesture as if he wanted to toast to someone in the air and then have a drink.

Ebbe laughed. "Yes, good Sheamus and his crew, they can drink like world champions! But I am surprised that Punyaa knows you so well, Olav. Did something happen at the sports rehab you haven't told us yet?"

The wind whistled cool around Olav's ears, but the heat inside of them did not not stop. "I really don't remember," he mumbled into the energy bar. Then he tore its packaging open with his teeth and stuffed it completely into his mouth.

During his time at the sports rehab, many visitors came over. Friends, family, but also sports reporters and gossip journalists, who just seemed to come to assess his pitiful condition. Maybe Punyaa really had visited him. Maybe he had dismissed it as unimportant because most of the time he was busy exploring alternative training methods to keep up his stamina and still cure his right elbow.

Olav, if that's really true, you are a superficial ass. Forgetting nice little Punyaa!

 Speaking of asses...

He glanced at the group of Team ShamroClovers secretly and tried to make out Punyaas butt as inconspicuously as possible. 

If not now, when would I have the opportunity to refresh my memory with this round sight?

A grin spread across his face. Yes, everything of Punyaa was built a bit softer and rounder. There were barely any visible muscles under the olive-brown skin and his wrist seemed to be so thin that it might fit between Olav's index finger and thumb.

But was his butt always so firm in his memory?

Olav wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Once again, Morten and Ebbe had switched positions and steadily increased the speed. Team Viking Spades became faster in approaching the top of the hill. Morten had already begun to overtake team ShamroClovers.

Punyaa must have felt Olav's gaze. Suddenly he turned around and winked at him.

Olav was hoping that the blush on his face would be mistaken for effort.

He kissed me! Kissed me! KIII-

"ZOOM ZOOM!"