Silently, I watched the first stages of the Tour. After passing a little winded on Sainte Devote and some laces on the edges of the pool, the trailer (which is long since a TGV) has embarked on the track of his "Golden Fleece", as they say when there are letters. And what do you think happened? Attracted by the smell, an old fox Cossack Texan and his company (or Kazakh, I do not know) greedily cutting back the folds of the dress that Divine Providence has put under their nose. Between them and victory, there is what makes the glory and honor of those battles of modern times, that is to say nothing.
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