Written by Finz of NightmareChaos
  
  With over thousand kilometers aching in his legs he reaches the first mountain of the stage. The sun is shining bright in the sky and is not making shadows at all. Rays of light and heat are swept towards his sweating body, making his venture a daytime nightmare. Water is what he wants. He calls for his team manager and gladly accepts a new bottle. He throws away his empty one and notices the people that cheer and wave flags. Some jump towards his empty bottle and a small quarrel starts that is quickly over when one of them runs away with his prize.
  
  It is the first mountain he has to climb and there will be three more to come. He looks over his shoulder and sees his companions. They were brave enough to jump away today, or was it stupid.
  Dropping back to pick his own pace he starts the climb. “Keep your own pace.” he hears from behind. Was that for him or for someone else. It is good advice though.
  As in trance he turns his pedals around and around. It is almost hypnotic, the white lines slowly moving closer and vanishing under his bike as he climbs higher and higher in the burning sun. This is Germany Tour and this is the King stage from Munich to Kempten.
  
  The cheers are far away as he tries to keep his pace. Soon the summit is there and it will go downhill. That is what he likes best, the wind around his body, leaning in the corners and gaining speed, faster and faster. Be the bullet and let everybody behind. It is what he needs, the speed and silence

around him because the mountains are waiting again. And when the mountains are there he needs to jump. He does not know why, but every time he will go. Does he love the pain that comes with it. He can not love it, because he hears himself curse when the mountain gets steeper and steeper. Yet he always jumps away and rides ahead of everybody.
  With the fans cheering him and his friends, pushing them forward with their screams, he tries to keep his pace. It is tougher then the first one but he still feels pretty good. Maybe good is not the correct word, but it is all that comes up. The fans turn into a blur of colour and noise as he continues his quest. It is a quest now, it is no longer a stage or part of an event. It has become his quest.
  
  Looking at his companions he sees they too have it difficult, sweat pouring down their faces and eyes that look forward but, see nothing. They are of no use anymore and should be abandoned quickly, shoots through his mind. He looks back to see if his team car is still following and it does. Only a kilometer to go to the summit and then the descent again, his descent. Where he can be alone and free again. And he jumps, leaving his companions behind. The crowd goes wild and everybody is cheering for him but it does not enter into his world. He is alone now.
  
  Everything is going as planned. His legs are not hurting as much as before and even the sun is not bothering him much. With a nice descent he rides towards the mountain number three. He sees him, standing right in front of him, looking down on him. The white

top showing how long he has been standing there, waiting for him. And the rider looks back, knowing he will be victorious today. This mountain will not be the better of him and with a grim smile he attacks. Standing on his pedals he tries to move forward in a steady pace. But the mountain does not go down without a fight and his pace is slowing down a little. And he is no longer alone, bursts of sounds enter his head and he hears the cars and motorcycles around him. The noise is growing and it is almost like a wall of sound he has to penetrate to move forward. Suddenly he hears his manager yelling, telling about time lost and move faster. The summit is still far away and only the descent could relieve him. He grinds his teeth as he tries to keep moving forward, being pushed by complete strangers, trying to stay on his bike. This was not what he expected it to be, this was worse. Finally he reaches the summit and he has conquered the mountain, he cried victory in silence and is ready for the descent.
  
  But he is being passed by a rider who passes the summit a second earlier and then another one.
  Suddenly he noticed he was in a large group again, no longer alone. No more freedom, and they all passed him and left him, like he did not existed. Even the cheers of the fans were no longer his. He was forgotten and all he could do was ride his own pace. Trying to survive the stage and be home in time.
  
  In the distance he sees the fourth mountain waiting but, he knew he was already beaten. And he looks back and salutes. Next time, I will win next time.