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‘I’m not a climber, dammit,’ I shouted, as a kind of indictment of the Creator. No one heard.

At the top, the lads stood waiting until I arrived. They looked at me pityingly. Couldn’t climb, poor fucker.

‘I thought so,’ said Kees Nales. ‘Too heavy and no climbing muscles.’

A little further on they went up the Eltenberg. It was a bit steeper and longer than the Peeske. They didn’t even wait for me at the top. I decided to cycle alone from then on. I tried to get André onto his father’s old bike, but failed.

Cycling is a sport of the imagination. On my own, I was the talented one, and my unshaven legs didn’t matter. Others rode me and my fantasy to pieces.

I celebrated my 45th birthday alone, since I was divorced a few months earlier. One day, after everything was settled, I bought a Pinarello Angliru, blue with red and grey highlights. As a consolation, I told myself, but actually it was more of a reward.

Then Ventoux came back into my head.

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III

The first time we heard Joost say anything, immediately after he had entered our classroom, he made us laugh. It was because of his accent. It was 1969, October or November, I suspect, as we were making dolls of chestnuts and matches.