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‘You’re sponsored by the pope,’ I said.

‘Yes, I spread the Holy Word. No abortion, no euthanasia, just love and hamburgers. Got it from Ludmilla. Little moralist.’

After a kilometre we reached the Erasmus Bridge. ‘This is my mountain stage,’ said André. ‘When I feel like it I charge up and down it ten times. On the outer section, good for power.’

‘You’re taking it seriously.’

‘I live like a monk. No drink, no nicotine, no drugs. I stand on my head for an hour a day. Yoga. Rest, purity, regularity, that’s my motto now. And lots of cycling, to keep the head clear. Looking back, I think it’s a shame I didn’t ride out with you back then.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When you came and asked if I would come and race, don’t you remember? I was lying on the sofa with a comic. Maybe I could have built up a nice career in cycle racing. I had the genes. And I was mean enough.’

He stood up on the pedals and rode ahead of me. I looked out over the river. Nice escape, coke dealer at the front, crime journalist on his wheel. We rode through the city, until we reached the Rotte and turned north-east along the river.