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That was the race of second places. After the time trial—it was too long to be called a prologue, they decided—there was a flat stage across the reclaimed lands that give the Netherlands its name, finishing on an island. I knew there would be crosswinds, and, bizarrely, the predictions about helping Alberto came true, as we were both alert enough to make sure we were in the front split. It was a good day for the team, who smashed it hard on the front in lashing rain and gale-force winds, and also for Sky, and we drove it between us for Alberto and Froome. By the finish, Quintana and Nibali had lost a minute, and I felt free to contest the sprint. It was a tight one, going to a photo, but Andre Greipel’s tire touched the line before mine, and I had my first second place.

After guiding Alberto over the pavé as promised with plenty of effort but no real incident, I finished second in the sprint again, this time to John Degenkolb, who was having an incredible season, winning both Milan–San Remo and then Paris–Roubaix on these same cobbles. Unfortunately for both of us, we were only sprinting for second place on the stage, as Tony Martin had clipped off the front of the hard-core group that remained in contention with a few kilometers to go, and we just couldn’t catch him. He took the stage and the yellow jersey with it. Another near miss for me, but I wasn’t worried. The chances would come.