Chloe's Torrid Tour

This series continues Chloe's timeline from "Riding With Dirty Girls," "Chloe Rides Again," "Chloe's Return," and "Chloe's Sweet Pink." You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but for background, you ideally need to have read the other series' first.

This is a work of fiction. A figment of the author's imagination. It is not meant to be big on realism. It's a fantasy. The culture around world-class women's cycling probably isn't a hotbed of lesbian lust, but wouldn't it be fun if it were?

All characters are fictitious, and any that are involved in sexual activities are over 18.

***

Chloe's Torrid Tour Pt. 04

It was getting hotter. The forecast said it could reach 39 degrees Celsius in Clermont, mid-afternoon, which was most definitely way too hot for me. We were heading into the mountains now though, to an altitude close to 1500m, so the second half of the stage might be a little cooler, but not much. It was definitely something to take precautions for.

***

On the morning of Stage 6, Trude and I had woken with Debbie in her palatial double bed, and we lay for long, luxurious minutes, remembering our thrillsome threesome.

We chatted, quite salaciously, about our favourite parts of the experience, complemented each other on our multifarious gorgeousnesses, and generally basked in the pleasure of our lesbian lewdness.

This conversation, alone, could easily have led to more sex, but we took a grip on our seemingly limitless libidos, got up, and got our bits and bobs together.

Trude and I returned to our room, showered (very deliberately seperately), made the beds look slept-in, and went down to breakfast.

The dominant topic of conversation around the table was the forecast temperature, and the usual mantra about drinking enough was repeated yet again. Whenever this subject came up, I couldn't help taking it personally, and thinking they were referring to me and my near-collapse on the Angliru, but maybe I was just being too self-chastising, or paranoid or something. Whatever, since the Angliru, I always made sure I didn't repeat that mistake.

I decided to go public with my plan for the stage. Well, not PUBLIC, but within the team. 'We can't know what the breakaway situation is going to be,' I began, 'but I think, with the heat, and those mountains in the second half, it's likely that there won't be one, or that they'll get swept up fairly easily on the climbs. So, I doubt there will be a big peloton chase today.'

Robbie and Gabi were nodding, so I continued. 'I'm thinking, if we can keep it all together until after the Col de Béal, I could attack on the top half of the Col de Chansert, get a gap, and then try to hold it to the finish -- or make more time, maybe...'

'Mm, ambitious, Chloe,' said Robbie, 'but I've learned never to say never where you are concerned.' He smirked. 'Would it not be better to leave it until that last climb to Valciviéres though?'

'Well, that climb is gentler, so it would be harder to escape on there, and it's only 12k from the finish, so I wouldn't be able to gain much time. Going on the Chansert would be a gamble, but it could pay off. I'd have 30km to open a gap. There's a lot of technical descending, which will suit me... ' He still looked sceptical. 'We've nothing to lose at this point.' I reminded him.

'OK. We'll try to control it until the Chansert and then see how you feel.'

We all felt the excitement of anticipation. We had a plan.

***

Stage 6. Clermont to Ambert

Mountain. 125km / 2500m of ascent.

The team cars must have been groaning under the weight of full drink bottles, as the soigneurs loaded them up. The bottles of ice water would have long since warmed up by the time we got to drink them, even those kept in an insulated cool box, but the temperature of the drink is of secondary importance. It's staying hydrated that's the important thing.

We just tried to stay in the shade as much as possible as we went through all the pre-stage formalities, but it was definitely going to be a seriously hot stage. It was a day for sitting under a tree, sucking ice cream really, but here we were, preparing to race our bikes over stoney-hearted mountains.

I always think the risk of having a bad day is much higher in these conditions, because you never quite know when the heat will strike you down, or when you might have a bad stomach, simply because eating and drinking when racing in extreme heat is notoriously difficult. I could only try to do everything right, stay hydrated, eat regularly, and hope I survived.

I was wearing my thinnest skinsuit, my least substantial underwear, my most vented helmet, my darkest glasses, a pair of gossamer-like socks, and shoes that were 50% mesh, but there's only so much you can do to stay cool when it's this hot. Apart from sitting under that tree.

The skinsuit was amazingly thin and clingy. It left little to the imagination, and did nothing to disguise my nipple bumps, which was perhaps unwise, but I noticed other girls had opted for similarly insubstantial kit, and had a similarly embarrassing problem. Never mind, we knew all that would be forgotten once we were actually racing.

The stage was virtually flat for the first 35km, with the vast majority of the 2500 metres of ascent concentrated in the last 60km. The early kilometres were tempting for a breakaway, but the second half of the stage definitely wasn't. Staying away over two big passes under a scorching sun was not something many people wanted to attempt.

We rolled out, and as soon as the flag dropped at km 0, a few desperados did make attempts to get away. None could make their escapes stick though, and as we approached the village of Courpiére at 33km, we were still a complete peloton.

The village had a narrow main street, flanked by quaint terraces of houses, and a dozen householders had set up hosepipes, jetting water into the air and creating an artificial rainstorm as we rode through. Absolutely brilliant. I was almost tempted to turn around and ride through again, though it had resulted in an almost transparent skinsuit. Oo-er.

At 37km, the first lumps in the route began to appear, with two cat 3 climbs, and then a feed zone at 55km, just before the ascent to the first big col; the cat 1 Col du Béal.

The small climbs passed easily, and I grabbed my musette from Debbie at the feed zone and started munching through my carefully-chosen energy foods.

I was still feeling OK, and the team were doing a great job of protecting me, and keeping me supplied with drinks, some of which were actually still noticeably cool.

The Col du Béal is not steep, but it goes up steadily for 10km, and some of the sprinters and weaker riders started to drop off the back as the climb began to bite. Our pace was strong and, as always, the heat was much more keenly felt as our speed came down and our effort went up. The battle of attrition had begun.

I was in a group containing Lucy, Leona, Elisa, Suzy, and all our main climbing domestiques, Trude, Jose, Marlen, Pam, Olga, Kat, Weike, Letizia etc, and this group gradually started to grow a long tail of riders who were struggling to stay with the pace.

To my great surprise, about halfway up the ascent, we lost Lucy, and then Pam and Olga, as they dropped back to help her. She didn't regain contact, and we didn't see her again until after the finish. It looked like Lucy had encountered the dreaded bad day.

Leona and Elisa looked at each other. They knew this meant one of them would probably end the day in yellow.

Although Lucy's struggles helped my cause to some extent, I hated to see it. If overall victory proved impossible for me, I wanted Lucy to win, but now it looked unlikely.

As we approached the pass, I got on the radio and asked Gabi how Lucy was doing. 'Struggling,' came the answer. 'Falling away rapidly.' D'oh.

The remaining 12 of us crossed the pass and launched into the descent, which was fast and quite technical. I stuck with Trude, Jose, and Marlen, and we just concentrated on staying in the wheels ahead. I was far from my max, and I just enjoyed the chance to cool off, slightly.

It was over in a flash, and we began the ascent of the cat 2 Col du Chancert. It was at a similar angle to the Béal (about 6%) but it had the lower category because it was shorter, at 6 kilometres.

I now just had to decide where I was going to attack. I was still feeling good, still guzzling plenty of water, and I took an energy gel as a final top up.

I thought Leona and Elisa would attack each other at some point, now that yellow was beckoning, but I was sure it would be later, perhaps on the final short climb to Valciviéres. They surely wouldn't risk it this far out.

The climb was mostly wooded, so there was quite a bit of shade, which was a godsend, and I remembered from the road book that there was a tight double hairpin a couple of kilometres from the top, where the road briefly ramped up to nearly 10%. I decided that was where I'd go.

I was sitting behind my team mates, near the back of the group, and I moved up alongside them and touched each of them on the bum as a thank you. They knew I was about to launch.

The hairpins appeared, the road ramped up, and I threw caution to the wind; 3...2...1... Lift off!

I knew the attack wouldn't be particularly anticipated at this point, so I only made it an 80% effort. I didn't think I'd need to go full gas, but I immediately had Weike and Kat in attendance, trying to shut me down on behalf of Leona and Elisa. Clearly, they were starting to see me as a threat...

Well, if Leona and Elisa wanted to neutralise my attack, they wouldn't do it with Weike and Kat. They should have done it themselves.

I stood up again and started dancing the bike up the hill. I turned the screw, more... then a little more... then a little more... until Weike dropped, quickly followed by Kat. I was away.

My heart-rate was 190bpm, when I finally got rid of them, and I immediately started to manage my effort. I sat down and concentrated on moderating the wattage slightly, while still staying clear.

I was grappling with oxygen debt, and I briefly feared the group might pull me back, but as I rounded the next hairpin, 1km from the top, I could see I had a healthy gap.

That final kilometre of uphill was a breathless struggle, fighting my way through surprisingly large crowds of spectators. Occasional shouts of 'Chloeee' kept me going, and I crested the summit with an inner 'phew' and started the descent.

I had been hoping this descent would help me gain more time on my "poursuivantes" and it proved ideal. It had a number of hairpins, but they weren't tight ones. They were the kind that you could take at speed, and I did so, optimising my lines to maintain velocity while avoiding any loose gravel, which would have brought me down to earth with a bump.

Gabi came on the radio; 'Brilliant, Chloe, you're taking time. Nearly a minute now.'

I pressed on, revelling in the exhilaration of it, swooping through bends, and flick-flacking between maximum right lean and maximum left and back again. It felt like flight. I almost whooped with sheer joy.

At the bottom of the descent was a village called Job, and I got my mind back into the job at hand; I had a couple of flat kilometres, then the final small climb, which wasn't steep or difficult, but had an altitude gain of almost 250 metres, so it wasn't to be underestimated at this point.

At Job, Gabi had told me my gap was 1.26, and it remained about the same as I started the final ascent, which commenced with a stiff little ramp at 10%. I was hoping to hold the gap to the top of this ascent, then maybe increase it again on the descent.

Alarmingly, my legs didn't feel quite right as I climbed, and I struggled to find a rhythm. My heart-rate was too high for my power output too. I was paying the price for the intensity of my attack on the Chansert.

I struggled on, breathing a little raggedly, rocking and rolling, and wandering slightly -- all bad signs. It wasn't disastrous. I was still going OK, but the chase started slowly pulling me back.

There was a time bonus at the top of the climb -- 6 seconds for first over the top -- but it was insignificant really because my gap was reduced by 12 by the time I struggled over the crest.

I still had 1.14 though, and the bonus topped that up to 1.20, and I still had the 10km descent to come, so I may yet eke out a few more seconds before the finish.

This descent wasn't like the twisty, turny, swoopy one from the Chansert though. In fact, it was fairly straight, and the angle wasn't sufficient to go fast just by gravity alone. Technical skill wasn't called for, and much pedalling was required.

I pressed on but, like the stage into Cholet, I frustratingly out-pedalled my top gear multiple times and had to stop pedalling, again and again. I could have gone significantly faster if I'd only had a higher gear.

However, it seemed that those behind were similarly limited, and I managed to hold the gap, pretty much intact, until the final, almost flat, kilometre, when I was definitely starting to wilt.

I crossed the line with a weary one-arm victory salute, and rolled to a stop, where I was immediately tended by the ever-responsive Debbie, who had a cold recovery drink in hand, and an even colder wet towel to wrap around my neck. Heaven, Debbie. You beauty.

The chasers roared in en-mass, 1.05 behind me, which meant that, with my two time bonuses (6 seconds for Valciviéres, and 10 for the win) I'd clawed back 1.21. It wasn't quite what I'd hoped for, but it would be churlish to grumble about such a gain on a horribly hot day.

I'd been 4.26 behind Lucy at the start of the day, but only 4.14 behind Leona, who was now in yellow, so I was now less than 3 minutes away, and in the top 10 on GC -- with two stages left.

Lucy had suffered a disastrous day, and had lost over 4 minutes. She fell out of the top 10 and, realistically, out of contention. During the stage, we had passed each other on the GC, with me rising to 8th, and Lucy dropping to 12th. She was now almost a minute behind me.

As soon as I left the podium, I went looking for her, and found her sitting on the kerb next to her team bus, between two team mates, with a damp towel draped over her head.

'Lucy! What happened?'

She pulled the towel back around her neck. 'Hello, Chloe. I have the ongesteld problem, like you... What do you call it? My period.'

'Oh, jeez, Luce. I'm so sorry.' She looked at me with tears in her eyes, and in that moment, just for an instant, I wished I could have given her all the time I'd gained in the previous 5 stages.

'Will you carry on?'

'Yes, I will see how tomorrow goes. Sometimes it just gets me like this.'

This thing that I call The Curse, that women have to deal with, is unpredictable. Mine had never laid me low as it did at the start of this Tour, but sometimes, as Lucy said, it just gets you like that.

It's mad to think that, in a peloton of 165 women, at any given moment a percentage of them will be suffering The Curse. It may or may not affect performance, but if you see a female rider having an inexplicably bad day, it's a fair bet that that's the reason.

I felt really bad for Lucy. At almost 36, she wouldn't get many more chances to win the Tour. In fact, with the rise of younger riders like me, this might well have been her last chance. I was close to tears when I thought about it. So unfair.

Anyway, my chief rivals were now the two Italians, Leona and Elisa. Suzy was now lying third, less than 2 minutes ahead of me but, as yet, she hadn't shown that she had the form to challenge for yellow. It was all tightening up at the top. The final two stages were going to be interesting.

I returned to our team bus, and went to see Debbie for a massage. My legs were a little heavy and achey and I knew Deb could work her magic on them. 'I've come for a massage.' I announced, and she looked at me with that fruity expression I've come to know so well. 'No, really. Just a massage. My legs are feeling a bit knacked.'

'OK, hop on the bench,' she smiled.

We were staying in Ambert overnight, and most people were already drifting away to the hotel. It would have been easy to tarry a while, and end up having more than just a massage. I'm sure Debbie would have been up for it, but I was just looking forward to getting a shower and some dinner, so I didn't instigate anything.

'I'm not surprised these legs are feeling the strain,' she said, as she expertly manipulated them. 'They've been performing above and beyond for five days straight.'

'I know. I just hope they can keep it up for two more.'

'Great legs though, Chloe.' Suddenly, she wasn't talking about their performance. Her massage technique subtly changed from professional and business-like to something more sensuous and sexual. It was hard to pinpoint the exact difference, but it was unmistakable.

'I mean, even as far as cyclists' legs go -- and I've felt a lot of cyclists' legs -- yours are special. Not too muscular, but I can feel the latent strength in them, and they are so shapely. Do you ever wear stockings?'

I chuckled slightly. 'Yes, I do.' Licia loves it when I do. She's always buying them for me.'

'Mm, bet you look great in them.'

'I've often thought the same about you, Debs.'

She was concentrating a little too much on my inner thighs, and she leaned forward. 'Let's make a deal. Next time we are at an event, let's wear stockings for each other.'

'DEAL,' I said with a grin. 'I'm looking forward to that already.'

'OK,' she suddenly became professional again. 'Unless there's anything else I can do for you, you're done.'

'Temptress,' I said, swinging my legs off the bench. We exchanged fruity smiles and I pulled the curtain back.

Only Trude and Selina remained on the bus, and Trude was looking at her phone with earphones in. She looked up when I emerged and said., 'Shall we walk up to the hotel?'

'Yeh, come on.'

'Wait for me,' said Selina.

On the way there, my phone rang. It was Licia. I told the others to carry on, and I sat on a low wall to talk to her.

'Hey babe.'

Hiya Chlo, were in Chambéry! You should see this place Molly has rented. It's not an apartment. It's a house! It's only got a bloody pool...'

'Wow... I think I'll abandon and come straight over.'

'Don't you dare. You're so close now. 2 minutes from the podium! I don't know how you do it. Every feckin day! What happened to Lucy though? I haven't seen any interviews or anything.'

'The Curse.'

'Oh, feckin 'ell, no.'

'Yeh, shame. I'm really gutted for her.'

'She seemed to be heading for the win... apart from you coming back like the avenging angel or somethin...' I chuckled. '...Yeh, a glass of red please, Mol. Sorry babe, Molly's just serving dinner.'

'Oh, don't tell me that, I'm bloody starving.'

'Yeah, coq au vin with rice and a glass of wine. Smells so good, my mouth's watering. Mmm.'

'Sod off.'

She cackled. 'We're up super early in the morning to ride up the Granier. Look out for us at the top. We'll get a chorus together.' She was referring to Molly's penchant for starting a chant and getting a crowd of people to join in. And they would join in because, well, she's Molly Koppen... ('Oui, Madame Koppen').

'OK, you go and stuff yer face. I'll see you -- or hear you -- tomorrow.'

'Ciao bella '

I walked on. To be honest, I was a little jealous. At that moment, I would have given a lot to be sat with Molly, enjoying coq au vin and rice with a glass of wine.

When I got to the hotel, I went straight to see old Don. Although the team mechanics don't dine with the riders, they were staying in the same hotel, and I wanted him to make a change to my bike.

It's funny that we call him "old Don." He's only in his early 50s, so he's not that old really. It's just that, compared to the rest of the team, he seems as ancient as the hills. He also has a really old-school view of cycling which, strangely, is quite refreshing.