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. 05

'A downhill attack? Chloe, that's crazy.'

'Bear with me Trude, there's logic in my madness.'

We were lying in bed on the morning of the final stage -- la sortie finale -- and I was explaining my strategy to Trude, who was, to say the least, sceptical.

Downhill attacks are very unusual, because it's not easy to generate the extra speed over the peloton that you need to escape. The vast majority of successful attacks occur on uphills -- especially attacks by climbers like me -- but I had thought it through.

I explained my reasoning: The stage started with a big climb to the Col de Plainpalais -- almost 1200 metres high - and the peloton would surely ride the climb conservatively. Leona, Elisa, Suzy, and their teams would be watching me like a hawk because they knew I had a fair chunk of time to make up, and would thus be likely to go on the attack early. They'd have their best domestiques primed and ready to make it difficult for me if I tried anything.

The climb was followed by a 10km descent at a 6% gradient. A little technical, but with some long straights, so very fast. No-one would expect an attack here, but I still had the high top gear on my bike, which had served me so well on the descent from the Granier. With a combination of banzai cornering and that high gear, I reckoned I could open a decent gap.

I'd then have to preserve that gap for 66km to the foot of the Col de la Madeleine -- the 20km final climb - which I saw as an opportunity to take more time.

'I think it could work, Trude.'

She looked at me and smiled. 'You're very brave, Chloe'

'Well, if I want to win, I have to try something. I'm not just going to just sit in the wheels all day like Robbie wants... Keep mum over breakfast though, I don't want anyone else to know.'

***

Stage 8. Chambéry to Col de la Madeleine.

Mountains. 112km 3500m of ascent.

As forecast, it was a slightly sullen, overcast day. There was no rain expected, but it was much cooler, with a maximum of 28 degrees, which suited me much better.

I was committed to my plan, but I said nothing to anyone about it at breakfast, even when Robbie said 'Let's go and get a podium.' Yeh, the top step, I thought.

Before I left the hotel though, Gabi took me to one side for a private word. 'I know you don't like Robbie's plan for the stage.' I gave her a penetrating look. 'You must ride your own race, Chloe. Leave Rob to me.'

I didn't answer, I just gave a nod, but It was good to know I'd have an ally in the team car when I attacked and it all kicked off.

The team gathered after sign-on, all kitted up and ready to ride, and Helen said 'Good luck, Chloe, with a little smirk. I was pretty sure Trude wouldn't have said anything to her, but she knew something was afoot. I said she was as sharp as a tack, didn't I?

I saw Suzy and Lucy, deep in conversation, and there was a definite change in Suzy's demeanour. She had that focussed, determined air about her, which I hadn't seen for a while. It was quite a contrast to Leona and Elisa, both of whom looked nervous and dour.

As we got on our bikes and moved towards the start, Suzy shot me a mean glance, but I just smiled, serenely.

It was deceptive because I wasn't feeling serene. I was anticipating a gruelling solo effort, which was going to last the best part of three hours and, as always, that was slightly scary. I noticed my leg trembling as I sat at the start with my foot on the pedal.

I was now in white as the highest-placed young rider, so I had to pose for photos on the front row, with the other jersey-wearers, Leona, Jude, and Elisa. It was the first special jersey (or skinsuit, actually) that I had worn at this Tour, but my ambition was still to swap it for yellow. I guess I'm just greedy.

The neutralised roll-out took us to the edge of town, and the climbing started straight after km 0.

Surprisingly, there were immediate attacks, mostly by climbers who fancied their chances of staying away to fight for victory on the Madeleine.

After a few abortive attempts, three riders managed to go clear: Esther Cruyff of Team Pro-Fast, Trixi ten Dam of Insta Schwalbe, and my old friend from Roubaix, Aimée du Havre of Protime Femmes. These three were all a long way behind on GC, so nobody was worried about them and the peloton simply let them go.

I continued to ride steadily, surrounded by my team, tapping out a rhythm on the modest 6.5% gradient and ticking off the kilometres to the summit, which came at 13.5km.

At the top of the pass, there was a long stretch of flat road before it started to go downhill, and even when it did, it was very gentle. The good thing was, it was straight for a long time before the first hairpins were encountered. It was perfect for my purposes.

I drifted back in the group on the flat section, and positioned myself on the left edge. I wanted to give myself space and time to accelerate, so that when I passed those at the front, I'd already be going fast, and they would have to struggle to get up to my speed. No one expected a thing.

I waited, and waited, and waited, pedalling along the seemingly endless flat. Finally, the road started to go downhill, and I waited just a little longer as the gradient picked up, then started my acceleration. I didn't use top gear yet, but chose one a couple of ratios lower, which I could accelerate quickly and would give me enough speed for the initial surprise jump.

I sprinted down the left side of the group and burst out into the open road ahead, accelerating rapidly. There was a mad scramble to chase, but I was moving up into my highest gear and still accelerating.

I approached the first hairpins at almost 60km/h, and needed nerves of steel to leave my braking until the last possible moment. The tarmac was perfect; dry, clean and smooth, and I used every morsel of lovely grip to brake, and carve through the turn, using a racing line Valentino Rossi would be proud of.

I swapped from right lean to left, for the second bend, then stood up to accelerate again. The bends were arranged in pairs; a right, then a left followed by a long straight, and this pattern was repeated, over and over again. Perfect.

The bends were in open terrain, with great visibility, so the chasing bunch would have been able to clearly see me ahead, but all they would see was that I was getting further and further away.

Strangely, there was complete silence from the team car. I expected protests at my desertion of the team plan, but there was nothing. Gabi normally handled the radio calls, and I could imagine a heated discussion was going on about what to tell me.

What would I do if they ORDERED me to sit up and wait? Ignore them? Probably.

I got down to Le Pont in the valley bottom, and started the moderate climb to the second hill of the day, the Col du Frêne. Only then did Gabi's voice appear in my earpiece with a terse message. '55 seconds, Chloe.'

I was on the virtual podium and, if my fuzzy mental calculations were right 28 seconds off the lead and only 17 behind Suzy. I just needed to hold it together and gain a little more.

I looked at my speedo and was quite pleased to see that I was holding more than 25km/h up this steady climb. Surely good enough to maintain my gap. My heart rate was good too, at under 180bpm.

Then Gabi came on the radio again; 'Elisa has crashed on the descent. She's out.... 53 seconds.'

Oh blimey. Elisa out. It took some pressure off me, but I didn't wish that on her... Concentrate Chloe, you've lost a couple of seconds. I stepped up my effort slightly, taking my heart rate back above 180.

As I approached the Col du Frêne, the road straightened out and I caught a glimpse of the breakaway trio up ahead, but then they started the descent and disappeared again. I calculated they were only about 30 or 40 seconds ahead.

The descent from the col was quite narrow, twisty and technical, with a few sets of hairpins. Not easy terrain for a big, unwieldy peloton, but perfect for me, and I launched myself down it, aiming to grab some more time.

It was a great descent -- exhilarating -- and I enjoyed it to the full. By the time we reached the valley bottom, I had almost caught the break, and I reeled them in by Chateauneuf.

I rolled up alongside them and greeted them with a jaunty, 'Bonjour.'

Aimée responded with 'Salut, Chloe,' and I joined their little band. This was good. We could work together.

Then Gabi came on the radio with news; 'Virtual yellow, Chloe. You're in virtual yellow.' Wow. I was effectively the leader on the road. It wasn't all good news though, there was more; 'Suzy, Lucy and Pam have broken from the bunch and are chasing hard.'

Oh 'eck. Even with Lucy in her possibly compromised state, that was a formidable trio. I went to the front of the group and tried to lift the pace, but it was difficult. Aimée, Trixi, and Es, hadn't much else to give, and I was left grappling with the question of whether to stay with them, sharing some draft to get a breather before the big climb, or whether to press on alone. Could I even go faster alone?

I elected to stay with them for now, but I was fretting a little because I felt wasn't going hard enough. It was at least 30km to the start of the Madeleine, and that was a long way if I was losing time.

And I was losing time. Gabi came on with bad news. 'They are gaining on you. They have taken back 10 seconds. Suzy is almost in virtual yellow. Leona is suffering.'

I had to go. My trio of companions had made a brave attempt, but they were fading now. I got my head down and broke away, solo again.

It was now 20km to the commencement of the Madeleine, and I rode it almost like a time trial. Trying not to go TOO deep, but also desperate to keep my gap.

10k to the climb. 'Gabi, what's my gap?'

'Back to under a minute now. Suzy is in the virtual lead.'

Fuck it. I was going well, but I was alone against three of the strongest riders in the peloton, working together to hunt me down.

I pinned my hopes on my climbing ability. The Madeleine (almost 20km long at over 8% average gradient) was a climb that should suit me down to the ground, but I was haunted by the memory of Suzy almost catching me on the Granier. Would she be that strong again? Would I be that weak?

I crammed energy gels in, and guzzled water, which probably cost me a little time, but it was all going to be about this final climb and I wanted to be fully fuelled and fully hydrated.

I reached La Chambre and turned onto the skirts of the Madeleine. It was time for the final showdown.

As I started the climb, Suzy (with Lucy and Pam's help) had reduced my lead to 44 seconds. That meant that, on the virtual GC, she led overall by 28 seconds. Leona had fallen back to a second chasing group, and was in danger of slipping off the podium.

All I wanted was to gain back those 28 seconds to take yellow. In fact, if I won the stage, 25 seconds would do, thanks to bonuses on the finish line (10 secs for first, 6 secs for second).

I decided to ride the climb like a time trial, staying close to my threshold throughout, but even like that the climb would take over an hour, so it would not be easy to maintain that effort for so long, especially with legs that had already endured so much. I could only try.

I got my head down and tried to get into a rhythm. Sitting, turning the pedals smoothly, maintaining cadence, taking the wider line around the bends, no silly, wasteful accelerations. Just calm, measured, but HARD.

I felt OK, and I was keeping up a speed very close to 20km/h at first, which was record pace for this climb. I'd surely be gaining time. The question was, would it be enough?

Gabi confirmed I was gaining, but couldn't give me an accurate update because there was a problem with the captions on the TV coverage. She did tell me that Lucy and Pam were dropped, and Suzy was on her own.

She also told me that Soléne Duval was now also on the climb with two Team Vista Maxx team mates, the Finn Tarja Aaltonen, and Franka Stellner of Austria. 'I don't think she's a worry for you, but she's going really well.'

I just kept doing what I was doing, keeping the effort high, and maintaining cadence and rhythm. The profile of the climb was steady, mostly between 7% and 9%, with steeper ramps few and far between, making it easier to maintain a consistent effort.

The other side of the pass, which Molly and Licia would've climbed earlier, was much more irregular, but they had probably had some fun with it, playfully attacking each other, and burning off tourists etc.

My mission was much more stern and serious: I had to keep grinding out these kilometres. One after another. Labouring up this unrelenting, pitiless slope, and hoping I was going fast enough.

The Madeleine is not packed with hairpins like, say, the Alpe d'Huez, but there are a few, and each one gave me a chance to look down and see where Suzy was. The hairpins are not regular, so it was difficult to use them as a gauge, but she seemed quite a long way back, and not getting any closer.

Gabi: 'Rough calculation, Chloe, just from observation. We think your lead is back to over a minute now.'

10km into the climb, and I had gained an estimated 16 or 17 seconds. It wasn't much, but I was gaining. At this rate, assuming Gabi's calculation to be correct, I could reach the finish 1.15 ahead of Suzy, and that would be enough to put me into yellow.

I ground on, reaching out with my mind for journey's end, hunched over the bars, willing my sore, aching abused legs to keep working. 'C'mon legs, just a few more kilometres.'

The kilometres were agonisingly slow, each one a small eternity in my life, but each pedal-stroke brought me nearer the col, nearer the finish, nearer the coveted yellow.

A crazy English guy ran alongside me for a few yards, shouting 'Go Chloe, go Chloe, go go go...' but I was going the best I could, and I was detecting the first signs of weakness.

Despite my best efforts. My cadence was falling, and with it my speed. As I laboured past the ski chalets of the Longchamp 1650 resort, I was down to 18km/h, and there were still 4km to go.

I knew yellow was slipping from my grasp, but I was hoping Suzy would be weakening too. What was the damn gap?

'Gabi, do you have a gap?'

'The caption on the screen says 59 seconds, but we don't believe it's right. We think you have more.'

Dammit... Dammit, dammit, dammit!

It was no longer a matter of staying near my threshold. My heart rate was falling, despite pushing my aching legs to the limit, and my breathing was rapid and shallow. Both sure signs that I was nearing exhaustion.

A gel might have helped, but I simply didn't have the spare energy or coordination to take one.

The battle for the Tour de France Femmes was being played out in these unspectacular scenes. Just two riders on a mountain road, three or four hundred metres apart, both grappling with our own personal purgatories. It didn't make very good TV, except for those who understood.

I could see the finish paraphernalia on the crest of the hill now, and the even bigger crowd. Somewhere among them, Molly and Licia were up there, waiting for me, and deep inside me, a little flame flared weakly, and spurred me on.

I had nothing left. My magic legs had left me. Those magic legs that had powered me through this whole week of crazy chasing. That had enabled me to claw back time, stage by stage, in crumbs and slices. Finally, inevitably, they had reached the end of their tether.

Yet a little spark remained, and it would sustain me. It would carry me up the final hairpins to the top, but could it carry me to yellow?

So many people were willing me on over those final metres. I rode through a tunnel of 'Go Chloe's' and 'Vite Chloe's' and even 'Vamos Chloe's' until I reached the final section where the crowd were behind barriers, and there, it was a cacophony of hands banging, banging, banging, as if sheer noise could power me.

I crossed the line with no celebration at all, and wobbled to a stop. As usual, Debbie and Adam were instantly there to support me, but there were two other pairs of arms to hold me and prevent my total collapse. Molly and Licia.

Organisers try to keep tight control over who can access the finish area, inside the barriers, but Molly has connections...I was so glad they were there.

I had won the stage, but had I won the Tour?

With time bonuses taken into account, I needed to be 1.08 or more in front of Suzy, and I got off the bike and turned to watch the clock anxiously as we waited for her to arrive.

She came into view, standing on the pedals and wrestling with the bike in her short, compact style. Fighting the final slope. She looked stronger than me, and our eyes flicked from the clock to her and back again - clock -- Suzy... clock -- Suzy -- as she laboured to the finish.

She crossed the line one minute and three seconds after me. Aaagghhh! I'd missed out by five lousy seconds. I'd rather it had been five minutes. It was the second grand tour victory I'd missed by the scantest of margins.

Molly and Licia threw their arms around me. I'm sure they expected tears, but there were none. I was too stupefied. After all the tribulations, all the scheming, all the audacious attacks, and all the bone-numbing effort, to miss it by 1 -- 2 -- 3 -- 4 -- 5... Well, it couldn't be real, could it?

Journalists were clamouring for interviews but I point-blank refused. I tried to walk away but they blocked my path, until Molly, Licia, Debbie and Adam got between and shepherded me away. 'She said no, guys...' said Molly, firmly '...wait until later.

They tried to guide me towards the refuge of a nearby building, but I wanted to go and congratulate Suzy. It was the right thing to do.

So, my little band of minders and I went and fought our way through the crowd that surrounded her, and there she was, sat on the ground, leaning back against the barriers and sobbing her eyes out.

I dropped to my knees astride her legs, and we embraced, our helmets clashing together, and now my tears started, uncontrollably.

In those few moments a thousand photos were taken. It became the image of the Tour de France Femmes, and it appeared on the front page of l'Equipe, and even Le Monde, where the headline was "L'ESPRIT SPORTIF" (the spirit of sportsmanship).

I didn't begrudge Suzy the win. Not at all. She had made three previous attempts on Le Tour, and never made the podium, and this season had started badly for her, but now it had all come together, and the way she had ridden this Tour, she deserved it. Well, we both did, actually, but we couldn't both win. I would just have to wait another year for yellow.

This had been a torrid and tumultuous Tour; Lucy and I both compromised by "women's issues," Elisa taken to hospital with a dangerous fractured sternum, Leona suffering in the closing days and losing yellow and even her place on the podium, and Suzy coming good at just the right time to take the victory despite my epic fightback from the GC wilderness.

I didn't see Leona finish until I watched the coverage later, and it was strange to see her cross the line, wearing the coveted yellow, but head down and defeated.