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The descent began.
The breakaway was already a smear of mud two minutes ahead. The peloton bottlenecked at the top. Vandevelde, arrogant, clicked up a gear. "It's just a farm track," he sneered to his directeur sportif. Tour de France 2024-Repack
Midway down, the course funneled into a chute: a narrow tunnel of trees with a 15% gradient. Vandevelde, panicking, grabbed a fistful of brake. The front wheel locked. He went down hard, sliding on his hip, his yellow jersey turning brown. The descent began
Behind them, chaos. A crash took out half the GC contenders—carbon frames snapping like wishbones, derailleurs clogging with vines and topsoil. The sound was a symphony of cursing and the thwack-thwack-thwack of mud slapping against down tubes. Vandevelde, arrogant, clicked up a gear
Navarro said nothing. He just pulled on a pair of old-school, fingerless leather gloves—the kind that predated disc brakes.
To the casual fan, "Repack" was a forgotten word, a relic of 1970s California mountain biking. But to the old-timers in the team cars, it sent a chill down the spine. It meant the only way to stop your bike at the bottom of the muddy descent was to strip the hubs and repack the bearings with grease. Brakes were a suggestion. Mud was the law.
The bottom of the Repack was a lake of standing water. Riders were wading out, pushing dead bikes. Navarro hit the pool at speed. The water sprayed up in a rooster tail. His chain skipped. His bottom bracket ground with the sound of sand in a blender.