King of the Mountains (You sat upon your rock, Sisyphus) - Day 7 (Col d'Azet)

“He who climbs upon the highest mountains laughs at all tragedies, real or imaginary.” - Nietzsche

It is not the yellow jersey that draws Karura's greatest respect, but the polka dot colours of The King of The Mountains. For he is the one who comes into his own in the high country, pushing upwards as others fade away; reserving his strength on the plains and biding his time. The King of The Mountains is a specialist whose greatest attributes are sheer stubbornness, a refusal ever to give in to the pain, and an absolute need to reach the highest points first.

Karura knew that the Col d'Azet, on this hardest of days in the Pyrenees, would be the greatest test. With the road closed, Karura faced a long climb up the mountain to be there. He set off pushing his boulder in front, starkly aware of the absurdity. Why did he want to be there? What could he gain? In four hours time he would be at the top, sitting on his rock, anticipating a fleeting happiness. At the same time he would be four hours closer to death, still in revolt, still pulling himself from the nothingness to which he aspires.

Step after agonising step, Karura set himself to the task, heaving his boulder up the mountain, with all thought, all effort, concentrated only upon the next footfall. There was no time to think, just relentless toil until finally Karura reached the crest. Exhausted, he sat upon his rock and waited.

The mountains had taken their toll on the peloton resulting in a first small group of riders flashing by, followed by a much bigger group. There Karura saw him, The King of The Mountains, looking utterly at ease with the physical and mental demands. Serenely the polka dot jersey pressed the pedals, watching, listening for danger and ready to pounce. And then, with the last rider disappearing towards the valley, it was over. The mountain remained impassive in the face of Karura's futile search for unity and so there was nowhere left for him to go but back down. His rock creaked and started to tumble with Karura chasing behind. He knew he would be doomed forever to push his rock up mountains, but it had become Karura's rock and he was beginning fully to understand its shape and texture. Karura would carry his rock each time better than the last, and in this way he would embrace the absurd and live as a hero.

All is well. One must, in the profoundest possible sense, imagine Karura happy.