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.
"You need to repack it," Navarro said, handing it over. "Just like the old days."
He pulled the yellow jersey over his head. He didn't smile. In the Tour de France, the mountains take your breath. But the Repack takes your soul. And he had just stolen someone else's. Tour de France 2024-Repack
The rain had turned the white gravel of the Champagne region into a slick, bone-white paste. It was Stage 9 of the Tour de France 2024, and the peloton had just hit the first of three unpaved sectors. But this wasn’t just gravel. This was Repack .
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. Behind them, chaos
Navarro didn't look back. He unclipped his left foot and dragged it like a rudder, skidding around a fallen rider. His bike shuddered. The rim brakes—still using carbon rims against Swiss Stop pads—made a howling noise like a wounded animal. But they worked. They always worked if you knew how to feather them.
The maillot jaune, a young Belgian prodigy named Lars Vandevelde, looked invincible. He had dominated the Alps and cruised through the time trial. But he had never raced Repack . "You need to repack it," Navarro said, handing it over
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.