Tim's eyes are locked to the horizon on a wet windy undulating Belgian A road that seems to have no end. His heart beats without pause; metronomic.  He tows the peloton for hours at a time, setting the rhythm that defines the race. Courageous and obedient he pushes on or eases off at the behest of the voice in his ear. His legs keep turning that huge gear for the benefit of others. Kerchunk Kerchunk Kerchunk. Hour after hour.

He’s the consummate professional. His job is to be the engine that drives the race. To bring order to the chaos. He hugs the bars, tucked  as low and aero as his big frame allows, riding close to the gutter. His indifference at what’s happening behind him Is a testament to his incredible power. Who will dare to escape his rhythm? Who can escape?

The golden day he will be set free to hunt for victory will never come. Tim has long since let go the dream of winning. But it is not important. He is more than a slim Palmares. He will be remembered in awe and whispered tones by fans and with the utmost respect by his more flamboyant teammates. His name will never grace a trophy but his work enables others to hold it aloft.

The engine will be remembered forever.