It's July 14 and the first day of vacation in a cycling family. Your son has a race in the afternoon and they're all going to take that path. Some may find it difficult to understand what the environment is, if you are not athletes or amateurs. There is a Tour, although still far away on its way, which soon approaches the famous ports, and every race takes form of stage in the spirit of adolescence and the rest. In addition, being 14 July, the prize for those who reach the top ten will be doubled. Concho!

Then, the whole family will flee from such a strange and less uninhabited city, relying on it, regardless of the distance, the degrees, the need to seek shade, all will encourage the little boy. It will probably change the working day of the pigeon in the tower area. To clarify, every race is a measured ritual of three days. There is a eve for preparation and training of materials and crops. There's a race day. And it will be the next day, with its euphoria and disappointments, but always with a good series of stretches.
Everything is ready, with the timonel, the water drums, the saturated cocktails of avellanar sugar in the stream and stained in an islet of the refrigerator a bottle of Coca Cola (ixo), each family member in their position.

Alas! They start. Five rounds of the same circuit are observed by family members in five passes.
In the first two laps, they're all together. “A lot has happened, not?” Parents have been strategically placed, scattered in curves, hulls of spirits, always in the shade.

In the third, they come in the same way, united, shortcut as if they don't get stuck. They come from afar and the voices are heard intermittently, “Tiens bon Thibault!”, which after sounding has heard “Vas-y Clément.” The little boy is here soon, we will have to cry out to him some moods, without being there useless. “Aitzina Johane!..” Nothing else, because they've gone like the wind. Too hot: “We put water next door.”

Fourth round, turning point: one escaped, the closest dare, increase the speed, cause the fracture, freckles. Her little sister is a little bit further down the road: “It will be on the left!” Putxas, soon you have to cross the road to put it in the best place and angle, leaving aside the blanket of the bottle: “You have to be a bug.” When it passes, the mother reposes her son, the water falls and explodes to refresh the galpot: “I think I wet at least the floor of my back...”, “Mom, what hook...” Better on the next one.

The shadows of the fifth round have moved, only one branch remains protected. It is the final straight, on this occasion two glasses of water, one in each hand: always on the left, the mother. Plost He is surprised at the visit. At least the child has not lost the balance, which now turns, to the araiz podium.

Once they are finished, the adventures will be told: the way too hot, the warm water, the bad smell, the personal and peer strategies, the betrayals, “Would the professionals do better?”. It's not that likely. And it's not worth waiting for them, their caravan, their unknown audience and their flag party, which is now and here it is. This is what young people have shown, far from the view of the trainers and with all the food measures of the cyclists in their hands, a better Coca Cola. It's the best time. Especially for the tacit Coca Cola, who pays all the sacrifices. Only by that coca was the passage of everything else, for a few weeks of post-dorpe work holidays. Happy summer!