The surreal thing was watching the wheels spin below him, Feeling the exertion in his legs and lungs, but still having the sweat fall straight down from his nose and impact the floor.

Winter training was a lonely beast, he thought, clicking down a cog and really stomping on the pedals.

His trainer was in the living room in the modest villa he kept on Sardinia. As he listened to the chainring teeth click into the meticulously clean chain, he looked through the plate glass onto the pale grey limestone coast and the darker grey Mediterranean.