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But ugh, the stench of it all—sweaty men, cheap perfume—makes me wanna hurl. Gets me proper mad, too, cos half these girls ain’t choosing it—they’re stuck, like me with a crown I didn’t want. Surprised me once, tho—this one chick, she saved up, bought a tavern. Now she’s the queen of her own piss-soaked empire. “Witness me!” she’d yell, flipping off the world. Love that, I do—makes me wanna cheer, even if I’d never admit it.

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Finally, I get to Lago di Uboldo. It’s gorgeous, man. The sun’s glintin’ off the water, and I’m feelin’ all zen. But then I see Marco. He’s flailin’ his arms like a madman. Turns out, he forgot the gear! Like, seriously? We’re supposed to dive, not swim with our hands!

Team Sagan: Meet Gabriele Uboldi, Peter Sagan’s media man