the exhibition

this summer. during le tour. some of my work was on display some where in europe. it looked approximately like this.

the team + 1

this team + 1 of artists, hustlers, writers, beggars, photographers and thiefs. this team. well they are honorary consulaires of a city in flanders. and they are making a book about it. about being there and not being there. under the cobblestones and in the mountains.

assistance médicale*

he is the most well dressed man in the race.
he always drives a cabriolet.
grooming and curlers.

arenberg heart attack

hard through arenberg

'like in arenberg?' i tried again, like he couldnt even hear me.

legs inside liège

people outside liège

sign outside liège

dogs in ljubjana

'dont be a fool' he mumbled when he went up a steep climb outside liège.

after the race, in ans - the belgian version of belfast - he called his best friend in ljubjana. he wanted to hear if the dogs were doing well.

yellow shoes in paris

'since when?' he asked me when i - in need of something to say - told him, that it was against regulations to wear the colour of the maillot jaune into paris. again i really didnt know what to say.

mujeres de la vuelta

they hang around in small groups around the finish line. always in groups.

they all look like they are there for a reason.

'to make the race look better' she told me, like she was instructed to.

mas de la fuente

'i know' his sidekick answered de la fuentes complaint about the flash from photographers blinding his eyes in the final.

fuente

ive been fascinated by his name all the way. the fascination starts decades ago, when fuente was the name of a great grimpeur. the sound of his name klings to this rider. to me at least. this day - in 38 degrees celsius i spain. he didnt do as well as he wanted to do. the same scenario was often evolving around josé manuel fuente.

soigneurs waiting

in the distance, my collegue the fabulous monsieur okbobo is taking photos. of me i guess.

infernal galibier

bros annecy

it was with a certain amount of melancholia i rushed back into le tour. i had a car accident in italy, and got stuck there with a broken car and a few bruises. i stayed in a pensione in aosta with my friend johannes. he is a strip club dj and the owner of a wonderful personality.

when i made it back to the race, the riders were preparing themselves for a race on their own. contre le montre.

'j'adore'

'i dont know' i said, when she asked me where the russians where.

i followed her around for 30 minutes to see what she was up to.

velodrome sarajevo

on my trip through europe i stayed for 2 weeks in my apartment in sarajevo. from the living room you can see the velodrome. i've had this apartment for 3 years. the velodrome is almost undamaged by the wars. its made from concrete and steel.

saxo astana briancon

mean and cruel

treat me like a fool.

when the peloton eats up a breakaway of hard fighting young riders digging for gold, it kills me a little.

its mean and its cruel. its brutal. i love it.

velo melankolia

this is where it all began.

the classics.

cycling-at-large.

liègè. liègè. liègè.

sun in my eyes

'i had the sun in my eyes' he explained

being asked why he didnt get into the breakaway made him feel like back in school in suburban bilbao.

'toot toot toooot'

from the background, i could hear the sound of a man playing trumpet with his lips. it sounded like some sort of jazz to me.

good to see you!

'hey jakob, good to see you!' he yelled when he arrived in murcia.

i could hear the autofocus on my canon going back and forth, as if it was searching for someone or something to aim at.

on my left, the attaché de presse made sure that nobody did what they were not explicitly told to do.

hillside audience I