Stage Six, 5:15 pm, December 2007

Solberg later described the conditions to me as "mud and shit." The rain pissed, the North Sea winds raged, the filthy slurry of mud grew and grew. As I wandered among them, happily tanked Welshmen thumped me on the back and uttered incomprehensible Welsh aphorisms. The rains came in earnest after dark, turning the sixth stage into a chaotic and muck-slicked mess, like Woodstock, I suppose, but without hippies giving birth.

I found a spot in a growing pond of muck and discarded umbrellas, which were useless in the sideways rain and wind, and had a good view of the cars hitting a jump and skidding up a hill. I stood in a good foot of water, away from the crowds. The water was even deeper elsewhere. The fenceline I leaned against was collapsing, and crewmen approached to fix it. One took a wrong step and disappeared under the water. When he re-emerged a moment later he yelled in a thick Welsh brogue, "Was it determination or stupidity?"