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They'll Never Catch You Now
A New Novel by the Author of The
Yellow Jersey
Ralph Hurne
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| Format: |
5½ x 8½
paperback |
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Description: |
200 pages |
| ISBN: |
1-892495-56-2 |
| Price: |
US$14.95 |
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Click
here to order from
Amazon.com |
Finally, a new book by the
author of the surprise
bestselling novel The
Yellow Jersey.
Veteran professional bicycle
racer Terry Davenport rides
the Tour de France one more
time, and takes the Yellow
Jersey on the first day. See
what happens next... |
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The Tour de France as an
allegory for "real" life
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About the book
A novel about all the things that
really matter in life—set against
the backdrop of the Tour de France
and the world of professional
bicycle racing, when veteran bicycle
racer Terry Davenport carries out
his plan for his last appearance in
the Tour…
About the author
Born and raised in England, Ralph
Hurne now lives in Albany, Western
Australia, where he pursues his
hobbies of cycling, sailing, and
collecting historic firearms.
In earlier stages of his life,
he's lived in almost every corner of
the Commonwealth and beyond,
employed in all stages of the
literary environment, from librarian
to copy writer and from editor to feature writer.
Most of his writings these days
appear in specialist periodicals in
various fields.
Table of Contents
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1. No Sad Songs
2. My
Indecision is Final
3. Life in the Old Dogs
4. Don’t Cry for Me
5. Funny Old World
6. Middlemen
7. Shame About the Limp
8. Of All the Gin Joints
in All the Towns…
9. Catch a Falling Star
10. La Vie en Rose
11. Best Laid Plans
12. Vélos Mickey Mouse,
Moscow
13. The Way We Were
14. Rosehip Tea
15. They’ll Never Take Me
Alive
16. Pennies From Heaven
17. May the Gods Preserve
18. I Shall Return
19. The Hammer Comes Down
20. Today a Rooster,
Tomorrow a Feather Duster
21. You Dropped the Tour
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From the contents |
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Nearby was a big supermarket with a sign in one of the
windows for someone to collect trolleys from the car
park. I thought a week of that would be better than
sitting around.
I was ushered into the office of the
staff manager, a reed of a woman with the essentials
seemingly misplaced a bit North-north-east.
“Well, now,” she began when I was
seated. “you say you’ve been a professional cyclist.”
I looked at the Frankenstein footwear
visible under the desk.
“And you got paid for this?’
“Sure,” I told her, wondering what this
had to do with retrieving trolleys. “Advertisers put a
lot of money into it.”
“So you—what?—rode a bike advertising
something?”
The climbs around San Remo suddenly
looked quite smooth…
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