What is fatigue? It’s mental, it’s physical, it’s emotional, it’s stress. So when you think of the Tour de France, you think of being exhausted from the sheer number of kilometers or from climbing massive mountains, but what sets the Tour apart from other races is the stress. And most of that stress comes on the road in the first week while you’re focusing on staying at the front, out of harm’s way and dodging hundreds of thousands of fans with cameras, all while not being able to hear the radio more or less from start to finish. And there is never a break from the crowds.

Take Thursday for example, the sixth stage after five already stressful days. We started with a beautiful parade through Girona, my adopted hometown, with easily a half-million people lining the streets, then raced full gas toward the coast road, one of the most difficult and beautiful roads in the world. Inside the peloton you could tell the guys who live in Girona (most of our team), as we all knew what to expect. There is not a meter that is straight or flat for a 15-mile stretch. And after that stretch was over, it started to rain. The roads got wider but became treacherous on 23-millimeter tires (less than an inch): it felt as if we were riding on ice.

At this point everyone has the same ambitions and goals: stay upright and at the front, but the road is wide enough for only so many people. Fighting ensues, tension is raised and crashes occur. They are inevitable. I fell victim to one of the crashes today. I went over a guardrail at the bottom of the last climb, where I knew that I needed to be at the front. It happened in the blink of an eye, and before I knew it I was back up and found myself off the back chasing to get back on the peloton, taking risks yet again to get into a good position for the dangerous descent back into Barcelona.

The rain continued and so did the crashes, all the way to the finish line. Every second that you relaxed you lost 20 places, so I and the others had to keep fighting for the front to stay ahead of the crashes. I heard the sound of metal scraping on pavement many times behind me, but I never turned to look.

Only when I got on the bus and spoke to my teammates did I realize that I wasn’t the only one who was terrified and stressed all day. Except for young Martijn Maaskant, who was cool as a cucumber and actually enjoyed the day.

And speaking of embracing the day, Dave Millar rode the final 30 kilometers, or nearly 19 miles, by himself, racing through the wet streets of Barcelona to the cheers of millions of fans around the world. He had more than a one-minute advantage with 10 kilometers, or a little more than six miles, to go. It was a spectacular ride but he was caught in the final kilometer. His dreams of winning the sixth stage, possibly the most beautiful stage in the Tour this year, were washed away with the rain as the peloton caught and passed him with a kilometer to go. It’s a memory he will never forget, and tomorrow, as he suffers the consequences of today’s escape, he won’t regret it for a second.

C’est the Tour. C’est la vie.