He’d danced up the mountain, yellow jersey shining. The French called it “souplesse” a hard to define smoothness in his pedaling. As he celebrated she took the unit from his bike. In a caravan behind the podium she connected it to her systems and requested access. Her credentials were checked and she began the conversation. There were the usual records of the race: power data, biometrics, coaching conversations that had rung in the rider’s ear, details on rivals’ positions. But there was one file that was new. She asked for access. “I’m sorry,” the unit said, “I can’t do that.”