Ventoux (2015) - full transcript

Four old friends relive happy days gone by as they climb France's Mont Ventoux by bike like they did thirty years before, only to find themselves forced to face a ghost from their shared past.



Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday...


-Oh, no, no, no, no.
-Hip, hip, hurray.

Happy birthday, Dad.
This is for you.

That's sweet.

Oh, great. And exactly my size.

By the way, Dad.
Who is Laura?


-"Dear Bart..."
-Happy birthday.

It'd be lovely
if we could all get together again.

I have a play at the theatre festival
in Avignon end of July.

Maybe we can celebrate my birthday then.
Lots of love, Laura.

I can't believe it.

Never got in touch for 30 years.
And now...



She's very pretty.

These are my friends
from secondary school.

-Is that you?

I've known him since we were toddlers.
Dré Tankink.

Better known in the media as André T.

Got involved in a dodgy trade.

Mr Tankink?

I'm here for my father. Gerrit Tankink.

-What about that tall guy?
-That's Joost.

Joost Walvoort.

A string is a one dimensional object...

moving through a higher dimensional space.

Our professor. A proper genius.

One question before we break for coffee.
Which I urgently need.

What is the maximum number of
dimensions in superstring theory?

-Think carefully.


-And the one next to him?
-Which one?

-The nerdy one.

He's changed the least of all of us.

He still lives in Zutphen.

-We're closed.
-I'm sorry.

That's okay.

And who's he?

The quirky one.

That's Peter.

Hey, David. What if...

What if someone takes a strings
and wraps it around the earth.

Someone else does the same,
but not along the ground

but one metre above the surface.

How much longer
would that second string need to be?

-Ten thousand kilometres?
-Too much. It's only six metres.

What if we did the same,
but this time around your dick.

That's about this wide? Maybe smaller.

We tie a string around it.
Plus a second one at a metre's distance.

-How much more string would you need?
-As if I'd tie a string round my dick.

-That too would only be six metres.



Let's go help him.


-Give us a hand?

Mind your head.


Willem Segers.

And this is the Sweet Lady Jane.

My son.

Hi. Peter.

It's paint and eggs.

In Kampen they're not too keen
on boats like ours.

-So it's not a sauna?
-Yes, it is.

-Kind of.
-A sex sauna.

With whores?

We don't call them whores.
We call them "girls".

Are they pretty?

Of course.
Otherwise we'd get no customers.

-Do you get to go for free?
-I don't get to go at all.


If my dad had a garage, I'd be
all over his cars and wear them out.

Of course you would, Joost.

Who's he?

That's David.

His father runs a travel agency.

He doesn't say much,
but what he says is spot on.


You alright?

-You'll take care of my bike, won't you?

-What are you wearing?
-Looks ridiculous.


-Where did you get that?
-The bike's my dad's.

-The shirt was a present.
-You spent all your savings.

Use a low gear to go uphill. Rest your
arms on the handlebars on the descent.

Hi, guys.

As a future Nobel Prize-winning physicist
I've worked it all out.

Sorry, still getting used to
the toe clips.

-Shall we go?

Good luck, son.

We're dealing with aerodynamic drag,
slope resistance

rolling resistance and mechanical drag.

I've looked at the formulas
for all those types of drag.

If we know their values, we can
calculate down to the last decimal

how long it'd take us to climb Ventoux.

That mythical mountain.
The Giant of Provence.

Shut up, Joost.

From the village of Bédoin,
it's a 1600 metre climb.

-The distance to the summit is...
-Joost, stop it.

Nice, David. Are you okay?

"Writing poetry
is like climbing Mont Ventoux.

Where Tommy Simpson died.

In such tragic circumstances.

The world champion
pushed himself too far."


Not my words, you twit.

That was written by another poet.
Jan Kal.

I think we should all go there together.


-To Mont Ventoux.


I told you.

Our Spinoza laureates conduct excellent
and ground-breaking research

which resonates far and wide.

They represent some of world's
leading scientific minds

and have gained international renown.

It is a great honour to award
professor Joost Walvoort

this prestigious prize for his
ground-breaking work in string theory.

Professor, will you please step forward?

Thank you.

I am very grateful
to receive this award.

For a scientist,
this is a gift from heaven.

It enables me
to focus on my research

rather than on finding the means
to finance it.

Because there are doubts
as to the use of string theory.

Will future generations
remember our time

as one that brought forth

scientific pioneers? Heroes.

Or as an age of failure
and time wasted?

I believe the former.

But ask me in a hundred years
and I will be certain.

-Managed to find a seat, Tankink?

-Carry on, Joost. Sounds good.
-Thank you.

I would ask you not to all turn around
at the same time

but there in the back of the room
are my three oldest friends.

David, Bart and André.

Not the handsomest of men. My apologies.

I haven't seen them in 30 years.

David, please.

We went to kindergarten together
in the Achterhoek

where I laid the groundwork
for my future career.

I am very pleased they're here today.

By their presence here,
they have created a bridge across time.

As if it indeed does not exist.
Thank you all.

This is great.


-People, please.

-Geez, André.
-Big change.

Weird, right?

But your eyes are still exactly the same.

-You've turned grey.

No thanks, Miss. No snacks for me.

A picture of true love.


Bart. How's the old cock?

Hard as a concrete marker on Nova Zembla.

Joost, congratulations.

We go back such a long time.

Thank you. Water, please.

Nice that you mentioned us.

Two and a half million.
What will you do with it?

I'm required to put it
towards new research.

Wasn't that Winnetou's old horse?

Yep. That's right.

-Could I talk to you for a moment?

I'll be right back.

That's his bit on the side, right?

It's got to be.
You saw that miserable wife of his.

She's giving him the choice.
"It's either me, or the wife."

-You think?
-What else?

A note book? So she can
use his words against him?

Bits on the side don't write things up.

Not his fuck buddy. She's a journalist.
But her name's slipped my mind.

Guys, what a load of crap.

What's her name again?
That journalist.

-Do you know her?

Hate the lot of 'em. So polite, but
always out to screw you. Right, Bart?

-Here you go.

So nice to see you.


Her again? Just deny everything.


"Congrats. With you in spirit.

Hope to see you soon. Laura."

Oh, guys. Look.

Just look at Peter.

-A great poet, hopeless on the descent.

-We're going back.
-Oh, come on.

-Cycling? In that heat? No way.

-Come on, man.
-You're not serious.

Forget it. I'm not going.

A: I have no bike.
B: I suffer from high blood pressure.

C: My doctor says I can't exert myself.
And certainly not climb Ventoux.

-Where's your passport?
-I have high blood pressure.

Arrhythmia. I'm overweight.

So what does your doctor
want you to do with your life?

All you have been doing so far
is not exerting yourself.

That you're still here
is a medical miracle.


-Is Van Spankeren still in business?
-How am I supposed to know?

My set of knives?

Come on.

A full kit. No clip-in pedals.
Preferably black.

The black one. And shorts in XL.

Yes. Fine.

-Look here.

-An original.
-And ordinary pedals.

Two men have broken away.
Stefan Mutter and Jan Raas...

Hey, Dave. I'm subjecting you
to the punishment for sodomites.

Gerard Reve style. You like that, right?
Smack, smack.

You like that, don't you? Yes, you do.
Smack, smack.

He has Roger de Vlaminck
sitting on his wheel...

See that?

Look at Dré.

I want to be that ball.

Dave. Your turn.

Ice cream.



Peter. I'm Peter.


Class, this is Laura van Bemmel.

I see a free seat over there
where you can sit.

I'd like to begin.
I've marked last week's mock exams.

And the results were hopeless.

You alright?

Remember us?


-Bart, I knew that.

David, André and Joost.

Where are we?

Pieter, do you know how to calculate
this tangent?

Go get it.

Stop it.

Want some?

After my exams,
I'm going for trials at FC Twente.

Forget it.
We'll be climbing Ventoux.

"That I might traverse in spirit that
other road for which I long day and night

even as today I overcame material
obstacles by my bodily exertions."



He climbed that mountain in 1336.

-On a bike?
-On your Raleigh.

-Are you really going up Mont Ventoux?

We're borrowing David's dad's van.

Can I come?

-Okay. Deal.

But I have to go now,
or it's hell and damnation for me.

Shall I take you?


You can sit on the back.

Oh, sorry.

You alright?

I've been redeemed.

And I cannot break free.

She's just perfect.

My muse.

She understands my poems.

What are you wearing?

Laura's idea.

-Four A's.
-Four A's?

-How did you that?
-Yes, yes.

-Come on, man.

-Yes, yes.

Don't ever forget this, Bart.

Really, don't ever forget.

I won't forget.

-It's over, dammit.

-Who's coming in?
-Are you...

I don't want it to be over.



Come on.

Laura, come on in.

Come on.

Dive bomb.

Sure. I've got to go now.
Keep me posted.

-Who was that?
-My lawyer.

Beer. Yes.

Bart, you old sewer rat.

-Good that we're here.

Back in Bédoin. Town of dreams
and illusions. Of blood, sweat and tears.

Where once Tommy Simpson
downed a large glass of calvados

before starting
his ascent of Mont Ventoux

only to meet his fateful death.

What did your lawyer want?

Not now.

What are you doing, man?

Gentlemen, here we are.

The Beaujolais Nouveau has arrived.

We're placing things
in a musical perspective.

Is this our tape?

The one he threw out of the window
30 years ago.

Everything gone.

-Van Morrison, The Clash, TC Matic.
-The Jam.

It's always quite a drive.

As if you do Zutphen-Bédoin every week.

I thought I'd let old Gerrit join the fun.


-Hello, Mr Tankink.

Well, okay.

White wine, please.

And a water. How do you say that?
-De l'eau.

Why have you brought three bikes, Dré?

The black one's David's.
I'll be training on the Pegoretti.

And on the day itself
I'll be going up on the old Raleigh.

With Peter on the crossbar
and old Gerrit here in my bidon.

So much hassle. And what for?


He was in the hospital when his dad died.
But couldn't see him.

His dad didn't want a criminal
attending his deathbed.

So it will be
the three of you on the bike.

-Did you check the tyres?
-And the brakes.

-What are you using? A triple?
-That's for sissies.

I'm going up on the outer sprocket.

Fifty-two teeth. No bullshit.

-You're not scared of that mountain?

That thing is way too high.

Even higher than 30 years ago,
if you ask me.

Look at that.


Well done, Dave.
Our tour operator.

Wow, guys.

Nice, at least 23 degrees. Feel that.

Stop it, dammit.

-Pity riders are not allowed to swim.
-What a load of rubbish.

Bart, you're used to a simple life.
You take the couch.


Dave, I'm sure you still snore.
And jerk off.

If you sleep here, you'll bother no one.
Mind your head.

-Dré, how about that couch?
-I don't think so.

Then it's this Spartan cell.
Should take you back.

-I'll make do.
-Wait a minute.

-Let me guess.
-There it is.

Of course. The largest room,
the biggest bed.

-The loudest mouth.
-The biggest dick.

-A true rider only fucks in winter.
-Not this one.

-I swim and screw around all year.
-Is that so?


-Now look what you've done.

Can't be helped.

Stop, wait. Cut it out.

You're drilling a hole in a prize villa.
There goes my deposit.

Calm down. I'll fill it up
before we go. No one'll notice.


Right. Now we have Peter with us too.

Dré, catch.

See you later. Have fun.

-Where are you off to?
-The shops.

Come on.

Let me pass.

Alright, Dré. You go.


Shave your legs, Dave.

Shave your legs. You'll go faster.

-This is great, man.
-You're doing fine.

Oh, crap. Will we have to come back up
this way later?



I'm at 172 already.
I have to stay below 162.

-Shift to a lower gear.
-Can't go any lower.

Dear, oh dear.

-Can we stop for a bit?
-Stop talking. Bad for your breathing.

We've got to carry on now.

Steady on.

We'll take the lead.

Guys, he's stopped.

-My heartbeat. Too fast.

Stop looking at that meter.
Keep pedalling.

-You're not going to die on us, are you?
-I wouldn't mind dying here.

And give us another trauma to deal with?
Can't have that.

Should I die here

I will sign a statement
that it's nothing to do with you.

-And no small print.
-No small print.

-At your own speed, you said. Right?

I will crawl up that mountain
like a snail.

Don't leave a trail.

Looking good.

-Nice work.
-Good pace.

Come on, guys. Let's go get him.

It was here, right?

Yeah, it was here.

If I craned my neck,
I could just about see Ventoux.

So where's our girl?

Our girl is still too busy in Avignon.

You think she'll do it again?

I wouldn't be surprised.

When a women asks you and you
seem a bit too eager, she splits.

That's how it goes. Every single time.

Yeah, you would know.

Hey, dopehead. Move over.

-Come on. We're here.

Where do you think? Look.

-You alright? Take it easy.

Here, tent poles.
Bart, your tent.

If you pitch yours over here, Dave and I
will go there. Alright, Dave?

What were you doing in Arnhem?

After two hours on the field
with those fanatics I'd had it.

No talent.
That's what the trainer said.

So we went to Arnhem to see this band
in Musis Sacrum.

First time I smoked fermented
Afghani hash. Heavy stuff.

-Lost three days.
-Tankink. Action.

I want you and I will
But you don't see me

I have nothing to offer
Without a degree and without a job

I want you and I will
Come over here and hold me

Are Laura and Peter out screwing

I suppose.

Guys, I'm off to bed.

-Early training session tomorrow.

-So don't stay up too late.

-Why not?
-Because it's a dumb plan.

-Don't shush me.

-Ouch, prick.


Nice going, David.

Peter is acting weird.

He's crazy.
That's what my dad says.


Bart, my man.

Keep it up.
Or you'll never make it up Ventoux.

I'm a slow starter.

Come on.
Your mind's stronger than your legs.

Come on.

Speed it up.
I'd outpace you easily.

Speed it up.

You alright?

-It's way too hot.
-Just pop your bike in the back.

Guys, watch and learn.

-Monsieur Jean?

We'd like six cooked ham
sandwiches, please.

-With a bit of mustard, if possible.

Thank you.

-Good work, Dave.

Tomorrow we'll be climbing
Mont Ventoux.

So I thought I'd read to you
from The Rider, by Tim Krabbé.

To give you an idea of what we're doing.


"I've made my way up Ventoux
by bike seven times.

There are two routes up the mountain.
I always start out from Bédoin.

The first five km
you traverse gentle slopes

that seem to take you away
from the summit.

A pale yellow wasteland
capped by a single landmark."

-That's six sandwiches. With mustard.
-Thank you.

"A pale yellow wasteland
capped by a single landmark.

The observatory.

The wood's the worst.

Slopes of varying gradients
for over ten kilometres.

But all over ten per cent.
You can't find a steady pace.

Standing up on your pedals doesn't help,
nor does staying in your saddle.

Then, suddenly,
you're clear of the woods.

You've reached Chalet Reynard.

That's where the yellow rubble plain
begins, for six kilometres.

Before you reach the top,
you pass by the Simpson monument.

He died there in 1967, in an attempt
to win the Tour de France.

I don't choose the side of Bédoin
because of Simpson

but because the time trial
in 1958 started there as well.

My personal best would have gained me
third last position.

Please note: No. 92, Krabbé.
one hour, 21 minutes and 50 seconds."

Are you finally done?

Okay guys, let's go.

I'm not coming. Cycling is not my thing.
I'm going canoeing.

-Might be something for my dad's tours.
-I'm coming with you.

So it's just us then, Barbapapa.

I'm not coming either.
I'm taking a break.

We're just going for some exercise.
Nothing strenuous.

I'm not coming.

Alright. I am going, though.

I'll go with you.

I'm going up that mountain
with you tomorrow.

-So I need to get some practice.

You need to shift to a low gear
straightaway. It's a bit of a slope.

Hey, Bart.



-More trouble?

It's too quiet. I can't sleep.

That journalist the other day...

She's chasing me.

What does she want?

What do you think?
Journalists sniff things out. Mistakes.

If they're worth their salt.

So what does she suspect?

That I've committed fraud
and do not deserve the Spinoza Award.

Is she right? Is it true?


What is true in string theory?

Next thing it'll be in your paper

Joost, come off it. I'm your friend.

-What happened on the 6th?
-The 6th?

You know what I mean.
Six July 1982.

We cycled to the top,
Peter read his poem...

Okay, the 5th.

You went cycling, or canoeing.


Peter had gone with you.

And I was alone, with her.

And she took me into her tent.

In her red bikini.

She was so goddamn beautiful.

I was crazy about her.

We were all crazy about her.

-You just wanted...

But I loved her.

I even tried to write her poetry.

Trying to out-do Peter.

-Did Peter know?
-About my poems?

No, you twit.
About you and Laura.

Of course he knew. That's why
he wanted to come to the summit.

And down again.

He chose to fall. That bastard.

Do you realise that for 30 years
I've not dared to come back here?

For 30 years.

A no-go area.

When Hinke wanted to go on holiday
near here

I had to persuade her
to go somewhere else.

Anne wanted to be an au pair.
In Aix-en-Provence or Avignon.

I kept hoping it would fall through,
so I wouldn't have to visit.

I simply couldn't face it.
Not for 30 years.

That's sick, isn't it?

Yeah. You're a lucky bastard though.

-You did get to fuck her.


I'm off to bed.


We should manage it
in less than two hours.

-I'm sure of it.
-At least I will.

Better be careful.

Tommy Simpson downed a calvados
before climbing Ventoux.

-And he...
-I'm not Tommy Simpson.

Because I'm immortal.

-I finished my poem.
-Let's hear it.

At the top.

Here come the matadors
of this Tour de France.

Set to climb the dreaded Mont Ventoux.

It's a magnificent sight to see
these Dutch riders battle it out

on this French mountain.

We're just pulling up
beside Bart Hofman.

Can I ask you some questions? What
is going through your mind right now?

I feel good. Very good.

I would like to say hi to my uncle Henk.
It's his birthday today.

Many happy returns.

He's remained so amazingly

Best of luck.
See you at the summit.

Right, my man.

You thought you could win this?

-Come on, Peter
-Just go.


Come on, Bart.

You can do it. Come on.

This is allowed.
They do it in the Tour.



A bit closer. Perfect.

-Guys, five seconds.
-Mont Ventoux.

"Today I made the ascent
of the highest mountain in this region.

Which they call "the windy one".

Not improperly so.

All things are full of labour.

Sweat and tears.
Laughter and pain.

Love and hate.

I pledge myself to Lady Jane.

Sweet Lady Jane.

The world at my feet.

I am God here."


Peter, what are you doing?

Where are you going?
Peter, wait.


Fingers on your brakes.

Did he take my bike?




Fucking hell.


-You alright, Dave?

Thank you.

Surprisingly good rosé.

Isn't there anything more quaffable?

"The quality of the wine rarely
surpasses the beauty of the landscape."

-It's what the Larousse wine guide says.

Plus, what's wrong with
sharing some interesting facts?

For example, I discovered last night,
who, in 1982...


Who, besides Peter,
was Laura's resident dick.

This guy didn't tell us

about having slept with the prettiest girl
ever to grace Ventoux.

That's no way to treat your friends.

I told you in confidence.
But there you go.

That's all very well, but is it true?

I'll take that as a yes.

The day before our ascent.

That's why he had such good legs, even
though he kept moaning he wasn't fit.

Tell me, Bart. What about Laura?
Did she have good legs?

-Did she wrap them round your neck?
-Was she wet?

-Yes, she did wrap them round my neck.

I'm getting a bit jealous here.

-Come on, Bart.
-Tell us, how was it?

-How horny was it?

Just to be clear. She invited me
into her tent. It was her idea.

-What about Peter?
-He wasn't there, was he?

-He didn't know.
-I think he did.

He was a very sensitive guy.

I'm sure he was aware how our friend
here banged his muse.

So that's why he crashed
on the mountain.

Jesus, guys.

I don't recall ever holding back anything
from my friends.

Apart from the fact that your whole
academic career is a fraud?

That has not been proven.

-So why is that journalist after you?

-Why does she keep calling?
-She has no proof.

-Why don't you answer the question?
-This is about you and Laura.

Bastard. Goddammit.

For Christ's sake.

I always thought you were gay.

I always thought you were gay.

Yeah, I've thought the same thing myself.

I tried it out.

With men, and with women.
I tried all kinds of things.

But it was just tiring.
It bored me.

So what did you do instead? Wank over
those travel brochures of yours?

No. Sex is just not really my thing.

That's alright, isn't it?

Shit happens.

The thing is that time doesn't exist.

That there aren't just three dimensions

but possibly 12, or more.

Time is an illusion.

But lots of people don't know...
Don't understand...

He's so far gone.

-Some pussy?
-Or little willies?

I need a wash.

Early day tomorrow.

Come on, guys. Listen.

Dave, I'm sorry I never responded
to all the letters you sent me...

over the years.

I did read them all.

But somehow I was too embarrassed.

And now?

I don't know.

A fresh start, perhaps.

Other leg.

You're quite hairy, aren't you?

-Does it all have to come off?
-No, up to here.

-How many, Dré?
-Thirty-three, thirty-four.

-That's a lot.

Some croissants. Enjoy.

Guys, a text message from Laura.

She'll be here for lunch tomorrow.

Why is she texting you?

I thought... She has a matinee in Avignon.
What do you say?

What? In this glaring sun?

It's just an idea.
Beats all that bloody cycling.

-Is Avignon within cycling distance?
-I should think so.

A full house.

No grandstand?

Ever been to the theatre before?

"today I made the ascent
of the highest mountain in this region

which they call 'the windy one'.

Not improperly so.

All things are full of labour

sweat and tears
laughter and pain

love and hate.

I pledge myself to Lady Jane

sweet Lady Jane

whom I made love to
on the windy mountain."

Christ almighty.

-You think so?
-Surely she would have said.

It would explain
why she took off on her own.

He looks like he's about 30.
So it's possible.

What we saw, was an actor.

They memorise their lines.
That's all there is to it. Believe me.

Don't say anything. Just eat and you'll
be flying up that mountain tomorrow.


-Thanks, man.

There you go.
Some wine?


Perfect, perfect.


Just look at him, guys.

The new Lance Armstrong.

He lied about everything
and forced others into silence.

I didn't.

The Spectator clearly begs to differ.

Of course I relied on the work of others.
Everyone does.

That's how science works.

Maybe I forgot some quotation marks
here and there.

Well, pardon me. It's not my fault.

It's that constant pressure to publish
and bring in funds.

Welcome to academia.
It fucking sucks.

So what does this mean?

That I'm finished.

Didn't you have a shrewd lawyer?

They'll gut me. They'll have my balls.
I'm dead.

Now piss off.



So what if you copied it all?

To us it's all new.


So you hit a spot of bother
and you leg it?

Yes. I have to get home.

We're in this together, Joost.

Valerie says she doesn't want to see me
for a while. She's going to America.

She's even talking about divorce.

I keep seeing a man who's lost his job,
his reputation is shot.

His wife and kids are across
the ocean and have forgotten him.

-That man will then sell his house...
-To rent a flat over a hairdresser's.

Drinking sour Gewürtztraminer all day
at three euros a bottle.

And at night he drops his pants,
tries to find some porn, but has no Wi-Fi.

-Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
-Too right.

It's important, you know.
A clean chain.

I've seen my dad do this
a thousand times.

I just love the smell of petrol.

That's exactly how not to do it.

Cleaning your chain with petrol.
You take away all the grease.

And you'll never get it back.

-One of your pet theories again.
-You wish. It's a fact.

Your father didn't have a clue.

Anyone with any sense knows
that you clean a chain with white spirit.

And a soft, lint-free cloth.

What would you know, man?

What would you know?
The master of spokes theory.

I'm trying to help, you twit.

What did you say?

What did you say?

I was trying to explain
that opinions differ on how to clean...

-What did you say?
-Jesus, Dré. I'm sorry.

It was a slip of the tongue.

You called me a twit.
I remember now.

You always called me that.
Don't you have any copying to do, mate?


-Joost not back yet?

-Should we be worried?

No, Joost is not the type to top himself.

No dive bombing, okay?

I've brought a hitchhiker.

I never go with strange women.
But then I saw who she was.


Hi, guy.

Hi, Bart.

-This is Fabio, my son.

-We already saw him.

Well played, mate.

-What is he saying?
-Well played.

Well played!

We were in Avignon.

-Son of...?



We went to the campsite.
Trois Rivières.

-They have a swimming pool now.

You know, I don't think I need to see
the campsite anymore.

Some things need to stay exactly
as you remember them.


What did you think
when you got my message?

She still exists.

I thought you'd forgotten about us.


Why did you simply disappear?

You didn't even come to his funeral.

Now you arrive here with a son
we didn't even know existed.

Calm down, okay?

Surely you asked us to come down here
for a reason?

I trust I'm not the only one

who feels this situation is,
to put it mildly

rather complicated?

No, of course not.

-Hope I'm not interrupting?
-Not at all.

Bart, are you coming for a ride?

What about Fabio?

-He's all gung ho.
-Really? Great.


-Break a leg for tonight!

-Will you be alright?
-See you on Saturday. No problem.

-Thank you.
-Thank you.


Have a nice journey.

Oh, guys. I've missed you all.

I divorced my husband last year and
came back to visit Holland and Zutphen.

I also visited Peter's grave.

Since then I started dreaming...

Not really dreams.
More like nightmares.

I see him lying there...

I've never had nightmares about it.

I never have nightmares.

-I've blamed myself for his death, though.
-We all have.


He'd never descended a mountain before.

No, not even a bridge.

But the crucial question is, Laura...
Oh, sorry.

Thank you.

The crucial question...

What we all want to know is,
did Peter's death have anything to do

with what happened between
you and Bart the day before?


No. I'm sure.

Really. Some things just happen
for no reason.

How can you be so certain?

You and I...

That was all planned.

Excuse me?

It was a set-up.

Peter was obsessed with love triangles.


He dragged me into...
I let myself be dragged into his world.

It was exciting.

As if things weren't real.

Maybe not for you. But they were for me.

So Peter was just using me?

That's what you're saying.

I told you I loved you.


I was 17, Bart.


Here you go.

Good night.

What a complete dickhead.

Selfish bastard.

A night under the stars, Bart?

Time to get changed.

It's already way too hot.

And where's Joost?

I'm not going up that mountain.



I'm so sick and tired of this.

All your moaning about Valerie
and that Spinoza bullshit all day long.

Professor this, professor that.

All that elitist shit.
Shove it up your arse.

Come on. Just tell 'em.

Just say it.

Repeat after me.


Dammit, man.


Guys, no race this time. Okay?

No, we'll just see
who gets to the summit first.

-Good luck.

Okay, pick up the pace,
a bit faster today.

Keep up, Dave.

Alright. Let me help you.
Just for a bit.

-I should have gone for clip-in pedals.
-It's too late now.

Excellent, mate. You're doing fine.
Keep it up.

Shall I give you a push?

-Alright, guys. You go on ahead.
-Are you sure?

This is madness.

-Shall I give you a push?


-Want to come with us?
-Keep it up, Dave.

How are you?

Bloody hell.

This Raleigh's rubbish.
I'm going down on the Pegoretti.

Hey. Good job, man.

-How did you do?

Bart, good job.

I'm okay.

Well, old man. There you go.


-David, hey.

Come on.

Come on, Dave. Keep going.
Almost there.

Come on.

Come here, you.

Peter. Old friend.

In a fit of total madness

we have climbed this bold mountain

in honour of your passing.

We've missed you for 30 years.

And the happiness
that surrounded us then.

Peter, our favourite composer
of poetic verse

we wanted you to be a part of this.

So I brought you something.

You've never heard of it,
but I bought this on Ebay.

Give me a hand, Joost.
Let's hang it up.

-Like this?


-Hang in there, Peter. And smile.
-We're all here.

Here we go.
Three, two, one. Smile.


Nice. Perfect.

So are we finally done
with this fucking mountain?