Bidon

I was awakened by a noise of eating. My protectors, knife in hand, were consuming their meat and bread, occasionally tilting their bidons on high and absorbing the thin streams which spurted therefrom. […] The older [man] appeared pleased with my appetite; his face softened still more, as he remarked: "Bread without wine doesn't taste good," and proffered his bidon. I drank as much as I dared, and thanked him: "Ça va mieux."

[…] Bram De Groot, a domestique with the Dutch Rabobank team, drops out the back, one arm in the air. The team car responds instantly, swinging out of the line of support vehicles behind the peloton and racing, klaxon sounding, up to De Groot. The window opens and a hand emerges with a bidon (plastic drinks bottle). De Groot places it in his back pocket and the hand emerges with another. This one goes down the back of his shirt, and it is joined by five more. Then off he sprints to deliver them to thirsty team-mates. De Groot is one of the domestiques and this is their lot. They continually drop off, collecting bidons and sprinting back into the peloton with grotesquely bulging shirts.