We all make mistakes. It's the unfortunate that get caught and serve time.
Being locked up drains a person's soul. Three blank walls and some bars.
The only thing you have to keep your sanity is your cellmate.

Thankfully mine came with stories upon stories to share.
A genuinely great guy who had his corks, but don't we all?



All he wanted was to see his children again. He talked about them the most.
His girl, trying to find a way to make it in this world on her own.
His boy, trying to find a way to get out of his shadow.

I was leaving him behind. He deserved to be freed more than I did.
I had no where to go, no plans and no family to turn to.

It was only a matter of time before I ended up back in that prison cell.
When I did, I was glad that my friend had got out early for good behavior.

Jimmy Licina's dominance was obvious,
but that didn't mean we had to put up with it.

In my final Tour week, I promised myself & the team
to do everything in my power to make this Tour
a success story after all. I wanted to leave
the Tour with feelings of hope, not
of dispair and giving up.

I did what I do best...
Attack!



Soon, another battle started for me.
I was locked in a fight with Licina.
This time, not for the GC, that
was long lost. No, it was for
the Mountain Classification.
A prize my dad always
held high. As did I.



On stage 17, I outsprinted
Licina for place 5 and officially took
the Mountain Jersey. It was then the "simple"
matter of keeping the jersey all the way to Paris!



Stage 18 was even more beautiful.
With 100 km left, we went up the road
we meant: me, Angel, Licina and Craeymans.



I picked up all the KoM and at the end of the day,
I was as good as certain of wearing the jersey
on the Champs-Elysée.

As icing on the cake, I ended up
taking the stage, as well.
My second!



Along with 90 other riders,
I reached Paris. Proud.
Winner of a jersey
and two stages.
Fifth overall.
Not bad
at all.

If I could have it my way I would race in sunny, mild temperatures everyday.
However, Mother Nature had different plans for the 2035 GP de Montreal.
Rain, rain and more rain. 200kms in a downpour.

The roads got worse and worse as we did circuit after circuit.
As much as I hated the rain, I actually rode a pretty good race.
I stayed in the peloton for as long as I possibly could. Just fighting.



I was eventually dropped on the final lap and ended up finishing 58th.
Sure not spectacular but I was content. I never considered myself a punchuer.
Morein from Russia Standard won, more on his brilliant career later.

Hyland finished as the best HTC rider, 11th.



After the race I got the big news that HTC gave me a spot
on their Tour of America roster. What an honor. My first GT.
The best part? The two lengthy time trials being held in Los Angeles.

Well that or the on-the-spot bonus given to me for being selected.
Enough money to fly my mom out to California for a week and half.
We finally had the chance to catch up and she could she me in action.

At that point it was nearly a year since I left home with Travis.
Looking back now I can say she needed this more than I did.
And to think I almost flew my sister out to visit instead.

A blessing in disguise really that Zooey lost her phone a week before.
Of course she didn't tell anyone either, so it was pretty awkward when
I called her and a French speaking guy picked up instead of my sister.

I was pretty happy about
my first Tour de France. Whether
or not FDJ shared that same vision,
I really couldn't say. But at the time, I thought so.

Either way, with the third Grand Tour
coming up, the Vuelta a España, both
the team and myself thought it would be
best if I took a break. No good could come
from riding three consecutive Grand Tours at my age.



During this time of my life, however, I had other priorities.
It had been about a year now since I had met her,
somewhere in a bar. For me, it was love
at first sight. To her, I was a friend.
A good friend, but just a friend.
Unfortunately, I was clueless
about this at the time.

Love was blind,
and during the Vuelta
I was spending a lot of time with her.

Life was good, all right.

Or at least, that's what I thought...

It was a weird feeling being back in California to watch a bike race.
He looked just like Travis. Fearless on the pedals. Determined.
But there was just something that was completely different.

It was Stage 4. I watched from a far as the team huddled for the final time.
"I want to pull first," I heard Joseph say loud and clear to David Tanner.
The team director looked at him amused, "Why not? The kid will lead."



I don't know any other way to say it. It was incredible.
Joseph single-handedly anchored the HTC team through the TTT.
Each time HTC went through a time check people at the finish started talking.

There was no doubt on that day who was the strongest. My son and his team.
The only thing up in the air was who was going to get the honor of yellow.



My son. He wore that jersey with pride for two days before losing it in the hills.
I'd never seen him so happy. Even the journalists couldn't tear him down
with their question after question about his family's past and his father.

It was a shame that I was the one to ruin his happiness when I had to head back home to Kansas a week a later. Just one day before the first ITT that went through the heart of LA. A stage Joseph had circled on his calendar for weeks.

He wanted me there, I wanted to be there. But I had a flight to catch.
In hindsight, I'm kinda glad I wasn't present to witness what happened next.

Yes, that should've been obvious.
But my son really needed the pep talk.
For the first time since he left the bike shop
to pursue his dream, he came back home for a while.

He must've looked like a fool,
trying to impress a girl like that.
I told him he should be thankful the
injury wasn't worse. Nine times out of ten,
his cycling career was over. He was a lucky punk.



Sure, he was a big
talent on the bike. But
life wasn't going to be easy
because he happened to be able
to turn the pedals faster than an average Joe.

I was glad he was home.
He needed to hear those
hard words, for his own good.

Son, listen.
That girl isn't worth it.
She isn't interested in you.
And believe me, things can only
get worse if you keep it up.
Don't ruin your career.
Focus on your bike.

And you know what?
I think my boy
finally
heard
me.

I had two chances. Stage 13 and Stage 20. Flat time trials through LA.
After the dominating team trial win on Stage 4. I wanted a solo victory.
I know, ambitious. But I actually believed I could do it.



Both stages I left the start house with around 25 riders left to go.
I wasn't concerned about GC anymore. It was all about the stage win.
All eyes on me. There isn't a feeling like it in the whole world. 3, 2, 1...

Down the ramp and off I went. Both stages started the same.
The first time check. I was the fast man through by a large margin.
The second time check. Still first, but my legs were starting to give way.

Then at the finish...



All my momentum turned into me fighting with my pedals.
I could feel the time I had gained slipping away. Tick, tick, tick.
Yet, both times I crossed the finish line and looked up the clock; 1st.

The podium awaited. As did I. Cyclist after cyclist crossing the finish line.
The agony. Nothing I could do, but just watch. Hoping and praying.
In a blink of an eye the dream gets shattered.



Stage 13. I see my name drop to the 2nd line then to the 3rd then 4th.
Stage 20. Even more depressing. Finishing 2nd by a mere 3 seconds.
Coel Vaughan stole my moment. I would get my revenge.