My apartment wasn't very big.
But it was my own and I was proud to have it.
However, there was the small detail called rent. Right.

I came here to become a real cyclist.
So it was time to start doing something about that.
I got informed. Finally I wound up with Johnny Medicini.

He told me about a competition he and his buddies were organizing.

"It's five races, starting with a sprint challenge here in Grenoble.
You can score points in all five races. In the end,
the ten best get to race for the trophy on the Champs Elysée in Paris."



Was I interested, he asked? You can bet your ass that I was!
I signed up immediately, for the 18 - 21 years category,
which was the youngest category available.

The first race started in two weeks. There was so much work to do!
I didn't even know where to begin. So I took my bike
and started riding.

The next two weeks, I trained like a madman.
Two weeks later, I was ready!

Sure Travis, whatever you say... It was time to show him that I wasn't a slouch.
I was sick of all this constant training, this is my moment my to shine.
4,000 meters, 5 riders, and 1 winner. It had to be me.



That's me in the white and blue jersey! Not my favorite color but
it was the jersey handed to me by the organizers so oh well.
The flag dropped, my first race as a cyclist started!



Starting in the front probably wasn't the best idea. I moved over to the barrier.



Shot out of cannon goes the man wearing orange. Where did that come from?



He's gone. My legs couldn't even generate half that power.
Travis was right once again...



I wasn't ready at all. I should have listened.
What a slap to the face this was.



Last. Dead last. Just great, Travis came by to rub it in some more.

"Well, I can't say I didn't warn you. Back to training tomorrow?
Here keep the results card as a reminder for why you are training.
I had something very similar when I was your age. Extra motivation."

There I was, about to embark on my journey as a cyclist,
just like my dad before me.



In those days, right after the war, I guess the outcome of the race would only be second priority. What really mattered was that everyone met in the streets, there was a reason to forget all about the war and just celebrate.

However, I was completely focused and keen on a victory here.
I had a name to uphold, after all. Say whatever you want,
but the Vergnaud name was legendary in these parts.

Finally, we were off! An immediate attack, which I followed.
I was the rider on the white Pinarello bike,
a red helmet and a white kit.
Ready for action.



A few of us managed a gap. I felt we were the strongest of the field.
I went to the front and pulled hard. My God, it felt fantastic!



The reaction from the crowd was unreal. Not in all my life
have I seen anything like it.
People looked so happy.



We managed to stay away from a chasing bunch.
I had done most of the hard work, though.
It came down to a sprint between us.



My legs cramped up and I couldn't get out of the saddle,
yet I put in a decent performance sitting down.
In the end, I crossed the line 3rd.



Tired but satisfied, I made my way up to the podium.
"Only" third yet no one received more applause than I did.

I couldn't help thinking this had more to do with my family name,
rather than the effort I had put in. I was certain of it.
My first race and I was already in the shadow
of a legend. In the shadow of
Henry Vergnaud.