"Let's go, we don't got all day. They are shutting this place down
in a few hours for an event. I know you don't see any point in doing this
but trust me it's going to build up your speed and endurance."

I never told him this but I hated the track as much as he did.
I had so many let downs in this velodrome; it haunts me to this day.
From when I was an up-and-comer to one of the worst days of my life.

But, this honestly isn't about me anymore. It's about my son.
It didn't feel right to tell him about the past. It would only discourage him.
So, to take my mind off it all I decided we should have a friendly competition.

"Let's see what you're made of. Best out of 5, 3 laps each, loser buys dinner."

Joseph laughed at me like it was some kind of sick joke.

"I'm serious. On your mark, get set... GO!"



Off he went. Rather foolishly. He wasted everything he had on the first lap.



Round 1 to the old-timer. I still got some kick left in me.



Joseph got the message, I wasn't just going to let him win.



He kept a close eye on me in heat 2, but to be honest I wasn't going anywhere.
I was still recovering from the overtake in round 1.



I tried a long distance assault in round 3, anything to make Joseph think.
Because straight up there was no way I could take him at my age.



He picked it up, reacted, and overtook me on the line.
A step in the right direction for his development.



Joseph needed 1 more win. I was completely out of energy,
but I at least needed him to work for it. I can't show my cards.
It would have ruined the training. I needed to push him to his limits.



I gave everything I had left.
Which the end result was just me wheel-sucking for the entire 3 laps.



He was always going to win. But at least I made him work for it.

After our friendly competition he was even approached by a few guys
that were watching us and they asked him to take part in a Keirin
race they were trying to put together for the following day.

To my surprise he accepted their offer.

Only 3 days after the sprint event in Grenoble,
it was time for a first mountain challenge. My time to shine.

The principle was easy enough to understand:
3 kilometers uphill,
2 kilometers downhill,
2 kilometers uphill.
The first man at the finish takes full marks.

Tactics were not in order here. As soon as the race started, I took off.
After my first attack, six of us were leading. I decided to wait for the final climb.



I wasn't taking any risks and decided never to leave the front.
As soon as we hit the next ascent, I launched my second attack!



I shook them all off. 1100 meters from the finish, one guy
was coming near me, he was catching up. I didn't catch his name
but afterwards I learned it was George Georges. Strange fella, strange name.



The final section was intense, with tough percentages up to 24%.
I took the victory and thanks to my 3rd place in Grenoble,
I was now leading the classification!

Joseph hesitated before answering with a questionable, "I guess."
Wasn't very convincing, I still hadn't figured out why he called me.
"So, what's going on? I'm kind of busy, make this quick."

"When are you coming home?"
That was like the millionth time he had asked me.
"I told you, in six weeks. My winter semester ends in early May."

"Okay, just wanted to let you know I've been taking your advice to heart."

"That's great. Hope you are starting to see that Travis isn't as horrible as you made him out to be. Times were tough, but now it's time to forget the past.
Remember, I'm always here for you. I have to be, I'm your sister."



With that I hung up the phone. Sometimes I wished Joseph relied on me less,
but then again it was always like this. Without a father figure growing up
he always sought after my guidance to push him towards the right direction.

I thought a year studying abroad in Malaga, Spain would do us both good. Yet,
Joseph still called me every few days wanting some advice. Is that his fault?
Maybe, but it seemed more like the aftermath of a rough childhood.

Who was I to judge though? I certainly didn't have it all figured out either.

What followed two days after the sprint challange,
was pure madness. Dubbed the "Great Alpes Race",
we - the riders - found ourselves in a + 200 km race,
crossing only the highest Alpes passes you could imagine.



The race turned into a true spectacle, though.
His name was Justin and he was French, just like me.
He was an incredible sportsman and would've reached the top.

Unfortunately, an automobile accident
three months after the race decided otherwise.

It was a coincidence that we both started in the same jersey,
given to us by the organisors. However, my white pre-war Pinarello
was a unique piece at the time, so I was recognisable easily for the fans!



The race was one of the most exciting ones I've ever participated in.
It was a constant battle between Justin and myself.
Accelerating, bluffing, accelerating, stopping,
forcing the pace, looking behind...



After 176 kilometers, every rider was just about dead.
We were given provisions every 30 or so kilometers,
but that didn't stop 95% of the field to abandon.

Only three of us finished that day.
Two of us remained at 20 km
from the finish.

Justin Aquila.
Thibault Vergnaud.

But there would only be one winner.

10 kilometers to go I made my ultimate move, all or nothing!



It took all the strength I had, but I made it!
In the most horrible race of my life, I took the victory.
The frostbite made me lose the feeling in my left hand for two days.

But I felt it had been worth it.



This is cycling in its truest form.