The final race of 5 turned into a display of strength.
Not unlike previous encounters between the two of us,
it turned into a real battle between Justin Aquila and myself.

In a race that went over no less than 5 climbs,
the field fell apart quite soon.





I did most of the pacing on the mountain slopes,
feeling indestructable. I dropped Aquila last,
but he managed to return.







On the final climb, into the snowy tops,
I was able to drop him a second and final time.



Way too soon, this was the last time
I would battle Justin Aquila in the mountains.
His unfortunate automobile accident cut short what
was a most beautiful rivalry between two French mountain goats...

I was off. There was no direct competitors to worry about this time.
Just me, my bike, and the road. Another chance to seize the moment.
A 33 kilometer time trial in the heart of Los Angeles, completely flat.



I started fast. The wind whipping around my body. For the first time ever,
I actually felt comfortable on a bike. I looked up at the time board as
I passed the only checkpoint on the route. I couldn't believe what I saw!

Of the 38 cyclists (out of 47) to go through I had the fastest time!
All I needed to do now was carry the momentum to the finish.
But, I could already feel myself losing energy and speed.



For the last 15kms I felt like I was riding in slow motion.
Pedal over pedal I keep fighting but I wasn't going anywhere.
When I hit the finish line I didn't even want to look up, I knew it was bad.

I was still ecstatic when I saw my name pop up in 2nd.



Ryan Remington was the only rider to overtake me.
However, there were still 9 more guys that had to finish.



What are the odds? I was beat by another Ryan... Ryan Baldwin.
I was thrilled though, 3rd place. Wow. Even Travis seemed pleased as well.

"Looks like some of my time trial skills rubbed off on you.
You're getting somewhere now. Rest up, I got a surprise for you tomorrow."

I'd been reading about him in the papers.
With all this traveling around, he wasn't making
much contact with me. But he was doing well. I knew that much.

In five bike races,
my son had taken three
victories and a second place,
on the slopes of the Ventoux, nonetheless.

At first I wasn't totally convinced.
But maybe my son was a true talent.
The next day, he would race the final challenge,
the sprint critérium in Paris, on the Champs-Elysée.



The Champs-Elysée, where some twenty years ago,
I rode around in the Maillot Jaune, winning La Grand Boucle.

Now it was his turn
He would follow in my footsteps
on the famous, beautiful Champs Elysée...

Joseph completed step 1 on my checklist: Find something he was good at.
Step 2: Getting him into a race that would challenge his limits.
Hello Mt. Diablo. The memories I have of this climb.



The race was simple. First one up the mountain wins. 15 cyclists, 1 winner.



A powerful trio got away after 3kms.
Nathan Harris, Matt Lemelin, and Miguel Hernandez.



Hernandez didn't waste any time dropping his two followers.



Back in the small peloton, Joseph (wearing green) is still adapting to the slopes.



Around 10kms to go a split occurred in the peloton. Joseph was caught out.



You got to hand it to him, the kid never gives up.
He rides back into the front chase group.



From that point on it took all of Joseph's energy to stay in contact with
back wheels so he wasn't dropped from the "elite" chase group again.



With 2kms to go from the top his legs finally gave way.



I saw the disappointment across his face as he approached the line.
Yet, his performance wasn't terrible by any standards. Sure not on par with...



Miguel Hernandez, but he fought. He fought hard.
True determination to wheel suck for over 8 kilometers to finish 9th.

I was satisfied. That's all the mattered.