It was time for the draft.
It was D-day for many of the cyclists.
After all, today would decide which ones
would be continuing as professional cyclists
and which ones would have to look for a new career.

Thibault was somewhere north,
probably watching the draft anxiously.
I couldn't help but silently hope that Thibault
wouldn't get drafted and he'd return home, safe, to me.

But I knew that was unlikely.
His victory on the d'Huez
had put him in the
spotlight.

The draft order showed that Crédit Agricole
had third pick. It was widely expected to
see Thibault get picked there, if not
earlier. A French team needs a
French star, after all...

The draft had started...



I turned off my television. So FDJ it was.
I sighed. So my boy's grown up,
and he wants to be a cyclist.
All right, then. I started
packing my stuff. It
was time to close
the shop and
return north.

After 20 odd years, it was time
to return to where I once had a
wonderful life, but it had all fallen
apart. Now I had to go and make sure
my boy wouldn't make the same mistakes.

After hours and hours of waiting. I still didn't have team.
I guess the scouts never noticed me, or was I too big of a risk?
Twenty years old, unproven talent, and the son of a legendary doper.

I could hardly watch anymore, there were only 5 draft picks left:
Tap Portugal, Barloworld, HTC-Highroad,
UnitedHealthCare, and FDJ.fr.

3 CT teams and 2 PT teams that had traded down previous picks.
Obviously, HTC or UHC would have been my preference.
But, I had absolutely no say in the matter; I could only watch.

A Portuguese no-namer to a Portuguese team, no surprise.
I really didn't want to live and train in Portugal anyways. Next...

Nationalism held strong again. Manager Geraint Thomas took
another Brit for one of the more iconic teams to return to cycling.
If the trend continued then I only had two chances left to get drafted.

Travis stood up in anticipation. "This is the one, I can feel it..."

Travis' jaw nearly dropped to the floor. He couldn't believe it.

Paul Evans? Really?
A prodigy my dad once raced with, now 38 years old, got drafted over me.

Frustration started to set in. This guy, wow.
One team left, FDJ. No, please no! An American on a French team?

Before I could see the selection, there was a loud knock on the door.

"This is the LA County Police Department... OPEN UP!"

The last thing I remember is watching Travis getting carried away in handcuffs,
then turning around to see FDJ had drafted another Frenchman.

I stood frozen in time, alone and confused.
What the hell just happened?