We sped on, across the plains, toward Metz. I hung back, saving myself. It is called the Race of Truth. The early stages separate the strong riders from the weak. Now the weak would be eliminated altogether.

The idea that anybody was forced, or pressured, or encouraged, is not true.

Portland, Oregon won't build a mile of road without a mile of bike path. You can commute there, even with that weather, all the time.

Pain is temporary. Eventually it will subside. If I quit, however, the surrender stays with me.

Well, you better ride like you stole something 'cause you are about to win a stage in the Tour de Fance.

I know what happened to cycling from 1999 to 2005. I saw its growth, I saw its expansion.

Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.