Everybody wants to know what I'm on. What am I on? I'm on my bike busting my ass six hours a day. What are you on?

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.

Cycling is a sport of the open road and spectators are lining that road.

The Europeans look down on raising your hands. They don't like the end-zone dance. I think that's unfortunate. That feeling - the finish line, the last couple of meters - is what motivates me.

I'm not willing to put a percentage on the chances but I will no longer rule it out.

If life gives you lemons, drink the juice in order to mask the presence of performing-enhancing drugs.

But the fact is that I wouldn't have won even a single Tour de France without the lesson of illness. What it teaches is this: pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.