As I grew older, my limits were again extended. Our skills increased, we gained confidence, we raced around the block, stopped to check out anthills and garage sales. We were constantly discovering. We could escape into our own world where we had independence and freedom. On our bikes, there was a sense of liberty. Exploring the world broadened our horizons and developed our maturity.

The bike took me everywhere.

Our experiences weren’t unique but perhaps they were rare. Despite living in a large, diverse city, few of my classmates had seen much beyond our gentrified neighborhood. After class, I was riding through the suburbs and into the countryside.

The bike continues to take me to places I never imagined I would travel. And, even the local routes I ride evolve daily, never becoming mundane. Within the silence of a dormant forest in the winter to the electric buzz of a vibrant coastal town in the midsummer our senses are constantly engaged in a diversity of contrasting stimuli. The emotion I felt on a bike as a young boy hasn’t dissolved with maturity. It’s what keeps me riding.

The peripatetic life of a professional cyclist can be wearing as we spend hundreds of days away from home a year. But it is also a thrilling continuation of the adventure I began as a boy. The cyclist learns to adapt to changing environments, accept differences in cultures and speak foreign languages. We progressively see the world with greater understanding. Everything that was once foreign becomes familiar.

Riding took me across borders even when I was a young boy. My parents loaded up the van with my friends and our bikes and drove us to seemingly exotic places like Buffalo, Thetford Mines, Cleveland, Montreal to ride or race. Some of the teenagers loaded in the van had never gone beyond the outer limits of Toronto. We saw places few of our classmates of friends would ever see. The thrill of the journey, the race, the ride, the adventure, left us elated as we returned late on a Sunday night to Toronto.

On the bike, friendships grew stronger. The experiences contrasted those on the school grounds, parks or mall.  We learned how to navigate traffic, read maps, fix punctures, all the while relying on our limited resources and each other. The friendships developed as an adolescent are still some of the strongest in my life. As we grew we began traveling across the ocean to race in Europe in youth races, analogues of the pro races we had followed closely in the print media.

Although the physical strain of racing is wearing, its mental stimulation and emotion keeps us young. In 1996, I rode my first Olympics. I was 20 and still a boy. In the lead up to the Olympics, I raced and roomed with my childhood idol, Steve Bauer, who would end his career after the road race at the Atlanta games. Despite the age gap of 16 years we got along well. Through the races, we chatted like I did with my high school mates. Despite having the obligations of an adult the bike had allowed Steve to retain a boys’ enthusiasm. At the dinner table and on the start line, the spark of exuberance for the bike, which ignited his long career remained.

Training with teammates I still feel the same juvenile joy and thrill, and I know they do. In late January, under heavy fog a group of veteran professionals left Girona for a long ride. The 10 of us rode for nearly six hours, time which passed unnoticed. With experience we’ve developed a rhythm to the rides where the tempo is consistent and fluctuates only according to the terrain. Confident in our abilities and wise about our weaknesses, egos vanish. We may be rivals at races but we are also a group of friends. We socialize, we push each other when we need to work harder but the rhythm isn’t broken.

The ride is still about the adventure, the camaraderie and the sense of accomplishment. Whether it’s a trip to the end of the block, or across the Alps, the sensation is the same. Like the mothers calling their sons in for dinner as they ride around the block one last time, we now arrive home to our wives who’ve been patiently waiting.

Each morning at the training camp the team gathers around the mechanics and massage therapists who prepare our bikes, bottles and food for the day’s ride. As we zip up booties, strap up helmets and fill our pockets we chat about the route and the prescribed efforts. Inevitably we leave the hotel a few minutes after our planned departure as someone struggles to adjust his position or requires another layer of clothing. Without panic we wait and then roll away together in our small peloton.

We pedal with ease through the eerily quiet Mallorcan coastal town before reaching the open country roads. The seasonal population migrates north in the winter and returns as the temperature rises and sea is warm enough for swimming. In contrast, for us the winter sun and empty roads are what bring us here and what we need to get our work done.

As we ride through the shuttered condo communities and then into the open farm fields we settle on our saddles and into formation. Paired in two parallel lines and tight against the road’s shoulder, the speed becomes constant, and conversations continuous. Slightly bloated from a large breakfast I feel uncomfortable. Two hours into the ride I’ll feel the urge to eat, as breakfast will have burned away. We’ll pull over in the shoulder at the top of a climb to bundle up for the descent and refuel. Like birds feasting on road-kill, we’ll pick around the trunk of the team car for bars, Paninis and drinks before flying down the mountainside.

The ride will take us over roads only the farmers use. Flocks of sheep will scamper across the tarmac as we approach. Watchfully, their shepherd looks on. The locals are now accustomed to professional cyclists, as Mallorca has attracted teams for decades.

We cut through olive groves, which are walled by kilometers of ancient stone. As the group snakes through center of the small towns, school kids gaze and old men stare. Our colorful uniforms, carbon bikes and polished team car brightly contrast the historic beige stone buildings that surround the plaças. In the towns’ peripheries, the abandoned half finished concrete apartment blocks tell the story of the current economic climate in Spain. On occasion, we’ll stop at a café for a short break midway through the ride. Despite the fact that cycling is now a job, we’ve retained the social aspects we learned on the local club rides as adolescents. The café stop provides a short reprieve from the ride and breaks up the hours on the road. Pastries are devoured, coffees are sipped, we chat in the sun and then we are off.

A dozen kilometers later the sugar and caffeine take effect. The speed increases. We carry our momentum over the rolling hills with our pedals firm under our feet. Our power is consistently intense. With a surge we sprint for a town sign and then again, settle back into our formation, each taking an equal turn in the wind on the front of the group.

Behind our peloton, the directeurs guide us on our route. As the new season arrives they quickly fall into their roles behind the steering wheel. In the back seat the mechanic has resumed his spot with his toolbox open and spare wheels stacked up. They see the things we can’t: how we move as a group, how we look on our bikes, and if we’re fit enough to perform in the races. During the camp they’ll see a transformation in bodies. As the hours pass the extra weight from Christmas feasts melts. Some riders will fatigue with the strain of the work while others will blossom. A good director can see what we might not even feel.

With a structured training program the intensity of our efforts progressively increases. A viscous effort will induce the burn of lactic acid and leave a taste of blood in our mouths as our lungs have been stretched to their limit. At camp, we become accustomed to the sensations we haven’t felt since the last races.

At the beginning of the camp the additions to the roster sit nervous and quiet. Like the new kids in the high school class they sit on the periphery and observe until what is foreign becomes familiar. On our bikes, in conversation, and at the table they slowly become a part of the group. As we accumulate time in the saddle there is a slow transformation in the team. The common feeling of accomplishment after completing a difficult day on our bikes bonds us. We have suffered together and shared something unique. This will prepare us for what is to come.

My roommate, neopro and new Team Sky recruit Alex Dowsett, told me that after a few long rides  with the team he went from feeling like an alien to a teammate. The point of a training camp is not only to build the foundation of fitness but also to build the foundation of the team. As we log the hours and as the ride gets tough, the group becomes one.

Catalonia, and specifically Girona, is magnificent in the autumn and winter. The streets, which were once crowded with tourists through the summer are now spotted with locals who chat under the Christmas lights. The sun lies low in the sky creating long shadows and setting before the children arrive home from school.

We’ll ride for half of the day in a small group. There are no intervals pencilled into our programs or specific goals to meet. We rode as we did when we first started this sport ages ago. As David Millar wrote in the foreword to the update edition of the book, Le Métier,  “What was once the worst time of the year for me is now my favourite; Winter is now the time I enjoy most. During the Tour de France, Michael and I discussed how much we were looking forward to our December training rides. It’s then we get to meet in the morning and ride our bikes for fun, with an appreciation of our good fortune.”

Here are a few photos from a recent ride. Dominique Rollin is wearing the Cervelo clothing. Dom will ride for La Francaise des Jeux next season. Jordi Cantal, a local fireman, took many of the pictures and rides with us often. He knows the smallest roads and trails. And, he teaches me a little Catalan and Spanish as we ride.

12►

For months, we had all trained meticulously, sacrificed, dieted and focused to be ready. A slick road, a nervous rider, a careless maneuver can end a dozen riders’ goals. Seeing riders fall in front of me, I feared it could be over. The fear is momentary.

On the ground, I feel the burn of torn skin. But before I look at the damage my body has sustained, I am looking for my bike. I get up, realize it is broken, look for the mechanic who is running towards me with my spare bike, adjust my torn jersey and prepare to climb back on. A dozen riders around me do the same.

The team cars have stopped in the middle of the road, unable to pass due to the crash, as the directors and mechanics look through the bodies and bikes to find their riders. A few lay on the ground holding their arms or shoulders while bleeding profusely. Their faces grimace with pain. From past experience I know that I will see most of them back in the peloton in half an hour. Riders will continue with broken, pummeled, bleeding bodies. Their will is too formidable to give. The sacrifice to prepare for the race has been too concentrated to resign to the pain of injury.

As I begin to pedal again, chasing the peloton, I slowly begin to feel the injuries, which I know will only feel worse once the race is over. Adrenaline masks pain. For now, the finish line is the objective. Over the radio, which is plugged into my ear, the director encourages my teammates who are up front. I know I need to try to get back to them, to help them in the pursuit of victory. I want to be up there, in front. The scrapes from the pavement burn with each pedal stroke as the grit from the wet road slowly works its way into the wounds.

Dozens of riders will cross the finish line covered in blood. After scrubbing the wounds with brushes and antiseptics the team doctors will patch us up. Some riders will go to hospital for X-rays.  Others, knowing they may have broken bones, will continue regardless. Knowing a bone is broken will not change their decision to start again. Few want to quit the Tour de France, or any major event, unless forced. The race is too grand and our desire too intense.

As Lance Armstrong came crashing down at the foot of the first major Alpine ascent in this year’s Tour de France his race changed, as did his public personae in France. He fell at speed, his body sliding across the tarmac before coming to a stop on a curb. Ragged, he pursued the peloton and remained in the race, after crashing a second time. Days later, having forgotten about the injuries he had sustained, his critics said he no longer had his pre-comeback winning legs as he was unable to follow the best in the mountains.

It is impossible to know from media reports how much a rider might suffer through the night, or even going down a flight of stairs. We fall, we climb on, we continue without complaint — yet that doesn’t mean every movement isn’t painful. We focus on the future with hope. That hope helps us overcome. Armstrong, like the dozens of others who didn’t meet expectations due to injury rode on committed to his team, the public and the race. To him, like the rest of us, the gravity of the injury was secondary to the importance of the race.

The day after the Tour finished in Paris, I glanced at a hotel-lobby television, which was tuned to a 24-hour French news channel. The news team was in the midst of summarizing and analyzing the race. They lauded Armstrong’s performance, saying he had finally gained the respect of the French for being approachable and for persisting despite his injuries and after losing hope of an overall victory. Prior to this year’s Tour he was thought of as someone who cared little about the sport and thought only about winning. If his comeback has revealed something about his personality it is that he is not only a fierce competitor but also that he simply loves being on his bike and racing.

The grimaces of the riders on the mountainside, struggling to finish, color the race as much as the images of the leaders crossing the line with apparent ease. Each rider’s unique story gives the race its flavor even if the public is unaware as it is relayed through the emotions of the race. On some level, everyone can comprehend and even identify with that emotion, as we all endure it in our daily lives. We fall, we get up, and we persist.

As Laurent Fignon wrote in his book, “A true cyclist sometimes has to bite the dust before he can reach the stars. Win. Survive. Hang in there. It’s a race against oblivion, a race against time, a race against yourself: a career, a life. Can a man’s character be represented in the way he rides a bike?”

Our team coach planned the routes and organized the day while Sean Yates, our team director drove behind us. Pre-riding the climbs and breaking them down into sections is key, but it is just as important to know the run-in to the ascent and the technical aspects of the descent. Positioning before the climb is crucial while knowing the descent is also vital as time can be won or lost depending on how confident and comfortable a rider is in the corners.

Sean was known as one of the fastest descenders of his generation. When he was asked by a journalist why he became so good at descending he responded that he couldn’t climb so he learned to catch groups on the descents. He told us a story where he bridged a five-minute gap to the front group on a long Alpine descent. The Colombians he had dropped on the way down caught him ten kilometers up the next climb. To many of the guys on the team Sean is not only our directeur sportif but also a childhood idol. Since he retired he hasn’t gained an ounce and he still rides daily and looks the same on his bike as he did when he was winning in the Motorola colors in the early 90’s. His work ethic, and quality as a domestique, was remarkable. He is a hard man who simply loves to be on his bike.

The following video is of one of the numerous climbs we did during the camp. The climb is the Port de Balès, a beautiful ascent in the Pyrenees. The road leading into the climb cuts through gorges and winds its way through pastures before opening up to some of the most beautiful countryside I have ridden through. The descent is fairly technical and, as the stage will finish at the bottom, will influence the outcome of the race.