As the road climbed uphill into the lower Alps the peloton began to shatter. Riders attacked, while others drifted against the flow of the group. Gaps formed in the long line of riders. At the back, groups of dropped riders pooled together while, up front, sensing it was the moment where differences would be made, riders forced the pace, rivals working together to forge gaps. I followed the wheels, jumping from one to the next as riders could no longer hold the speed.

It wasn’t a climb of great difficulty, open and gradual, a category 4. But, it came just at the right moment in the race and the stage to disrupt the rhythm of the group and cause many riders pain. The riders who pushed the hardest would be in front. The tactics on the day became simple on the climb. Many riders, deflated, without legs or morale wouldn’t make the finish, and if they did they would be in pieces.

This short climb we ascended over a few minutes changed the stage race; the split not only affected the stage but also the classification separating the riders with fight from the riders without the mental tenacity to push. As young riders at the Tour de l’Avenir it also affected many of our careers. It was a moment of decision: to put our heads down and push or give in and sit up.

The peloton was no longer whole but small groups of ten, twenty and thirty. No longer able to hold the tempo of the leaders, I found a group and we pursued the front of the race until the finish line. Not one rider came across looking at ease. We, the Canadian team, climbed in the team van, washed off, pulled on some dry clothes and waited for our teammates to finish. Only three of us had finished and several were still to come. Our director came to the car to tell us to hold tight, that a massive gruppeto of dropped riders was coming and that we would soon be on our way to the hotel.

Minutes before the gruppeto arrived Svein Tuft, my Canadian teammate, crossed the line with a companion: a Ukrainian National team rider. The two, unhappy to sit up and ride the slow tempo of the resigned gruppeto behind them, attacked and pushed on for 40 kilometers together, riding a two up time trial with everything they had, fearing the time cut and not wanting to give in, and up.

At the start of the race, the 2000 Tour de L’Avenir, I wasn’t impressed with Svein’s physique. He appeared too big and muscular to be a cyclist and I didn’t think he would make it over the Alps that we were to ascend in the last few days of the ten-day race. In the room we shared, he was quiet, respectful, thoughtful and inquisitive. While most of us had loaded suitcases he had a small bag without much contents: a jersey, shorts, a tracksuit, a few t-shirts and a pair of jeans.

In a peloton of riders that seems to have become increasingly obsessed with image, all similarly trying hard to be different, Svein, still today, poses the same contrast he did in 2000. His adventurous outdoorsmen personality hasn’t worn thin. He doesn’t ride for the prestige or money-- and doesn’t even really seem to care that much about it-- but for the adventure and the moment.

The Tour de L’Avenir was Svein’s first race outside of Canada. A ten day Tour de France for under-25-year-old riders, the race was not the easiest event to learn how to race a bike in Europe. Not too long before traveling to France, Svein had toured the western coast by bike with his dog in tow, from Vancouver to Alaska and then back down to southern California. A tourist trying to find himself and discover the country, he had found a passion for cycling.

After his courageous effort to the finish line with his newfound Ukrainian friend, Svein looked shattered. When we arrived in the hotel room he flopped down on his bed-- still in his race clothes, looking up at the white tiled ceiling, his arms and legs draped over the single bed.

In the room there was a small kettle, I put it on, made a cup of tea for each of us, which we slowly nursed, dunking the complimentary biscuits and nibbling them away-- a small treat that seemed like a wonderful present. As I talked about the stage and all the suffering, all he could say was how much he loved it.

These are moments we now know well.

Svein’s efforts weren’t a waste. The gruppeto behind, who lethargically rode to the finish without panic, was eliminated from the race for being out of the time limit. Svein and his companion had made it. Their only award for a day was another set of fresh numbers for the next stage.

The high Alpine passes we ascended in the next stages blew the peloton to pieces. Early into each stage Svein was dropped with the Ukrainian and they pushed on together, never relenting and never losing morale. And then, each night in the room we talked about the countryside and the race. With a sore shoulder, that I later found out was quite seriously damaged, Svein was one reason I kept on through the pain. We were suffering together and he seemed to love every moment.

He finished the Tour de L’Avenir even though a third of the peloton did not. He came with a goal and never gave in to the rain, wind, competition, terrain, or pain.

Eight years later we are now in Girona, training together for the World Championships. While training we reminisced about that stage in Avenir, the climb where we both saw stars from the effort, and how that moment had stuck with us. We didn’t leave a mark on the race but its moments marked us. On the French roads we matured quickly, found our limits and learned we could push them higher.