When you commit to a solo attack, you must commit everything. Everything. I have lived that creed pretty much my entire race career. This race-style has won me races—big and small. But mostly, it has bought a glut of heart-wrenching near-misses and confidence-crushing disappointment. But when it does work, there is nothing—absolutely nothing—in the world like the last 200m to line. One of those rare race-career moments came yesterday in the criterium at masters road nationals in Winston Salem, NC, when I soloed off the front just shy of 30 minutes left in the race and held it. Yep, it hurt. But oh-so-good were those absolutely precious and exhilarating final 200m, as this particular jersey had long eluded me and is now a very humbling addition to the wardrobe.