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.