The past many years have been pretty much the same when it comes to my personal race calendar. In reality, riders don't have much say when it comes to our individual programs -- unless you're an outright team leader, otherwise you're more of a mercenary and therefore hired and deployed to any particular race worldwide to do you job. Pattern and repetition are a good thing in this line of work, because each race is uniquely nuanced, therefore learning the ins and outs and the varying characteristics of a race help considerably. Knowing when to move up, learning when you can relax, and being certain of certain weather conditions that affect a race year after year pay priceless dividends.My first race of the season is often San Luis, then a few smaller races before honing fitness in the early season smashfest that is Paris-Nice. Next it's on to the northern Belgian Classics to fight shoulder to shoulder for every tiny inch of the road before I return stateside where we race on what seems like a cush, eight-lane highway (because it sometimes is exactly that) for the Tour of California. Ahhh'merica. The following week is nationals and then I'm soon back to Europe for Tour de Suisse, and fingers crossed for the Tour de France. While that's not a guaranteed the schedule, it's a pretty good rough draft of how my season has been laid out during pre-season meetings over the past half dozen years.This season started in a similar fashion, but then post nationals and into June I raced the Route du Sud which is "the other" race riders use to hone fitness before the Tour. Other meaning Suisse and the Dauphine are the typical June races before the grand daddy of them all, Le Tour. Still, there's still no shortage of talent at RdS, as the French in particular are fighting tooth and nail for their final roster spots, and needless to say, the Pyrenees are large.So while the beginning of the season was similar to years past, this July has been an anomaly from the very beginning. I was able to soak in the 4th of July in America, for example, for the first time in probably a decade. Prior to that, we rolled out a redux of our original 200 On 100 by doing the... 200 On 100. Often a fall event, this was a terrific get together of cycling friends and family in what can only be described as an over-the-top bike ride. Just shy of 220 miles in one day at a blistering pace: yeah, it's nuts.And as I look to the final few races on my calendar, and ultimately my career, and as I have spent the entire month of July in New England rather than the wild French yonder, my mind flickers over the previous dozen years I've poured into this sport with immense gratitude. I'm often asked who would I like to share a bike ride with if I could pick anyone on earth, and the answer is the same: my brother. Robbie got me into cycling, was my teammate and training partner for years, but given our divergent paths in life over the past nearly seven years we haven't been able to ride much at all. Therefore to have him at the 200 on 100 was tremendous.Three events in Vermont that combine everything I love about cycling also made for a fantastic July. Pedaling a combination of traffic-barren roads with ample dirt thrown in for good measure; the lush rolling Appalachian Mountains all around with periodic trips up and over the gaps where I cut my teeth just getting into this sport. We ride with friends, former teammates, and friends we haven't yet established with whom you can experience the shared sense of camaraderie and accomplishment. Rest stops take place at general stores, where the sleigh bells on the door that jingle when you enter so that the eyes of the regulars peer up from their table and see who's walking in; the creaking, dusty floorboard absorbs the clip-clap of cycling shoes, and the cold fresh cooler in the back of the store offers just what you're after on a stifling hot day. Plus there is maple syrup on sale everywhere (...but who needs that when you have this in your jersey pocket).

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------"Ted, do you miss the Tour?"It's such a tough question that I've fielded dozens of times this month. Not being there now for the first time in three years does feel a bit odd. With an apologetic intonation, the question is often preceded with, "I'm sorry you're not in France this year..."The Tour is like a giant, wild animal. From most perspectives it appears graceful and serene and the next thing you know it's viciously tearing you apart. No matter who you talk to, the first week was characterized by wrecks -- and horrific ones at that. To see the yellow jersey abandon the race not once but twice with brutal injuries is unheard of. A mix of tough conditions and weather through week two, then fast-forwards to today where there are abandons left and right with hard HARD racing still yet to come. And it's not just riders who have been working tirelessly and without the camera on them throughout the race, but established team leaders and some of the strongest men of the peloton: done. It's nuts.So sure, I miss the Tour. But I soak up every experience gratefully just the same so that right now, this month, and these final few months of racing ahead, my eyes are a sponge soaking up these incredible experiences. They're a combination of hard training and invaluable time spent with family and friends and I'd call it a pretty amazing alternative.