When my agent called to tell me that that Johan Bruyneel was interested in writing a book about the essence of winning, I told him that I didn’t think I was interested in Bruyneel’s interest. I should have been: Bruyneel is a legend in cycling. He’d been a lunchbucket pro who’d scrapped his way to a couple stage wins in the Tour de France and a day in the yellow jersey, but, when his racing career ended, was probably going to end up being best known for riding off a cliff — while TV cameras rolled — during the 1996 Tour. Then he became a team director for Lance Armstrong and started what is not only the greatest win streak in Tour history but, I think, an unrivaled record compared to any coach or manager in any sport — 8 wins in his first 9 chances as director. • The cliff thing was cool. But the whole greatest thing just didn’t do much for me. I guess I like writing about the people down in the ravines more than those up on the peaks. •But my agent is smarter than me. He told me to call Bruyneel. I did, and the first conversation we had was about the stage he won in 1993 as a tribute to his father, who’d died five weeks before the start of the race. We kept talking, and he kept telling stories, and over the course of a few weeks I realized that everything he wanted to say about winning could be told through a series of simple, strong narratives that would read almost like parables, and that some of the best imagery was going to come in the book’s quiet moments. I liked the way all of that ran counter to my expectations, and I knew I wanted to write his book.
