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Before the race, a lot of people had been talking about Julian Alaphilippe. This young French guy had already made a big mark on the sport with some daring attacks—precociously confident race-changing efforts—and had quickly obtained the respect of his more-garlanded and experienced Quick-Step teammates. His breakthrough season was 2015, when he was second to me at the Tour of California and also second at both La Flèche Wallonne and (most eyebrow-raising) Liège–Bastogne–Liège. For somebody to come so close to winning a Monument as long and as difficult as the world’s oldest bike race at the age of 22 is incredible. His career looked a bit like mine at first glance, but a proper look would show that he was a more accomplished climber than me with a lightning-quick uphill jump in his locker.

It was Alaphilippe who showed us a clean pair of carbon-fiber-soled shoes on the slopes of Salmon Hill the last time. The French were going mad. I was about 20 wheels back, trying to figure out what was going on. I could see a couple of favorites, maybe Philippe Gilbert or Niki Terpstra, trying to bridge, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if we’d caught all the breakaways either. Confusion reigned, and there were just 10 kilometers left.