conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first five paragraphs for a book with the title 'The Price of Gold'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Price of Gold
  Here's a view of the Valley Preferred Cycling Center, of which I am executive director, as it looks today. This is the same track on which I first learned to ride a track bike and cut my teeth in racing.
  I get home and am single-minded about getting back on track, back to number one. I immediately start preparing for the 1996 world championships in England. At worlds I hope to get my rematch with Fiedler. The directors of the T-Town velodrome invited Fiedler to come race me here, at home, after the Olympics. But he declined.
  So instead of racing Fiedler on a Friday night at T-town, 2 weeks before worlds, I reluctantly agree to race the tandem with Nick Chenowth. Nick is my boss. He's a masters racer who also manages EDS, the multimillion-dollar team I ride for.
  I'm no tandem-racing rookie. But after too many close calls—and after seeing a competitor nearly die while riding against Erv and me at the Olympic Trials in '92—I swore off tandems.
  It's not just me, either. Because of the danger, tandem racing fell out of favor internationally during the '90s, and is no longer an Olympic or world championship event. T-Town is the only track in the States that still sanctions the discipline. Every August the track turns a normal Friday night into Tandemonium. The event doubles as the tandem national championships, and Nick is keen on winning a title with me as his driver. Nick lives to race tandems. Even though I know the risks of tandem racing, Nick signs my checks, so I agree to do it.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When cyclists taper for a big race, they talk about letting themselves breathe. As if the training prior to the event was suffocation, and taking a rest feels like breathing big gulps of air. For years, I drowned myself with training. Now, I'm rising to the surface. After the disappointment of worlds in Bordeaux and the EDS debacle, I'm angry. Really angry. I'm ready to annihilate my competitors.
  Heading into the Pan-Am Games, I'm also excited. Win these races, and I'm guaranteed a trip to Sydney. In the match sprints I qualify first, and set a Pan-Am record for the flying 200 meters at 10.3 seconds. I dominate each of my opponents in the early rounds of the sprint tournament, and meet another American, Marcelo Arrue, in the final. Arrue is a good friend and teammate of mine. He even moved to T-Town and is a valued training partner. But he's no match for me in competition. I beat Arrue in two straight rides.
  Though I'm not competing in the team sprint in Sydney, I offer to race the event at the Pan-Am Games and help the team earn another spot for the Games. I combine with Arrue and Johnny Bairos. We win handedly, beating Cuba by more than a second.
  In the keirin, I take off from the front as soon as the pace bike pulls off the track. I sprint for two and a half laps, simply riding away from everyone else in the race. I'm the first athlete to ever win three gold medals at the Pan-Am Games.
  I've accomplished my goal for the year, qualifying for the Olympics. I'm ready to end my season and start my final preparations for Sydney, the only race I care about. I plan on skipping worlds in September, but USA Cycling pressures me to compete. If I race, I can help the US team earn more spots for the Olympics, the Feds tell me.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Heinz still lives across the street from my parents' old home and remains a fixture at the track. On the rare occasion that I jump into a local race with Tyler, I hear Heinz yelling, "Move up, Blade." Mike passed away in 2009. Right up until the end, he remained a regular spectator on Friday nights and was instrumental in getting handicap access at the T-Town track. Even while working as the track's assistant director, I continued to rely on his intelligent bike-racing perspective. Similar to Whitehead's death, losing Mike pained me. He was so instrumental to my early life. I will miss him.
  In his honor, I created the Mike Walter Madison, a tribute to the event he excelled in as a racer. The race, which takes place at T-Town every year, is 100 laps with point sprints every 10 laps. It's the kind of race Mike would've loved, long and hard, and respectful of the sport's illustrious history.
  As the Tuesday night Pro-Am winds to an end, my attention turns to the track. Tyler made it to the finals of the amateur keirin in his first attempt at the event. On his way to the start area, he looks for his mom and his sister. He smiles at his grandpa. I find Tyler before he lines up. I place my hand on his shoulder. I look him the eyes. "Don't try to be the next Marty Nothstein," I say. "Become your own bike racer." He nods.
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any other information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.
  The price of gold : the toll and the triumph of one man's Olympic dream / Marty Nothstein with Ian Dille.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The price of gold : the toll and the triumph of one man's Olympic dream / Marty Nothstein with Ian Dille. On the rare occasion that I jump into a local race with Tyler, I hear Heinz yelling, "Move up, Blade." Mike passed away in 2009. Right up until the end, he remained a regular spectator on Friday nights and was instrumental in getting handicap access at the T-Town track. Even while working as the track's assistant director, I continued to rely on his intelligent bike-racing perspective. Similar to Whitehead's death, losing Mike pained me. He was so instrumental to my early life. I will miss him.
  In his honor, I created the Mike Walter Madison, a tribute to the event he excelled in as a racer. The race, which takes place at T-Town every year, is 100 laps with point sprints every 10 laps. It's the kind of race Mike would've loved, long and hard, and respectful of the sport's illustrious history.
  As the Tuesday night Pro-Am winds to an end, my attention turns to the track. Tyler made it to the finals of the amateur keirin in his first attempt at the event. On his way to the start area, he looks for his mom and his sister. He smiles at his grandpa. I find Tyler before he lines up. I place my hand on his shoulder. I look him the eyes. "Don't try to be the next Marty Nothstein," I say. "Become your own bike racer." He nods.
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any other information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.Heinz still lives across the street from my parents' old home and remains a fixture at the track.