A year later, he quit his job and volunteered to join the Slovene military, undergoing nine months of intensive combat training (he surprised his unit with his penchant for late-night training runs). He earned a coveted spot in the sports division, which exists solely to support the nationÂs top athletes. For Robic, the post meant a salary of 700 euros (about $850) a month and the freedom to train full time.

This day, despite the foul conditions, Robic trains for five and a half hours. He rides through toylike stone villages and fields of olive trees; he climbs mountains from whose peaks he can see the blue Adriatic and the coast of Italy. He rides across the border checkpoint into Croatia, along a deserted beach and past groves of fanlike bamboo. He rides in a powerful crouch, his big legs churning, his face impassive.

While I watch from the car, IÂm reminded of a scene the previous night. Robic and his support crew of fellow soldiers met at a small restaurant for a RAAM reunion. For several hours, they ate veal, drank wine out of small glass pitchers and reminisced in high spirits about the race. They spoke of the time Robic became unshakably convinced his team was making fun of him, and the time he sat on a curb in Athens, Ohio, and refused to budge for an hour, and the time they had to lift his sleeping body back onto his bike.

Stanovnik told of an incident in the Appalachians, when Robic, who seemed about to give up, suddenly found an unexpected burst of energy. ÂÂHe goes like madman for one hour, two hours,ÂÂ Stanovnik recalled. ÂÂI am shouting at him, ÂYou show Slovenia, you show army, you show world what you are!Â I have tears on my face, watching him.ÂÂ

At the end of the table, Rajko Petek wondered whether he could continue to work on the crew. ÂÂIt is too much,ÂÂ he said to a round of understanding nods. ÂÂThis kind of racing leaves damage upon JureÂs mind. Too much fighting, too much craziness. I cannot take it anymore.ÂÂ

Robic sat quietly in their midst, his eyes darting and quick. Sometimes heÂd offer a word or a joke, but mostly he listened. At first it seemed he was being shy, but after a while it became apparent that he was curious to hear the stories. The person of whom they spoke Â this sometimes frightening, sometimes inspiring man named Jure Robic Â remained a stranger to him.

Robic finishes his ride as the winter sun is going down. As we drive back toward Koroska Bela, a lens of white fog descends on the roadway. We pass ghostlike farms, factories and church spires while Robic talks about his plans for the coming year. He talks about his wife, whose job has supported them, and he talks about their son, who is starting to walk. He talks about how he will try to win a record third consecutive RAAM in June, and how he hopes race officials wonÂt react to the recent fatalities by adding mandatory rest stops. (ÂÂThen it will not be a true race,ÂÂ he says.) In a few months, heÂll do his signature 48-hour training, in which he rides for 24 hours straight, stays awake all night, and then does a 12-hour workout.