Assembling a group of truly compatible riders is complicated alchemy at the best of times, a real treat when it coalesces. You need to get along, that's obvious, but there are subtleties that don't seem like anything until the third successive 700-mile day. Like pace. Here I'm not talking about who is fastest, but, rather, who is willing to moderate both speed and risk-taking (not always the same thing) to help keep the group together. When the fast guys know when to wick it up and, conversely, when to play the pace for a tour (and not a race), everything changes. When the slower riders can accept their pace without riding over their heads to keep up, it all comes together. There's nothing worse than the tail-ender running off the road to preserve his manhood (and, yes, it's almost always the guys who do this) or the quickest rider feeling like he's working far below his level, getting bored, and crashing because his mind is elsewhere. In fact, all get-offs are bad.