A goodbye to the Tour de Lance
-by Laura Weislo
Sitting in my living room, watching the re-run of the last stage of
this years' Tour de France, I must admit that I actually got a bit
misty-eyed at the finale. Maybe it was because I had just spent a
weekend in the burning sun watching my teammates have spectacular races
while I remain hamstrung (quite literally) and unable to race.
Maybe it was because my first cat, Phoebe, had to be put to sleep this
weekend while I was gone. She was 16, and very very ill.
But really, I think it was because, despite pretending to be too cool
and cycling savvy to owe my cycling addiction to the Lance Factor, I
truly am a product of the Armstrong Generation. I didn't pick up
the bike because of Lance, I picked it up in an attempt to stave off
the seemingly inevitable post-college weight gain. My first goal
was a charity ride, the MS150 of 1999. I started training in the
winter of 1998-1999, and by the time July rolled around, I had become
familiar enough with the bike to appreciate the racers. I had
been on the fast group rides and felt the competitive spirit course
through me.
At the time, the Tour didn't enjoy thrice daily re-runs and live
coverage of each stage. I mainly followed the race via the
Internet, thanks to CyclingNews.com, and through the occasional reports
on NPR. I didn't pay that much attention to the pre-tour build
up, but once I heard an American had taken the yellow jersey, I started
to pay attention. It was then that I first heard of this
miraculous creature called Lance Armstrong. He had defeated
cancer to return to the highest level of the sport, and was now wearing
the leader's jersey. All reports placed doubt on his ability to
hold onto the lead until the end. I don't recall hearing about
the luck (later attributed to tactical brilliance) Armstrong displayed
on Stage 2 by being ahead of all the inevitable crashes on the Passage
du Gois, putting him over 6 minutes ahead of many of his closest
competitors. But I clearly recall hearing a report on NPR later
on. On a magical day in the Alps, on the climb to Sestrieres,
Armstrong showed the world what he had become since cancer - a
superhuman freak of nature who could fly up mountains as if his body
was filled with helium. Nobody could match him. Nobody
would match him ever again. I followed the rest of the race with
ever increasing excitement, and was amazed when the last mountain stage
was over and Armstrong was still 6 minutes ahead of the rest.
It would be years before I would see the actual videos of that race,
but the online coverage turned me from recreational cyclist into
instant bike racing fan. And it was only a matter of time before
I had to try my own hand at racing, which I did in 2000. My own
race experiences only served to make me an even more rabid fan of the
sport, and my enthusiasm infected my husband so much that, in 2000,
he followed the Tour even closer than I did! It was only a
matter of time before he wanted a race bike of his own, and he became
one of the first wave of Lance-induced fans to become bike racers
themselves.
In 2001, we were lucky enough to be able to afford to go to watch the
Tour in person. I clearly recall the day we were to leave.
It was early in the morning, and we had bought satellite TV service so
that we could watch the live Tour coverage on OLN. It was the
morning of the stage to Alpe d'Huez, and as we packed our bags, we
watched nervously as Lance displayed uncharacteristic weakness -
winceing in pain at the pace set by Team Telekom. We groaned - I
remember thinking how much it would suck to go all the way to France to
watch Armstrong get his ass handed to him. We were fooled, like
Telekom and the rest of the world. After a quick trip to the
store to pick up last minute travel items, we returned to the TV just
in time to see Lance deliver "the look" and storm away up the
mountain. Unmatched. Again. I felt guilty - I'm not
normally one to give into jingoism - but we were immediately both
relieved and excited to get to the Alps to watch our countryman win.
The experience of watching the Tour was more thrilling than I could
have ever expected, and while I was still surprised to find myself
jumping up and down like a stupid pre-teen cheerleader when Lance and
Ullrich rode by me, I could feel myself gaining a deeper appreciation
for all the competitors - not just Lance.
My first close-up view of Ullrich and Armstrong.
I fell in love with
Laurent Jalabert after watching his sincere beaming smile when the
entire crowd erupted into chants of "Ja-Ja!!" on the Col de
Peyresourde. My heart went out to Francois Simon as he struggled
to hold onto the leader's jersey for just one more day. I was
amazed at the sheer enthusiasm for the sport displayed by fans from all
around the world, and it opened my eyes. Lance faded a bit into
the background, and I started paying more attention to the others.
Francois Simon battled courageously to keep his yellow jersey, but could not withstand the onslaught of Armstrong
My eyes were opened in a different way the following year, when the
French turned ugly and the allegations of doping by Armstrong grew
louder and louder. Simoni's positive test, Garzelli's positive
test and then after the Tour, Rumsas' wife being caught with a carload
of dope drove home the reality of doping in cycling. Suddenly, I
couldn't enjoy watching the sheer dominance of Armstrong without
doubting his innocence.
That all turned around in 2003 when Armstrong had a terrible year, and
nearly lost the Tour after tanking the ITT between the Alps and the
Pyrennes. Between Tyler's courageous ride with a broken
collarbone, time gaps between the top 3 GC spots counted in seconds in
the final week, the famous Armstrong crash, and all of the other drama of the 2003 Tour, it was
almost a relief to see Lance ride away on Luz Ardiden and get
everything back to normal.
In 2004, it was back to the old superhuman freak of nature. I
felt myself sliding back into the mindset of what Armstrong so
eloquently called "the skeptics" during his final podium speech this
year. I had been in a UCI race by then, and had experienced the
pain and agony of a stage race of only 5 days. I couldn't imagine
how anyone could be so good that they could dominate as much and for as
long as this man had. I was happy that Lance decided to go
for his 7th Tour win, because I was hoping I would see him lose.
A sight that was very familiar for the past seven years...
Well that didn't happen, and I was actually happy again
when Lance won the race, and misty-eyed at the idea that the era of
Armstrong was over.
I'm a skeptic by nature, and now that Lance is retiring, I guess we'll
never ever know if he was a natural superhuman freak of nature, or a
pharmaceutical-induced superhuman freak of nature. But I guess I
am still proud that one of my countrymen was the one superhuman freak
of nature that won 7 Tours de France. I doubt that even in the
absence of anti-doping rules that anyone will ever achieve that feat
again, period. Certainly not in my lifetime.
Lance, controversy aside, has done an incredible service to the sport
of cycling just by kicking an incredible amount of ass for the past 7
years. The skeptics came in droves to watch, just in case he'd
lose. The Lance-fanatics came to worship their sporting
idol. The cancer victims came to worship their hero. And
cycling fans came to watch his sheer brilliance on the bike. The
downside of fame is that Lance became the biggest target for criticism
in the sport, and he handled it with an incredible amount of control
and, dare I say, elegance (is it legal for a Texas Republican to be
elegant?).
Whatever anyone can say about Lance Armstrong, there is no denying that
he has given more than his fair share to the world in the very short
amount of time since his recovery from cancer. I for one cannot
thank him enough for opening my eyes to this incredible sport. My
life would be very different if I hadn't found cycling. So,
even though it's totally corny, I have to say, "Thank you Lance!".