The Secret Race: Inside the Hidden World of the Tour De France: Doping, Cover-Ups, and Winning at All Costs: Inside the Hidden World of the Tour De France: Doping, Cover-Ups, and Winning at All Costs (41 page)

Stay on my wheel, I told Pat, and I took off after them. It wasn’t a fair fight: they had a hundred-yard head start on us, and they were going hard, and I was on a heavy old bike that must’ve weighed thirty pounds. It must’ve looked pretty funny: me, going like hell in my tennis shoes and fat tires, pounding along after them like a steam engine. They looked back a couple times; they knew we were there. But they couldn’t get away. Over a mile or so, I reeled them in.

We caught them at a red light, and I coasted up close to them, then closer. I put my fat front tire right between their expensive bikes. They looked back, and I looked at them; I could see in their eyes they were a little bit scared. Then I reached out and took the DOPERS SUCK guy’s hand, and shook it. I gave him a friendly smile.

“Hey, I’m an ex-doper,” I said. “But I don’t suck. Have a good ride, guys.”

They rode off, and Pat and I rode home, and my heart was full of happiness. Because, I realized, that’s my story. Not a shiny, pretty myth about superheroes who win every time, but a human truth about one normal guy who tried to compete in a messed-up world and did his best; who made big mistakes and survived. That’s the story I want to tell, and keep telling, partly because it will help the sport move forward, and partly because it helps me move forward.

I want to tell it to people who think that dopers are bad, irredeemable people. I want to tell it so people might focus their energy on the real challenge: creating a culture that tips people away from doping. I want to tell it because now I
need
to tell it, in order to survive.

Before we left for Montana, I had to deal with one final chore. Nine chores, actually: big plastic totes that I kept in the garage, which contained my past, in the form of photos, files, letters, race numbers, trophies, magazines, T-shirts. I’m a bit of a hoarder, and this was pretty much everything I’d ever gotten in my career (I even kept a matchbook from a French hotel). As I went through the containers, I was startled to see how much was contained inside.

I pulled out the artifacts: My race number, #42, and a course map from my first big race, back at the 1994 Tour DuPont, the day I broke through. T-shirts from the 2003 parade in Marblehead that said TYLER IS OUR HERO. A shiny orange Wheaties box with Lance on the front in his yellow jersey. Baseball-type cards with our pictures on them, with all of us looking like superheroes. Wrinkled old race numbers, the ones that were pinned to my jersey. A big shoebox full of letters from fans, condolence letters about Tugboat, letters from MS patients telling me their stories.

Most of all, photos. Faces. Kevin’s wild grin, Frankie’s flinty, commanding gaze. Eki lifting a glass of champagne, his face cracking with an unlikely Russian grin. George and I, arm in arm, having
a beer after the Tour, Christian’s sly grin. The whole team standing together in the sunshine on the Champs-Élysées. My parents, standing proudly on the side of the road with a sign that says ALLEZ TYLER.

I thought I would hate looking through that stuff. I thought I would wince and want to bury it. And I was right—it did hurt, it hurt a lot. But I kept looking, pushing through, until I came to the simple truth:
All this stuff is my life
. All this crazy, messy, amazing, terrible, real stuff, that’s my life.

I’m happy to see my sport cleaning itself up over the past few years. It’s far from 100 percent clean—I don’t think that’s possible, as long as you’re dealing with human beings who want to win—but it’s significantly better, and slower. The winning time up Alpe d’Huez in the 2011 Tour was 41:21; back in 2001, a rider with that time would have finished 40th.
^‡
The improvement is mostly due to better testing, better enforcement, and the “biological passport” program where riders’ blood values are more closely monitored. There’s still no test for BBs, and if you believe the rumors (I do), riders who are determined to dope are resorting to smaller, less effective BBs.

Overall, though, things are moving in the right direction. You don’t see whole teams dominate entire races as often as they used to. What’s more, individual riders are having ups and downs; you can see that big efforts carry costs, exactly as they should. I like that kind of racing partly because it’s more exciting, but mostly because I think it’s honest. After all, it’s the humanity we love in these races. Every day brings risks and rewards. You might win. You might lose. That’s the point.

Now I spend my time training people, helping them on the journey,
seeing their hard work pay off. Whether they are Olympic-level athletes or regular folks who want to lose a few pounds, I treat them the same. Along the way, I try to tell them a bit of my story, try to tell them what I’ve learned: that the person who finishes toward the back is often more courageous than the one who wins. I feel like I’m returning to my early days on the bike, to the person I used to be. I’m excited about the second half of my life.

One last story. It happened the night before the
60 Minutes
interview in Southern California. I was hanging out on the balcony restaurant of the hotel when some guests approached me, wanting to chat. They were huge bike-racing fans; they watched the Tour fervently every year. They knew all about my career, they had my poster on their wall, and they said they supported me, which I appreciated. Of course, they had zero idea that in a few hours I was going on
60 Minutes
and would be telling the truth to the world. Then one of the guests, a fit, forty-something guy named Joe, spoke up.

“Could you stay right there for one minute?” Joe asked. “There’s someone I really want you to meet.”

Joe left and shortly returned accompanied by a dark-haired boy in a Cub Scout shirt, obviously his son. The boy, who was about ten, stood tall and proud; his sleeve was decorated with merit badges.

“Hi, I’m Tyler,” I said, shaking the boy’s hand.

“My name’s Lance,” the kid said.

I must have looked bewildered. Joe touched me on the arm. “He was born in 2001,” he said helpfully.

“Oh,” I said, still absorbing the name, still staring at this kid who’s looking at me like he knows something’s up. I have no idea what to say or do, except to put my hand on the kid’s shoulder and give him a smile. He smiled back.

We made some small talk, and all the while I’m feeling like shit. I’m thinking, I’m sorry, kid. I’m sorry that in a few hours, I will be hurting you and your family, busting up the nice feelings you’ve got for your name. I’m sorry, but the truth is the truth. I hope you can understand.

We talked. Young Lance and I shot the breeze about the Scouts, merit badges, pelicans, astronomy. The kid knew his constellations, and he showed me some; he knew how far away they were, how many years it took for the light to reach us. As we talked, I found myself comforted by this kid. I liked the methodical way he thought about stuff, figuring it out, and the role his father had in his life, guiding him. He was strong and smart; he was going to be okay.

I thought I would leave young Lance with a word of wisdom to tuck in his pocket for later, when all this came out, so he might understand. But of course when the time for goodbyes came, my mind was a blank; I couldn’t think of anything. Only later did it come to me what I wanted to tell him, the same thing my parents told me so long ago.

The truth really will set you free.

*
According to reports, sources within the FBI, the FDA, and the U.S. Postal Service were “shocked, surprised, and angered” at the unexplained closure. One source said there were “no weaknesses in the case.” ESPN reported that prosecutors had prepared a written recommendation to indict Armstrong and others. A source close to the investigation said that Sheryl Crow had been subpoenaed a few weeks before the closure, and that she’d been a “star witness.” Crow did not respond to interview requests.

Four possible factors behind Birotte’s decision to close the case:

1. Birotte, who’d been appointed just 11 months before, wanted to protect President Obama from the potentially ugly spectacle of indicting an American hero during an election year.

2. Sports-doping cases were not going well for the government. Neither the Bonds nor the Clemens cases had as yet delivered any meaningful results, and had been closer to train wrecks than triumphs for the government. The Armstrong case was huge and expensive; why risk a loss?

3. Birotte was wary of the cancer lobby. A controversy had recently erupted when the Susan G. Komen Foundation withdrew $700,000 in funding for Planned Parenthood for what appeared to be pressure from the political right (which opposed Planned Parenthood’s support of abortions). On Friday, February 3, the same day the case was dropped, the Lance Armstrong Foundation donated $100,000 to Planned Parenthood to fill the funding gap, providing a clear signal of the LAF’s support of the Obama administration’s stance on reproductive rights, as well as a connection to the millions of women who objected to the Komen Foundation’s decision.

4. Birotte may have received the results of an internal leak investigation, and had decided those results would potentially embarrass the Department of Justice, if it showed government employees leaking to the media.

While some are inclined toward conspiracy theories, it makes more sense that Birotte made a political judgment that the risks of the criminal prosecution outweighed the rewards.

†
If he loses his titles or is sanctioned for doping, Armstrong faces the possibility that other parties could take action against him. SCA Promotions, which had unsuccessfully battled Armstrong in 2005 over its obligation to pay $5 million in bonuses for winning the 2004 Tour de France, said it was planning to investigate the possibility of suing to recover its money. “We basically told him that we will be monitoring the case and that we’re going after our money if he is stripped of the title,” Jeffrey Tillotson, an SCA lawyer, told
The New York Times
. “They responded: ‘Tough bones, it’s not happening. I never cheated.’ It was just the usual Lance: I’m 100 percent right, and you’re 100 percent wrong.”

‡
The UCI’s internal testing numbers reflect this change. In 2001, 13 percent of riders were classified as having abnormally high or low levels of reticulocytes, or newly formed red blood cells (signs of EPO use and/or transfusion). By 2011, that number had dropped to 2 percent.

Afterword

FRANKIE ANDREU:
Works as director of Kenda/5-Hour Energy, a U.S.-based team, and also as a video commentator on the Tour de France for Bicycling.com. Resides with his wife, Betsy, and their three sons in Dearborn, Michigan.

JOHAN BRUYNEEL:
Denied the USADA doping charges and chose to have his case arbitrated before USADA’s panel; his case will likely be heard in October/November 2012. Pending the result, Bruyneel took a voluntary suspension from his duties as director of Radio-Shack Nissan Trek.

DR. LUIGI CECCHINI:
Lives in Lucca, Italy, where he still trains professional cyclists.

DR. PEDRO CELAYA:
Denied the USADA doping charges, and has chosen to have his case arbitrated before USADA’s panel; his case will likely be heard, along with Bruyneel’s, in October/November 2012.

DR. LUIS DEL MORAL:
Chose not to contest USADA’s doping charges, and received a lifetime ban from cycling and any other sport governed by the World Anti-Doping Agency code.

DR. MICHELE FERRARI:
Chose not to contest USADA’s doping charges, and received a lifetime ban from cycling and any other sport governed by the World Anti-Doping Agency code (adding to the lifetime ban preventing him from working with Italian cyclists that he received in 2002).

In April 2011,
La Gazzetta dello Sport
reported that investigators had uncovered a network of money transfers organized by Ferrari valued at 15 million euros. Ferrari remains under investigation.

DR. EUFEMIANO FUENTES:
In December 2010, Fuentes was arrested and charged with organizing a doping organization involving track athletes and mountain bikers. Police seized EPO, steroids, hormones, and blood-transfusion equipment, along with an assortment of blood bags. The case was later dismissed when the telephone taps and searches used to obtain evidence were ruled invalid. Fuentes maintains his medical practice near his home in Las Palmas, on the Spanish island of Gran Canaria.

GEORGE HINCAPIE:
Retired from the sport after riding in his record 17th Tour de France in 2012 for BMC Racing Team. He lives in Greenville, South Carolina, with his wife, Melanie, and their two children.

MARTY JEMISON:
Lives with his wife, Jill, in Girona, Spain, where they run Jemison Cycling Tours.

BOBBY JULICH:
Retired from racing in 2008, and now works as an assistant director for Team Sky.

FLOYD LANDIS:
According to published reports, Landis is the plaintiff in the ongoing civil case against Armstrong and the U.S. Postal Service team ownership. He lives in Southern California.