Free Lanced: The Shaming of Lance Armstrong by David Walsh, Paul Kimmage, John Follain, Alex Butler Page B
and Van den Bremt was driving Het Nieuwsblad's car, weaving his way past the stragglers towards the back of the peloton. Halfway up the climb, he was informed over the race radio that a rider had caught the aerial at the rear of the car and was being towed. Looking back, Van den Bremt saw that it was his compatriot, Eric Leman, who was one of the best one-day riders of his generation.
Van den Bremt accelerated to shake Leman off but still the rider clung on. The race referee screamed his disapproval at Van den Bremt over the race radio, and the journalist shouted at the rider to stop, but for five or six kilometres Leman held on. Then he had to let go. Van den Bremt waited by the finish, determined to let the rider have the sharp edge of his tongue.
"He arrived in the boot of the autobus, you know we call it 'the bus', the bunch of guys who are always behind," explained Van den Bremt. "I said, 'Look, you mustn't ever do that again'. He showed me his hand from the aerial. There was a deep wound across the palm, just like you had cut it with a knife. I saw that and I could not say anything more."
You may say Leman was cheating but it was understandable, almost admirable.
Unlike all that we have learnt over the past five years.
There were signposts along the way but no one fully knew what lay at the heart of the Tour de France until customs officials stopped Willy Voet's car near the Franco-Belgian border in early July 1998. Along with the courage and the endurance, there were the drugs that lessened the pain and helped you recover.
What happened in the Nineties was that the drugs improved and became too damned good.
"The difference," said Voet, who had helped riders to dope for more than 25 years, "was that the old drugs helped a rider to maximise his own potential. The new drugs transformed the rider."
The era of blood-boosting drugs had arrived and all sport, not just cycling, suffers like it never has in the past.
The key to cycling's difficulty is the uncertainty about what we see and who we can trust. Riders have died in unexplained circumstances and there is a belief that many of the dopers will experience serious health problems in middle age. How heroic were the old exploits?
Chiappucci has not enjoyed good health since his retirement. Roche turned up in Professor Francesco Conconi's EPO file and Hinault admitted three years ago that he didn't find anything wrong with a rider correcting "a hormonal imbalance" caused by his exertions in a race as gruelling as the Tour. LeMond, a three time winner of the Tour, has become disillusioned with continental professional cycling.
Into this changed world came a new champion, Lance Armstrong. Here was a man who recovered from life-threatening cancer to win the world's toughest race. Not once but four consecutive times and now, on the Tour's 100th anniversary, Armstrong is expected to win for the fifth time and so join the race's most illustrious champions; Jacques Anquetil, Eddy Merckx, Bernard Hinault and Miguel Indurain.
What better for the race than the American's restorative powers?
Except that the new champion has not convinced everyone that he represents a complete departure from the old world.
He continues to work with Dr Michele Ferrari, an Italian sports doctor who is currently defending himself against police charges that he has doped cyclists. As Armstrong comfortably saw off his rivals in last year's Tour, he was subjected to numerous taunts of "dope, dope" from fans on the mountainsides.
There is a greater awareness now than ever before of the damage caused by doping.
How determined the authorities are to rid cycling of its cheating culture remains to be proven. What is certain is that the battle is far from won.
It is a fight that must be won. In all its imperfections, the Tour remains one of the world's greatest races. It may now be the only sporting epic in the 21st century. Those who claim it is not possible without doping utter one of the great
Van den Bremt accelerated to shake Leman off but still the rider clung on. The race referee screamed his disapproval at Van den Bremt over the race radio, and the journalist shouted at the rider to stop, but for five or six kilometres Leman held on. Then he had to let go. Van den Bremt waited by the finish, determined to let the rider have the sharp edge of his tongue.
"He arrived in the boot of the autobus, you know we call it 'the bus', the bunch of guys who are always behind," explained Van den Bremt. "I said, 'Look, you mustn't ever do that again'. He showed me his hand from the aerial. There was a deep wound across the palm, just like you had cut it with a knife. I saw that and I could not say anything more."
You may say Leman was cheating but it was understandable, almost admirable.
Unlike all that we have learnt over the past five years.
There were signposts along the way but no one fully knew what lay at the heart of the Tour de France until customs officials stopped Willy Voet's car near the Franco-Belgian border in early July 1998. Along with the courage and the endurance, there were the drugs that lessened the pain and helped you recover.
What happened in the Nineties was that the drugs improved and became too damned good.
"The difference," said Voet, who had helped riders to dope for more than 25 years, "was that the old drugs helped a rider to maximise his own potential. The new drugs transformed the rider."
The era of blood-boosting drugs had arrived and all sport, not just cycling, suffers like it never has in the past.
The key to cycling's difficulty is the uncertainty about what we see and who we can trust. Riders have died in unexplained circumstances and there is a belief that many of the dopers will experience serious health problems in middle age. How heroic were the old exploits?
Chiappucci has not enjoyed good health since his retirement. Roche turned up in Professor Francesco Conconi's EPO file and Hinault admitted three years ago that he didn't find anything wrong with a rider correcting "a hormonal imbalance" caused by his exertions in a race as gruelling as the Tour. LeMond, a three time winner of the Tour, has become disillusioned with continental professional cycling.
Into this changed world came a new champion, Lance Armstrong. Here was a man who recovered from life-threatening cancer to win the world's toughest race. Not once but four consecutive times and now, on the Tour's 100th anniversary, Armstrong is expected to win for the fifth time and so join the race's most illustrious champions; Jacques Anquetil, Eddy Merckx, Bernard Hinault and Miguel Indurain.
What better for the race than the American's restorative powers?
Except that the new champion has not convinced everyone that he represents a complete departure from the old world.
He continues to work with Dr Michele Ferrari, an Italian sports doctor who is currently defending himself against police charges that he has doped cyclists. As Armstrong comfortably saw off his rivals in last year's Tour, he was subjected to numerous taunts of "dope, dope" from fans on the mountainsides.
There is a greater awareness now than ever before of the damage caused by doping.
How determined the authorities are to rid cycling of its cheating culture remains to be proven. What is certain is that the battle is far from won.
It is a fight that must be won. In all its imperfections, the Tour remains one of the world's greatest races. It may now be the only sporting epic in the 21st century. Those who claim it is not possible without doping utter one of the great
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