Pre-Race Analysis
July 6, 2001

The weeks leading up to the tour are when the contenders fine tune their fitness with as few distractions as possible.

Not so for the grunts. The domestiques are sweating bullets to earn a spot on the Tour team of only nine guys. Most division one teams have about 25 riders and every single one of these very talented riders wants a place on their team’s Tour roster.

Sometimes a rider races flat out in the spring to earn a spot and then is pretty wasted by July and has a poor Tour. If you take it easy in the early races chances are you will be fresh for the Tour but will probably not even get to race.

So, short of poison or voodoo what are ya gonna do? The teams which have had great Tour success have very astute team managers who allow their Tour team to take the spring races with a little less pressure to perform.

Since nobody on my teams could ever win a race in the spring that would have been a very good way to get on the Tour roster. However, the lack of wins led to a downward spiral of political intrigue and idiotic behavior from grown men trying to impress the team manager.

Pitiful demonstrations of ass kissing not withstanding, the team manager has always had a difficult job putting together the perfect nine riders. Team ambiance is critical and each rider must be 100% dedicated to helping the team leader from one moment to the next, even if that is a different rider from day to day.

Pity the team leader who cannot deliver the win after his teammates dedicated themselves to his chances, but even more sad is the talented racer left off the roster who may never have another chance to shine in the Grand Boucle the greatest race, The Tour de France.

Tour Pandemonium
July 7, 2001

The start of the Tour De France is utter, thorough and complete pandemonium. There are literally thousands of journalists from over 60 countries who've assembled here in Dunkirk. All of whom are climbing all over each other to get the juiciest tidbits from perhaps the most superstitious and haunted by self-doubt athletes in the world.

For most of the season, a bike racer slogs away over hill and cobbles, through wind, rain and sleet in relative anonymity -- content to race hard, train hard and get a few prizes along the way…until he gets to the Tour…where absolute chaos arrives at the front door of his well-grounded psychological sanctum.

Every journalist on earth suddenly wants to know the most intimate details of your previously apocalyptic life. At the Tour, you are transformed from a humble ascetic of pure suffering into a full-fledged member of 'N Sync complete with Beatlemania-style hysteria from the adoring masses.

It is nearly impossible in the midst of this environment to concentrate on the reason everyone is here! IT IS A BICYCLE RACE. You've got to get down to the brass tacks of suffering like an animal for the next three weeks, pedaling your bike faster and harder than ever before in your life.

The Schmengees
July 8, 2001

The schmengees came, the schmengees saw, but the schmengees did not conquer. The bike schluggs from all over Europe came to Dunkirk to witness the prologue of the first Tour De France of the third millennium a.d. and were treated to a fantastic display of power, speed, cornering, acumen and aerodynamic grace. The bike schluggs loved every minute of it but the schmengees were disappointed.

The bike schluggs loved the publicity caravan with its pomp and circumstance and absurd level of consumerism. The schmengees, on the other hand, were a wee bit chuffed.

The bike schluggs saw nearly all the racers fly off the start ramp, sprint like a scorched dog from one corner to the next and stomp to the finish. But the schmengees were saddened that more guys didn't fail, not a quixotic sort of failure, rather a fiery unmerciful torrent of tears and recriminations.

The racers risk losing their concentration on the very hard and sometimes life threatening task at hand if they invest any energy whatsoever into the battle between the evil schmengees and the delicious bike schluggs. The racers must wear their sunglasses at all times and listen to their walkman so as to avoid the soul stealing gaze of the schmengees. It is only the exhortations of the bike schluggs during the actual racing that has the real redemptive power for the racers.

The schmengees were everywhere, creepy as golum and praying for rain. The rain came, but not until the last man off the start ramp has already finished and the racers were in the safety of their very elaborate support systems. The schmengees came and saw, but the bike schluggs kicked their sorry sub-human mutant butts.

All hail the bike schluggs.

Tour vs. the Rain Gods
July 9, 2001

The switchboard in heaven gets pretty jammed up with calls during the Tour De France. The cyclists pray for sun, while the farmers pray for rain. When you awaken to sodden skies and rain slicked streets, as the racers have in this year's Tour, your heart can sink to your boot straps.

Where is the beautiful French sunshine? And with rain, especially in the north of France, there is usually wind. The crosswind battles are what make this race a true test of a complete, all-around bike racer. These rainy and windy northern stages of the Tour remind us more of the spring classics than the summer's grand tours.

Diminutive climbers don't usually excel in these conditions. And when we get to the mountains later in the Tour, the smaller climbers have lost a little sting. It will be harder for them to be able to jump away at will from the more powerful and perhaps heavier riders who can stay in the front during the flatter, windier and colder stages over the rough roads of the north.

The mind of a successful professional bicycle racer is more flexible and highly evolved than that of a professor of math theory at the leading institutions of higher learning. The racer's mind must adapt to an utterly complex and ever changing criteria of stimuli.

Nobody in this year's Tour will ever come up with unified field theory that eluded Albert Einstein to his dying day, and continues to confound our greatest thinkers. But as God contemplates who to bless; the farmers with his rain or the cyclists with his sun, know that not only will the winner of the Tour De France be a very gifted rider, he will have a physical intelligence with the cerebral intelligence of Albert Einstein.

The Sun King
July 10, 2001

I was at the TV compound chillin' like Bob Dylan, when all these spooky, diabolical tidy secret police with bad teeth begin to filter through the area. These bad cats are most certainly not your average bike schlugg, that's pretty obvious. So I'm wondering what is going on, and low and behold, the KING AND QUEEN OF BELGIUM walk right by me!

I guess the King will not be needing anyone's vote any time soon, so the gladhanding just doesn't exist. They must be pretty well behaved monarchs because we don't hear anything -- anything-- about them back in America.

It is indeed the Tour De France. The biggest crowds might well be north of the border as the race gets to Belgium -- the country with the most knowledgeable and devoted cycling fans anywhere on earth. That is why the battle for the Yellow Jersey was a bit more heated than usual.

In the back of the mind of each rider, you know that the Yellow Jersey can be yours if you get in the right breakaway. If you play your cards just right by putting enough work into the break, so it doesn't get caught, but save enough energy for the final sprint, you can come away with the most coveted daily prize in cycling -- the leader's Yellow Jersey of the Tour De France.

Marc Wauters was just such a man. He played his cards perfect and not only realized a dream of a lifetime by wearing the Yellow Jersey, but did so in his own country as an added bonus.

Even though they are very well behaved, I know that any man in this great race would rather wear the Yellow Jersey for one day than be a Belgian royal. So join the dispersing clouds and rain and hail the new sun king.

The Melee
July 11, 2001

There are so many spectators at the Tour, it must be seen to be believed. Antwerp featured crowds 30-40 deep along miles of crowd barriers. Thousands more are hanging out every window, precipice and alcove.

The start area is separated into three areas. The central part is the sign-on stage where each racer must come each morning to sign the start sheet. Another are is the "Village Depart", or start village, where many of the sponsors have hospitality booths set up. It's pretty chaotic with every ex-pro bike racer from the great Eddy Merckx, all the way down to your pitiful narrator and every pro in between.

It is pretty cool to see all the lunatics I raced with in various stages of disrepair. But the most insane -- and charged with electricity by far -- is the parking lot for the team busses. Every scribe and TV & radio schlugg from America and Europe is there trying to get a scoop. And, every VIP from Sophia Loren to Susan Anton is there to be seen.

Say a prayer for the humble bike racer who gets flattened by the stampede of maniacs who are bolting through the team parking area as soon as they see their favorite rider. And if you are anywhere near Mr. Lance Armstrong, get out of the way, 'cause the stampede takes no prisoners.

For the big stars, the melee is somewhat tolerable, as they are paid good money to put up with unreserved and sometimes frightening displays of fanatic devotion. But for the everyday racer schlugg, it is really hard to deal with the media crush. It is hard enough to recover every day from the physical effort required by a three-week race. But what' s just as hard is the psychological effort unique to the Tour. It's so hard to win. One must put forth with infinite patience and composure to survive this athletic contest deep in a daily melee of biblical proportions.

Wind Battles
July 12, 2001

The wind of Northern Europe cries out for the blood of bike racing's super heroes. The heroism comes in when the pound of flesh is sacrificed to the cross-wind gods, so the strongest men are able to stay in front. When these winds blow across the exposed plains of Northern France, you really suffer and can lose as much or more time as in a big mountain stage.

Racers are very nervous on a stage which has strong cross winds, and make crazy maneuvers to stay near the front -- making for a very dangerous stage. Once you open even the smallest gap to a rider in front of you, it is very hard to close it down and stay in the front.

In a stage race, the teams are composed of climbers, for the most part, and the last thing you want is to find yourself on the wheel of a guy that weighs 117 pounds soaking wet and blocks no wind whatsoever. Positioning yourself in the perfect place in the race becomes a critical strategic talent for which the Dutch and Belgium riders are well known.

The man to win this race will have to become not only a great time trialist and climber, but must be surrounded by a team of riders who are capable of incredible efforts in the team time trial so their team leader doesn't lose any time. The support riders feel insane loads of pressure to ride as fast as their team leader. The team leader has to depend on the grunts, even though they make nowhere near the same money. These battles define the war for the Yellow Jersey.

Throbbing
July 13, 2001

There is a rhythm to bike racing. A bursting, staccato accelerated heart pounding in your ear drums. A tonality best described as throbbing, and when you're pedaling strokes keep the same rhythm as the pounding of your heart in your ears, you are flying.

So many things enter into the mind of a racer to distract him that it is very hard to keep the rhythm. The fans are so crazy at the Tour, they have no problem screaming out your name. With your addled with abject suffering brain, it feels like a gunshot in the dark.

Journalists are thick as flies, buzzing at every turn in your day-to-day life. The phones are different, and the drives between races in the team cars are absurd in their complexity and hardship. Friends and family come out of the woodwork, but none of these compare to the most killer of all distractions -- doubt.

When doubt enters the mind of a bicycle racer in the Tour De France, things go wrong in a hurry. I'm not talking about garden variety doubt that everyday people have. Like getting through traffic to get to work on time, the price of peanut butter, or if their shoes match their belt. No, I mean grinding pressure-driven doubt about your ability to race well for three weeks straight in the hardest race in the world, the Tour De France.

Many of the key players in the unfolding Tour drama had paralyzing doubt. Entering the TTT, Credit Agricole had doubt they could keep the Yellow Jersey on the shoulders of Stuart O'Grady. But their team spirit and cohesion as a single minded unit allayed the doubts into a glorious defense and stage victory for their team.

The Postal riders had doubt they could match the speed and power of the world's best bike racer, Lance Armstrong, and might fall apart, giving Lance's chief rival, Jan Ullrich of Team Telekom, a huge advantage. Their doubts were laid to rest by the supreme confidence of their team leader, Lance Armstrong.

When you race well, as the gale force winds of doubt surround you, great things get done. Distractions are silenced and a pure, rhythmic throbbing rings out across the countryside.

The Night Before Climbing
July 14, 2001

Twas the night before a mountain stage, and all through the maison, not a creature was stirring, not even an autograph hound.

The fresh chamois were hung by the window with care, with hopes that a Yellow Jersey would soon be there.

All the bikers were restless, though snug in their beds, before the horror of fatigue would soon come crashing down on their heads.

And all but one who know on this day that as only one man would ride into yellow, it is a heavy toll the others are unwilling to pay.

On Julich, On Vaughters, On Beloki and Merckx.

On Mancebo, On Botero, On Galdeano and Heras.

On Zabel, On Steels, On O'Grady and Lance.

Until the last pedal stroke is turned, there is still a slight chance.

July 15, 2001

The anemic, distended belly; the sunken, haunted eyes; the crawling veins and sun blackened arms are what strike you when you meet these great bike racers of the Tour De France. They look like a coolie gang from transcontinental railroad building days; like hard rock miners from the forgotten pre-Union days of America's western expansion.

To think I, too, was one of these pedaling wrecks is quite scary. No wonder I am so tired all the time. One thing I've enjoyed very much is seeing many of the pros I used to race with. Today, I saw Paris-Roubaix winner Franco Ballerini. Ballerini recalled a time in the Rome Airport when I took a pair of inline skates out of my carry-on bag and skated across the marble floors in front of the entire peloton very late at night, much to the chagrin of the police. Much frivolity ensued and it was concluded that racers today are way too serious.

But it is the media, the public and the big sponsors who are as much to blame for putting so much pressure on the riders. It is hard enough just to breathe, let alone race bikes at the highest level. As if the racers are not freaked out enough already, yesterday some lunatic blasted through the police barriers in his car and crashed into four people, seriously injuring three. When you are trying to recover from grizzly day-to-day stages amidst the crush of insanity, it is no wonder we've lost some humanity and spontaneous frivolity from our bike racers.

July 16, 2001

The racers must feel as if they are growing gills there has been so much rain. Some racers are much better at riding in the cold and rain than others. Some prefer the heat, since the

Grand Tours; Giro, Tour & Vuelta are in the summer over huge mountains. It is these men we usually see flourishing in the Tour de France. But so far in this Tour, it has been the heartier Dutch and German men seen winning the hard stages.

Wauters, Kirsipuu, Dekker and Zabel are also men who factor into spring classics where the weather is similar to what we’ve seen at the Tour so far.

Bike racing in the rain is a miserable exercise. You are so waterlogged and cold, it is hard enough holding your handlebars, let alone shifting gears or braking adequately. Your clothes are basically ruined after a stage of non-stop rain. Shoes are the biggest bummer, because it is almost impossible to dry them out overnight. And, nothing sucks quite like pulling on a wet pair of cycling shoes before another long stage in the rain.

Heaven forbid if the sun comes out too forcefully and hot. Then the extreme changes in temperature lead to all sorts of thermal regulation problems from the sniffles to full blown bronchitis. There is no rest for the wicked, my mom used to say, and when I raced here I knew I must have been a very wicked boy indeed.

The Tour is turning unrecognizable, as the weakness of the peloton becomes evident as a goofball group of 15 riders took out a 30-inute plus advantage. The Tour organizers had a mandate to include every French team and now we see those magnificent birds come home to roost.

July 17, 2001

Our Cyclist, Who are in Le Tour, Hallowed be thy Wheels.

Thy King of the Mountains Come, Thy Field Sprints be Done,

On the Flat Stages as They are in the Time Trials.

Give Us this Day thy Daily Musette, And Forgive Us if We Know Not Your Place,

As We Forgive Those Who Know Nothing of Our Sport.

Lead Us Not into Positive Drug Tests and Deliver Us From All

Cancelled Stages.

AMEN!

The Mountains -- A Spectacle to Behold
July 18, 2001

The mountains of the Tour are like nothing else on earth. You really must see these climbs to believe them. What makes them all the more stunning is that the Tour has been relatively flat for the first 10 days. Then, you come into these mountains and the dramatic upheavals of earth hit you square in between the eyeballs.

The halls of the mountain gods are lined with monuments to the great Tour climbers. Michaelangelo’s ghost has just begun a statue in granite to Mr. Lance Armstrong and his l’Alpe d’Huez exploit.

These villages of mountain folk have been regaled by one of the great Tour stages of all time and were overrun by cycling fanatics from all over the world. Our pre-race favorites finished in an astonishingly pre-ordained order: 1st Lance, 2nd Jan, 3rd Joseba, and 4th Christophe.

Until you’ve seen these mountains -- during this event -- you have missed a true spectacle of living on earth.

A Day of Rest
July 19, 2001

It seems as if this Tour's rest day could not come soon enough. The yellow jersey lost a truckload of time. The #1 threat in many people's minds at this point in the Tour is Andrei Kivilev, who might not ever enjoy his day in the sun, as Lance has pulled to within about 2 minutes.

For Lance's teammates on the USPS team, the rest day will be heaven sent. Both Roberto Heras -- who is recovering from the team time trial crash -- and Tyler Hamilton -- who has not been 100% because of intestinal troubles -- will have a chance to return to the highest level during this much needed day of repose.

Even the journalists, fans and organizers are looking forward to a day off. A day of repose will be good for all, except for perhaps one man -- Lance Armstrong, who is so close to the yellow jersey, he can smell it.

Like the Yellow rose blooms in Texas, Lance wants to arrive in Paris in only one color.

And like his son Luke said while watching the prologue, "Hey daddy, he's wearing your shirt." Lance's response: "Yes, he is."

Possum
July 20, 2001

So far in this Tour, we have been given a number of text book lessons on cycling tactics. The classic technique of pretending to be suffering and therefore unable to contribute to the pace making in order to save yourself for a final burst to the line was used for an emphatic stage win by Sergei Ivanov in Aix-les-Bains. He was criticized by the French press as a less than deserving stage winner if not out and out deceitful. In a strange twist of irony, Armstrong's tactical acumen during the l'Alpe d'Huez stage, where he sat back while the Telekom team made the pace, was hailed as astroke of tactical brilliance. In all fairness, there is very little advantage to sitting on the wheels in front of you while climbing a huge mountain pass, but both Armstrong and Ivanov come away with fantastic stage wins during one of the most exciting Tours ever.

In my mind, these contradictory interpretations of the same cause and effect are a wonderful example of how cycling parallels the lives of everyday people as we strive to strike a harmonious balance within our own hearts of life's contradictions. When these contradictions seamlessly, almost subconsciously merge into a stream that gracefully conquers huge distances, you have a truly great bike race like this years Tour De France

Pyrenees
July 21, 2001

These are the most mysterious mountains in Europe. They are very steep and more arid than the Alps. They are inhabited by a people and a culture that isn't easy to define and therefore to exploit. The Basque, French and Spanish tongues are drawled in a staccato burst of passion that is very hard to catch. But mostly communication has had a very difficult time gaining a foothold amongst these these twisting mountain roads and valley towns, so the peasantry is still a viable force and maybe perhaps the last part of western Europe to have an ancient face.

I don't believe I've suffered any more in any other mountains as a racers in my life. The pavement is bad, there has been almost no attempt to grade these roads since their goat path origins and by the time you get here during the Tour, you are a more skeletal representation of your former self. But makes these roads so hard to conquer is the fear of the unknown that creeps ever so slightly into your pedaling stroke. These Pyrenees, the last bastion of real mountain gnomes, mysterious and fearsome, conspire to break your resolve and elevate the strongest beyond reach.

Lord of the Flat Top
July 22, 2001

My 8th grade math teacher Mr. Burke wore a flat top crew cut when that type of do was the absolute antithesis of cool. Mr. Burke didn't care. Kids in Northern California in the late '70's didn't give very much credence to math, or flat top sportin' teachers. Mr. Burke didn't care.

Football players and basketball stars thought initially, and were reinforced positively in other classrooms that they could disregard the edits of decorum and studious endeavor.Mr. Burke kicked their ass out after boxing their ears.

USPS team director sportif Johan Bruyneel reminds me very much of Mr. Burke. His methods are not necessarily enhanced theologically by his charges on USPS, but if they don't adhere they are bounced out D.I.R.E.CT. ! When Johan says to the riders, "no computers during the Tour De France," ( he believes computers are a distraction ), the USPS boys leave their computers at home.

When Johan says to reconnoiter the Alps or Pyrenees, the USPS boys pack their bags and get down to France to reconnoiter. When Johan says, "no ice cream for desert," the fellows have to be content with strictly cheese and fresh fruit. The racers on USPS have learned to the millionth decimal from Johan, and I learned about racing a bicycle from Mr. Burke.

What Johan's methods hammer home have netted him 2 Tours De France for Lance Armstrong & USPS. American bicycle racers who have have raced in Europe have had to make huge sacrifices because of the travel away from home.Their personal computers have become a powerful tool in their ability to stay in touch with America. So when Johan asked that computers not be used on the TDF, some riders were even more isolated in Europe, but also perhaps more focused on the monumental task at hand: winning a third consecutive Tour De France with Lance Armstrong.

Buy Me a Miracle
July 23, 2001

Religious fever reaches a fevered pitch in the town of Lourdes. Millions of pilgrims are willing to tolerate absurd levels of schlock, almost to the point of idolatry, for a moment of transcendent grace in the caves of this Pyreneean city. But only a few kilometers away on the slopes of Luz Ardiden, another pilgrimage takes place as hundreds of thousands of bike fans cling to every precipice in order to cheer their favorites up these horrible slopes.

These mountains are very near Spain's Basque country and the crazed Basque fans were rewarded with a wonderful win by Roberto Laiseka; a Basque himself of the Euskaltel team.

Lance Armstrong made a fantastic defense of his yellow jersey. He covered each attack by the powerful German, Jan Ullrich, like a wet blanket and his teammates proved to be the best in the race as both Rubiera and Heras paced Lance to the finale. The pace making on the flats before the climbs was done well by George Hincapie, Steffen Kjaergaard and Slava Ekimov. The pacemakers don't provide much aerodynamic assistance in the mountains, but more importantly can give Lance a wheel, and even his bicycle, if he has a flat or a mechanical problem.

Lance showed real panache throughout the mountain portion of the tour winning at Alp D'Huez and Chamrousse, and easily counter attacking Ullrich at Pla D'Adet and Luz Ardiden.

The K-Mart for Catholics that Lourdes resembles maybe unsavory to some, but I kind of like it. Where else can I find a St. Francis of Assisi toilet lid or a St. Thomas Aquinas push broom? But for every trinket of silver and gold for sale in Lourdes, there is a water drop of grace in the local caves and there is smile on the face of every Spanish fan as their hero Laiseka won the stage closest to home. I, too, had a smile on my face at the end of day when I passed by the podium after the stage, I felt as if I had disappeared at long last.

Tree Line
July 24, 2001

I let the desolation and loneliness come into my life. On purpose, I went from a romantic expression for many weeks leading up to this Tour De France in order to feel the fear of permanent solitude in hopes that hunger would propel me to share our great sport as best as I can.

The isolation is alright and I love when this race ascends to stratospheric heights because there is a moment when the tree line gives way to the barren alpine tundra. At that moment, I feel the constraints of the climbing would lose its hold on my heart strings and I feel a closer walk with Him is at hand.

It is usually when I see the children who are here watching with their parents that I feel the mortal coil constrict my neck like a boa, as visions of my daughter shimmer ahead on the snaking ribbon of tarmac.

What is an ex-pro bike rider schlugg to do? A lot of gypsy blood and a taste for the fine may be my baby's inheritance from this humble rolling stone. Please forgive me little darling, big daddy is coming home soon.

Stung
July 25, 2001

Like all great dramas, the Tour de France needs a tragic hero. Many times, it is the man who struggles against an unbeatable adversary like Poulidor vs. Merckx. Many times, it is the man who struggles on to the finish after a crash. Sometimes it is the great champions like Kelly and Rominger felled by crashes when they believed they were on their best form.

This year at the Tour de France, we are witness to a man’s story which rivals any of the great Tour tragedies. Jonathan Vaughters in 1998 crashed just two days before the TDF and was out. In ‘99, on the very dangerous Passage du Gois, Jonathan crashed on his head and the resulting concussion knocked him out of the Tour.

In 2000, riding for the French team Credit Agricole, Vaughters once again came to grief in a crash which tore his skin, bones and the soft tissue of his brain.

This year, Jonathan Vaughters would try and finish the Tour with every fiber of his imagination. His team, Credit Agricole, has had a great Tour with O’Grady & Voight, and O’Grady is still in the green points jersey.

Vaughters rode well in the incredibly tough mountain stages and made it to the rest day in decent shape, certainly capable of reaching Paris to finish the Tour.

Then, disaster struck Vaughters again in the form of a wayward wasp who gave the kiss of death to Vaughters’ right cheek. He had an allergic reaction and in order to remain within the UCI medical control guidelines, Vaughters was not allowed to take the prescribed medical procedure -- an injection of hydrocortisone.

Jonathan was obliged to abandon the TDF after a valiant attempt to finish Stage 14. Many years of sacrifice, hard training and dedication to finish the greatest of races has come once again to nothing for Vaughters. Maybe in 2002 will see him sipping champagne on the Champs Elysees, and if so, those gulps of bubbly will be sweet indeed.