Read Online Cycle of Lies: The Fall of Lance Armstrong by Juliet Macur - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Juliet Macur
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in Como during the racing season. He brought along his close friend Frankie Andreu, and in time several other riders joined them, including George Hincapie, a New Yorker, and Kevin Livingston, a Midwesterner. All became patients of Testa. All would later become riders on Armstrong’s United States Postal Service Tour de France winning teams.
Hendershot said all those riders likely believed they were doing no wrong by doping. The definition of cheating was flexible in a sport so replete with pharmacology: It’s not cheating if everybody is doing it. Armstrong believed that to be the dead-solid truth. For him, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing, no rationalizing. As Hendershot had done, Armstrong grabbed the ring.
April 20, 1994. Three riders from the Italy-based Gewiss-Ballan team stood atop the podium in their light blue, red and navy uniforms after dominating the Flèche Wallonne, a one-day race in Belgium’s hilly Ardennes region. Two held bouquets of flowers above their heads as they waved to the crowd. Armstrong seethed. The Gewiss riders were flaunting their success at his expense. He had finished 36th, fully 2 minutes and 32 seconds behind the leaders.
About fifty kilometers from the finish of that Flèche Wallonne, the Gewiss riders had broken away from the pack and, as Armstrong put it later, “demoralized everyone.” They pedaled faster as the peloton diminished into a tiny speck on the horizon behind them. They had raced along the narrow, dipping roads to the final climb up the Mur de Huy, a steep ascent with gradients as high as 26 percent. They rode up the Wall as if it were tabletop-flat. Moreno Argentin crossed the finish line first, while teammates Giorgio Furlan and Evgeni Berzin finished two-three.
It was there, in Belgium, in 1994, that the exhausted peloton realized the amazing power of EPO. The winning team’s doctor told them about it. In fact, he told the world. After the race, a reporter from the French sports newspaper L’Equipe , Jean-Michel Rouet, interviewed the doctor, Michele Ferrari, and asked him if his riders used EPO.
“I don’t prescribe this stuff,” Ferrari said. “But one can buy EPO in Switzerland, for example, without a prescription. And if a rider does that, don’t scandalize me. EPO doesn’t fundamentally change the performance of a racer.”
The reporter said, “In any case, it’s dangerous! Ten Dutch riders have died in the last few years.”
Then Ferrari, who has long denied doping any of his athletes, said something that would haunt him for years. “EPO is not dangerous, it’s the abuse that is. It’s also dangerous to drink ten liters of orange juice.”
In other words, it’s all part of a balanced breakfast.
But to the uninitiated, confusion reigned. Armstrong, Andreu, Hincapie and Livingston—four riders who would become the core of American cycling—threw questions at their own team doctor, Testa. What does EPO do? Is it dangerous? Do you think other teams are using it? Can you help us use it?
Testa tried to convince them they didn’t need the drug. He said the riders’ natural abilities would be enough for them to succeed in the sport, and that it was just a rumor that all riders used EPO. “People are trying to make money off of this, you don’t need it. Studies show that it apparently doesn’t help very much.”
Still, Testa felt EPO use was inevitable. So he gave up trying to keep his riders from it. One day, he handed each rider an envelope containing studies about EPO and instructions on its use. He told the riders how much EPO to take and when to take it. “If you want to use a gun, you had better use a manual, rather than to ask a guy on the street,” he told me. While he facilitated the drug use, Testa denies ever dispensing any doping products.
The training ride was a leisurely spin during which the Motorola riders cruised along for hours, loosening their legs. It was March 18, 1995. The day before, on the way
Hendershot said all those riders likely believed they were doing no wrong by doping. The definition of cheating was flexible in a sport so replete with pharmacology: It’s not cheating if everybody is doing it. Armstrong believed that to be the dead-solid truth. For him, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing, no rationalizing. As Hendershot had done, Armstrong grabbed the ring.
April 20, 1994. Three riders from the Italy-based Gewiss-Ballan team stood atop the podium in their light blue, red and navy uniforms after dominating the Flèche Wallonne, a one-day race in Belgium’s hilly Ardennes region. Two held bouquets of flowers above their heads as they waved to the crowd. Armstrong seethed. The Gewiss riders were flaunting their success at his expense. He had finished 36th, fully 2 minutes and 32 seconds behind the leaders.
About fifty kilometers from the finish of that Flèche Wallonne, the Gewiss riders had broken away from the pack and, as Armstrong put it later, “demoralized everyone.” They pedaled faster as the peloton diminished into a tiny speck on the horizon behind them. They had raced along the narrow, dipping roads to the final climb up the Mur de Huy, a steep ascent with gradients as high as 26 percent. They rode up the Wall as if it were tabletop-flat. Moreno Argentin crossed the finish line first, while teammates Giorgio Furlan and Evgeni Berzin finished two-three.
It was there, in Belgium, in 1994, that the exhausted peloton realized the amazing power of EPO. The winning team’s doctor told them about it. In fact, he told the world. After the race, a reporter from the French sports newspaper L’Equipe , Jean-Michel Rouet, interviewed the doctor, Michele Ferrari, and asked him if his riders used EPO.
“I don’t prescribe this stuff,” Ferrari said. “But one can buy EPO in Switzerland, for example, without a prescription. And if a rider does that, don’t scandalize me. EPO doesn’t fundamentally change the performance of a racer.”
The reporter said, “In any case, it’s dangerous! Ten Dutch riders have died in the last few years.”
Then Ferrari, who has long denied doping any of his athletes, said something that would haunt him for years. “EPO is not dangerous, it’s the abuse that is. It’s also dangerous to drink ten liters of orange juice.”
In other words, it’s all part of a balanced breakfast.
But to the uninitiated, confusion reigned. Armstrong, Andreu, Hincapie and Livingston—four riders who would become the core of American cycling—threw questions at their own team doctor, Testa. What does EPO do? Is it dangerous? Do you think other teams are using it? Can you help us use it?
Testa tried to convince them they didn’t need the drug. He said the riders’ natural abilities would be enough for them to succeed in the sport, and that it was just a rumor that all riders used EPO. “People are trying to make money off of this, you don’t need it. Studies show that it apparently doesn’t help very much.”
Still, Testa felt EPO use was inevitable. So he gave up trying to keep his riders from it. One day, he handed each rider an envelope containing studies about EPO and instructions on its use. He told the riders how much EPO to take and when to take it. “If you want to use a gun, you had better use a manual, rather than to ask a guy on the street,” he told me. While he facilitated the drug use, Testa denies ever dispensing any doping products.
The training ride was a leisurely spin during which the Motorola riders cruised along for hours, loosening their legs. It was March 18, 1995. The day before, on the way
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