No Place in Cycling, No Place in History

Today the International Cycling Union announced that Lance Armstrong, winner of 7 Tour de France races will no longer hold that honor. And though the chances of Lance ever recovering from this shameful setback are somewhere between slim, fat, and none-- the ICU has additionally banned him for life from any cycling competition.

This is a major downer.

Not just for Lance, but for all of us. Anybody who ever gave a damn about sports, cycling, the Tour, Lance, or even Sheryl Crow. Armstrong was a beacon of "Yes, I can!" for anybody faced with an obstacle greater than they ever thought they could achieve. Those teammates of his who protected him in the peloton? It turns out they were more than protecting Armstrong against the other competitors; they were just as dirty as the man once hailed as the greatest cyclist of all time.

In 2005, my family was traveling through France on a marathon vacation. At the last minute, we decided to make a beeline over to Montpelier to catch a glimpse of the Tour de France. We waited in the summer heat for hours. We waited without shade as the caravan of sponsors drove by; throwing trinkets and toys (we never managed to get a bottle of water). When the peloton approached, you could feel the energy crackle in the air. I found a spot along the road that enabled me to snap photos of the cyclists as they sped in our direction and toward the leg's finishline. Down the road, about 100 yards, I saw them rushing toward me. Without thinking, I kept my finger on the camera trigger so it could shoot as fast as its mechanics would allow. The results was a small collection of psychedelic and blurred images. I did not see Armstrong. I did not see Hincapie, or any of the other riders. But I was there and they came within inches of me. That close to greatness.

Now the glory of Armstrong's wins, including the one I was present at, are gone. As fleeting as the images on my camera.