“I do.”
His voice is calm and quiet, but there is no hint of doubt in his tone. His whole demeanour affirms what he says. Cadel Evans knows he can still win the Tour de France.
“Do you think you’re losing the edge? Do you think you’re getting older?”
“No, I don’t.”
This is the world of Cadel Evans, the first Australian winner of the Tour de France. The 35-year-old radiates a quiet confidence that matches his voice. He doesn’t have to speak loudly for you to want to listen, and with his words you imbibe a little of his conviction that leaves you convinced too. Despite being among the oldest in the peloton, the 2009 Road World Champion is not to be dismissed lightly. He wants to win, and he knows he can.
But after a season marred by ill health, Cadel’s first priority is not the race podium.
“The first thing for me is to come back healthy and from what we can tell everything’s coming back towards normal,” he says with that same calm confidence. “When that comes back, of course, everything else comes with it.” He quotes the old adage as he talks. “The most important thing in our life is actually our health. You certainly realise that when you don’t have it.”
He’s very matter-of-fact with the details. “It seems that when I went to Ethiopia I contracted some kind of low-level virus and we didn’t find out about it until August,” he says simply. This is followed by a few moments of silence. No-one expected a straight answer about the ‘health issues’ that dogged the Australian favourite throughout last year, but that’s Cadel. It just is how it is. He doesn’t let it stop him.
“One thing that comes from missing out on not being at the front though is it fuels your motivation, you become hungrier and you want more, and certainly I’m not by any means the youngest rider in the peloton but I think I’m amongst the most motivated still.”
Motivation aside, even with a career as long and varied as Cadel’s, he has one or two regrets. “I think it’s my 19th full season as a professional rider,” Cadel reflects. “There’s a lot of races that I haven’t even been able to compete in which I’d like to be able to ride in. Don’t know if I’ll be able to get to all of them,” he says almost wistfully. But his trademark practicality soon kicks in. “But at the moment, focus on the Tour and of course the stage races leading on, and maybe in the years following we can look to reassess things.”
The Tour de France has always been Cadel’s target, and with his health on the mend he has his eyes on a second title. To him, getting his body back to 100% is his primary goal, and the question of which other riders might challenge him for the Tour crown is at best a secondary concern. “At this point, we’re still a bit early in the year to know,” he points out, almost critical of the pre-emptive question. “But in 2013 I’d look more for of course the performers in 2012, Bradley [Wiggins] and [Chris] Froome, as certainly the guys to beat at this point. I think those are the guys we’ll look to be watching leading into the Tour.”
“The thing that impressed me most about their season, but particularly that of Brad Wiggins, was his consistency to stay at a high level from Paris-Nice through to the Olympic Games. To hold that high, high level was really, well,” he shakes his head a little, “…to me, was bordering on what I thought was impossible, but he’s gone and done it, so it’s clearly not impossible.” He says very little about last year’s Tour winner, but from what little he says, it’s clear Cadel has a grudging respect for the Briton.
Of all riders, though, Cadel knows better than anyone how difficult it is to follow through on such a season as Team Sky has had. He’s philosophical about their chances, and speaks optimistically of his own. “Let’s see how they back up again from that, for this year,” he almost challenges. “Let’s see. That was 2012, this is 2013.”
The other elephant in the room when it comes to Cadel and the Tour is the matter of his young teammate, Tejay van Garderen. While Cadel suffered through the difficulty of riding the Tour on an average year in 2012, 24-year-old van Garderen was the revelation of the race, putting in brilliant efforts in both the time trials and outpacing his team leader on several climbs, finally finishing 5th overall ahead of Cadel’s 7th. The youngster is therefore being hailed as Cadel’s natural successor for the Grand Tours at BMC, and many have been wondering if that succession should in fact be now. There is no hint of uncertainty or forgiveness in Cadel’s expression or tone as he lays down the law for the Tour.
“I think if I’m back at my normal level it’ll be pretty clear what the team needs to focus on, and where we need to concentrate on and that’ll be to concentrate on one leader, that being me, ‘cause I’ve had the experience and I also have the results to back it up.” There is almost a kind of fervour in his voice as he talks about the paramount race of the cycling world. This is his strength. As a GC rider, this is, pure and simple, what he does. “I can win the Tour, and that’ll be important.”
“That comes back to my health in 2012,” he reiterates, a rare glimpse of what his year was like behind his public face. “I was stuck in a few moments where I didn’t know what was going on with my health, I wasn’t at my normal level.” But on the front of van Garderen, he knows exactly where the two of them stand. “In 2013, between Tejay and myself, it’s important that we’re of course honest and clear with each other, but most importantly for me it’s just to get back to my good level and if that happens, the rest is obvious.”
To him, everything is perfectly clear. Black and white. He doesn’t equivocate. When he says ‘I don’t know’, it’s not an equivocation. It just means that he hasn’t thought about the question.
“Everyone always asks me when I’m going to stop, but I don’t know. ‘I don’t know’ doesn’t stand for an answer so you have to make something up.”
The smile and the laugh that accompany this are awkward, as though he doesn’t understand why anyone would ask the question. It’s simply not relevant. The idea doesn’t feature in Cadel’s world.
“One thing about being outside of where you want to be, it motivates you,” he explains. “In 2003, 2004, I had some disappointing years, but that fuelled my motivation for years to come thereafter. That’s how I feel right now.” Cadel is far from bouncing out of his seat. This is not a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, but there is a certain quiet keenness in his voice and in his eye that can’t be mistaken. He leans forward a little and nods his head as he continues speaking.
“If someone said to me ‘Oh, I want you to stop at the end of 2014,’ I’d be like ‘Ahhhh…’ because I’m not through.” His reticence is clear in his onomatopoeia. “I love what I do, I think we have a great environment here in the team, we have a great balance in the way we work and so on. If I was thinking I was going to stop in 2013, I feel I’d be cutting myself somewhat short.”
He smiles just a little. “Easy to say at this point. Let’s see in 2014 and 2015.”
Wednesday 23 January 2013
Wednesday 16 January 2013
15 Minutes with Taylor & Tejay
“…all the way through, and then I go full. And I win the Worlds.”
The journalists in the room freeze for a moment. Unlike the other, older riders who walk into the room with maybe a ‘Hello’, sit down and wait for the questions, 22-year-old Taylor Phinney and 24-year-old Tejay van Garderen are already joking around the moment they walk in the door. It turns out Taylor has a bit of a reputation for Philippe Gilbert impressions. Apparently we were just on the receiving end of one.
“That was pretty much like the original,” the Dutch journalist says with a smile. BMC’s young superstar pair, two of the riders frequently hailed as ‘the future of American cycling’, are still going with their quirky two-man stand-up routine.
“Nibali…I don’t know about bikes, but there he is.”
This is clearly going to be a different sort of interview.
We settle down into some – mostly – serious questions, and Tejay leans back in his seat and stretches his legs for a few minutes while Taylor takes the heat. After his performance in the time trial at last year’s World Championships in Limburg, where Taylor came a close second in a competition that left winner Tony Martin momentarily unconscious from exhaustion, there’s a lot of interest in his time trialling ability and his relationship with the king of the discipline, Fabian Cancellara. Taylor says that his experience racing last year’s Giro d’Italia and an off-season that has been for once untouched by injury will be key in developing his skills. “I had two knee injuries in the last off-season and the off-season before that and this off-season I’ve been fine, just training and focussing on what I need to do,” the Boulder, Colorado native explains. “I think being healthy and also just a bit of extra racing and more concentrated training will get me to the place I need to be to beat [Cancellara].”
Taylor is full of warm words for the four-time world champion, who is now giving up time trialling to focus on other things. “Well, he has what, four world championships, Olympic gold medal, not much more you can do from there. I’ll see him in the Classics and I’d consider us relatively good friends already. He’s definitely been an idol and a hero in my career for a long time, ever since I started racing.”
But BMC’s youngster can’t stay serious for long.
“I kind of wouldn’t mind testing myself against somebody like that, that pedigree and that past. It’d be cool if he could focus a little bit more on time-trialling and I could…” something between innocence and mischief appears on Taylor’s face, “see how I match up against him.”
Jokes aside, Taylor’s also the first to acknowledge that he understands Cancellara’s choice to step away from their demanding discipline.
“He’s getting to a different point in his career than I am. And time trialling sucks a lot. It’s really hard, you know. It’s like an hour of pain, why would you want to do that to yourself?” he says with a totally straight face while everyone chuckles. At just 22, the American already has the power to keep his audience rapt, the roomful of journalists too busy listening to him to pose questions to Tejay. “I want to do that to myself so that I can achieve the results that Fabian has, but I can totally understand that once you get those results that you move on.”
Taylor compares Cancellara’s focus-change to his once-beloved discipline on the track, the individual pursuit, which he abandoned in favour of full-time road racing at the end of 2010. Of course, he tells the story a little differently. “I won the World Championships, they took it out of the Olympic program, and then I was like ‘Wow, this is a terrible four minutes of my life. I’m gonna go ahead and focus on something else now.’”
Tejay smiles along with the rest of the room at his younger teammate’s wisecracking, and the focus turns to the older rider and the relationship between the two – are they friends? “Not really!” he replies with a broad grin. Though more laid-back and quiet than Taylor, it seems the comedy act is not entirely one-sided. “Taylor and I are really close friends and it’s good to have a good friend to hang out with and another American to kinda, you know, do some shit-talking with,” Tejay explains with a smile.
The two are also frequent training partners when they’re both at their stateside base of Boulder. “We’re good for each other, we push each other. We have different strengths but they overlap in a coupla different areas, like in a time trial.” Tejay has a calm, earnest way of talking that makes him easy to listen to, and he’s eloquent for a 24-year-old, always able to say precisely what he means.
“Who’s better?” someone calls out. Apparently Taylor can’t resist. “You can’t ask that question!” he pretends to chastise the amused journalist, leaving Tejay to clarify the answer. “We have different strengths,” Tejay says simply. “I would never beat him on the cobbles of Paris-Roubaix but I don’t think he would ever beat me up Alpe d’Huez. But if you put us in a time trial, that could be where we overlap a little bit. In a one-day time trial I think he’s a little bit better, but in a time trial at the end of a three-week stage race then I might be a bit better.”
The questions turn to the state of American cycling in the wake of the Armstrong affair, but more particularly the admission of the pair’s former BMC teammate George Hincapie that he was involved in organised doping. Taylor makes light of the situation, as always, but points out that ‘…anybody who’s tuned into the cycling world kind of knew what was coming, in a way.’ For once Tejay seems to be struggling to find a diplomatic way to express his thoughts.
“It wasn’t a shock,” he acknowledges, “but it was, it was definitely…it was definitely, uh, made a lot of headlines, but like Taylor said, we kinda knew it was coming.”
But Taylor isn’t so light-hearted when someone suggests that Americans have been the ‘bad guys’ of the peloton for the last decade. He jumps on the question with an unusual aggressiveness. “I don’t know if it’s just the American riders being the bad guys,” he replies moderately, to more laughter, but he’s quick to assert that past riders are also responsible for the present open state of cycling and not just to blame for its mistakes.
“We’re certainly proud to represent America, we’re proud to be where we’re at. Cycling had its problems in the past, but we stepped into a clean environment, and that was due to people from the past,” Taylor says strongly. “We definitely take that privilege seriously, to make sure the sport never relapses, and we’re always able to go to sleep at night knowing that none of our tests are going to show up positive and that all of our results were achieved in the correct way.” Despite this attitude, Taylor is still critical of the journalist’s original premise, and calls him out on the oblique accusation. “To say that we’re the good guys and they’re the bad guys, I don’t think that’s really fair.”
Taylor has also earned a reputation for being outspoken on the topic of doping, especially after an open interview about the use of legal medications late last year. He’s drawn a lot of interest in the wake of that interview, as it’s unusual for riders to talk so openly of doping. “It’s important for me to get my thoughts out there and my preparation for races out there,” he says of his willingness to open up on the subject. “For me that interview was just to kind of shine a light into a dark place and show how my approach is completely different than all these things that you read; Tyler Hamilton’s book and the USADA reports.”
Taylor has no compunction in being open with his views around his teammates, either. “We have a pretty strict team policy as it is, and I think a lot of people share the same sort of feelings as I do, at least on my team and in my inner circle. I’m very comfortable with what happens here at BMC and proud of what we can achieve.”
While Taylor sits back for a moment, having satisfied the journalists’ questions, the focus moves back to Tejay and in particular his 6th-placed Tour de France ride of last year, which left many wondering if BMC team leader Cadel Evans was still fit to be the Tour team leader. Tejay is quick to assure everyone that Cadel is still in charge, but he has his own ideas on what his role will be. “I think I’ll be given a bit of a free role to ride my own race,” Tejay says. “Where I’m at right now in my development is that there were climbers that were really good and I was just trying my best to follow. I was just following the best wheel I could, and sometimes that was with the leaders, sometimes it was in a group behind the leaders, like a couple of minutes back.”
To Tejay, this means that it will be his job to be Evans’ lieutenant and not his rival, but this doesn’t preclude him from having his own goals as well. “I can help [Evans] out, but that doesn’t mean that once the finish line comes that I have to hit my brakes and lose five minutes and then cross the line. That doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to get a result,” he emphasises, though he knows that riding for himself may not always be an option. “The only scenario I see would be if Cadel gets dropped and I have to wait for him, which I did in last year’s Tour. I don’t think I’m gonna be called upon to do that, so I think I’ll help Cadel as much as I can from off the front of the race.”
As we all stand and prepare to move rooms at the end of the interview, one of the European journalists feels the need to ask Tejay one last question.
“Have you already dreamed about the yellow jersey?”
Tejay smiles and replies without blinking. “I’ve dreamed about it since I was nine years old.”
The journalists in the room freeze for a moment. Unlike the other, older riders who walk into the room with maybe a ‘Hello’, sit down and wait for the questions, 22-year-old Taylor Phinney and 24-year-old Tejay van Garderen are already joking around the moment they walk in the door. It turns out Taylor has a bit of a reputation for Philippe Gilbert impressions. Apparently we were just on the receiving end of one.
“That was pretty much like the original,” the Dutch journalist says with a smile. BMC’s young superstar pair, two of the riders frequently hailed as ‘the future of American cycling’, are still going with their quirky two-man stand-up routine.
“Nibali…I don’t know about bikes, but there he is.”
This is clearly going to be a different sort of interview.
We settle down into some – mostly – serious questions, and Tejay leans back in his seat and stretches his legs for a few minutes while Taylor takes the heat. After his performance in the time trial at last year’s World Championships in Limburg, where Taylor came a close second in a competition that left winner Tony Martin momentarily unconscious from exhaustion, there’s a lot of interest in his time trialling ability and his relationship with the king of the discipline, Fabian Cancellara. Taylor says that his experience racing last year’s Giro d’Italia and an off-season that has been for once untouched by injury will be key in developing his skills. “I had two knee injuries in the last off-season and the off-season before that and this off-season I’ve been fine, just training and focussing on what I need to do,” the Boulder, Colorado native explains. “I think being healthy and also just a bit of extra racing and more concentrated training will get me to the place I need to be to beat [Cancellara].”
Taylor is full of warm words for the four-time world champion, who is now giving up time trialling to focus on other things. “Well, he has what, four world championships, Olympic gold medal, not much more you can do from there. I’ll see him in the Classics and I’d consider us relatively good friends already. He’s definitely been an idol and a hero in my career for a long time, ever since I started racing.”
But BMC’s youngster can’t stay serious for long.
“I kind of wouldn’t mind testing myself against somebody like that, that pedigree and that past. It’d be cool if he could focus a little bit more on time-trialling and I could…” something between innocence and mischief appears on Taylor’s face, “see how I match up against him.”
Jokes aside, Taylor’s also the first to acknowledge that he understands Cancellara’s choice to step away from their demanding discipline.
“He’s getting to a different point in his career than I am. And time trialling sucks a lot. It’s really hard, you know. It’s like an hour of pain, why would you want to do that to yourself?” he says with a totally straight face while everyone chuckles. At just 22, the American already has the power to keep his audience rapt, the roomful of journalists too busy listening to him to pose questions to Tejay. “I want to do that to myself so that I can achieve the results that Fabian has, but I can totally understand that once you get those results that you move on.”
Taylor compares Cancellara’s focus-change to his once-beloved discipline on the track, the individual pursuit, which he abandoned in favour of full-time road racing at the end of 2010. Of course, he tells the story a little differently. “I won the World Championships, they took it out of the Olympic program, and then I was like ‘Wow, this is a terrible four minutes of my life. I’m gonna go ahead and focus on something else now.’”
Tejay smiles along with the rest of the room at his younger teammate’s wisecracking, and the focus turns to the older rider and the relationship between the two – are they friends? “Not really!” he replies with a broad grin. Though more laid-back and quiet than Taylor, it seems the comedy act is not entirely one-sided. “Taylor and I are really close friends and it’s good to have a good friend to hang out with and another American to kinda, you know, do some shit-talking with,” Tejay explains with a smile.
The two are also frequent training partners when they’re both at their stateside base of Boulder. “We’re good for each other, we push each other. We have different strengths but they overlap in a coupla different areas, like in a time trial.” Tejay has a calm, earnest way of talking that makes him easy to listen to, and he’s eloquent for a 24-year-old, always able to say precisely what he means.
“Who’s better?” someone calls out. Apparently Taylor can’t resist. “You can’t ask that question!” he pretends to chastise the amused journalist, leaving Tejay to clarify the answer. “We have different strengths,” Tejay says simply. “I would never beat him on the cobbles of Paris-Roubaix but I don’t think he would ever beat me up Alpe d’Huez. But if you put us in a time trial, that could be where we overlap a little bit. In a one-day time trial I think he’s a little bit better, but in a time trial at the end of a three-week stage race then I might be a bit better.”
The questions turn to the state of American cycling in the wake of the Armstrong affair, but more particularly the admission of the pair’s former BMC teammate George Hincapie that he was involved in organised doping. Taylor makes light of the situation, as always, but points out that ‘…anybody who’s tuned into the cycling world kind of knew what was coming, in a way.’ For once Tejay seems to be struggling to find a diplomatic way to express his thoughts.
“It wasn’t a shock,” he acknowledges, “but it was, it was definitely…it was definitely, uh, made a lot of headlines, but like Taylor said, we kinda knew it was coming.”
But Taylor isn’t so light-hearted when someone suggests that Americans have been the ‘bad guys’ of the peloton for the last decade. He jumps on the question with an unusual aggressiveness. “I don’t know if it’s just the American riders being the bad guys,” he replies moderately, to more laughter, but he’s quick to assert that past riders are also responsible for the present open state of cycling and not just to blame for its mistakes.
“We’re certainly proud to represent America, we’re proud to be where we’re at. Cycling had its problems in the past, but we stepped into a clean environment, and that was due to people from the past,” Taylor says strongly. “We definitely take that privilege seriously, to make sure the sport never relapses, and we’re always able to go to sleep at night knowing that none of our tests are going to show up positive and that all of our results were achieved in the correct way.” Despite this attitude, Taylor is still critical of the journalist’s original premise, and calls him out on the oblique accusation. “To say that we’re the good guys and they’re the bad guys, I don’t think that’s really fair.”
Taylor has also earned a reputation for being outspoken on the topic of doping, especially after an open interview about the use of legal medications late last year. He’s drawn a lot of interest in the wake of that interview, as it’s unusual for riders to talk so openly of doping. “It’s important for me to get my thoughts out there and my preparation for races out there,” he says of his willingness to open up on the subject. “For me that interview was just to kind of shine a light into a dark place and show how my approach is completely different than all these things that you read; Tyler Hamilton’s book and the USADA reports.”
Taylor has no compunction in being open with his views around his teammates, either. “We have a pretty strict team policy as it is, and I think a lot of people share the same sort of feelings as I do, at least on my team and in my inner circle. I’m very comfortable with what happens here at BMC and proud of what we can achieve.”
While Taylor sits back for a moment, having satisfied the journalists’ questions, the focus moves back to Tejay and in particular his 6th-placed Tour de France ride of last year, which left many wondering if BMC team leader Cadel Evans was still fit to be the Tour team leader. Tejay is quick to assure everyone that Cadel is still in charge, but he has his own ideas on what his role will be. “I think I’ll be given a bit of a free role to ride my own race,” Tejay says. “Where I’m at right now in my development is that there were climbers that were really good and I was just trying my best to follow. I was just following the best wheel I could, and sometimes that was with the leaders, sometimes it was in a group behind the leaders, like a couple of minutes back.”
To Tejay, this means that it will be his job to be Evans’ lieutenant and not his rival, but this doesn’t preclude him from having his own goals as well. “I can help [Evans] out, but that doesn’t mean that once the finish line comes that I have to hit my brakes and lose five minutes and then cross the line. That doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to get a result,” he emphasises, though he knows that riding for himself may not always be an option. “The only scenario I see would be if Cadel gets dropped and I have to wait for him, which I did in last year’s Tour. I don’t think I’m gonna be called upon to do that, so I think I’ll help Cadel as much as I can from off the front of the race.”
As we all stand and prepare to move rooms at the end of the interview, one of the European journalists feels the need to ask Tejay one last question.
“Have you already dreamed about the yellow jersey?”
Tejay smiles and replies without blinking. “I’ve dreamed about it since I was nine years old.”
Thursday 3 January 2013
Should We Applaud?
It’s 30-something degrees in the Adelaide Hills. Two cyclists are battling their way to the top of a climb. The crowd is cheering both as they struggle to get the advantage, one rider just nudging the other out for the victory as they cross the line. Alejandro Valverde has just made a triumphant return from a two-year doping suspension.
The crowd certainly doesn’t seem to mind his history, applauding him as much as his Australian opponent, Simon Gerrans. The Spanish fans love him too, holding him with the likes of Luis Léon Sánchez and Alberto Contador. In truth, it hardly seems fair. After his actions, does Valverde actually deserve to be applauded? It’s hard to say. And this begs another, more serious question:
If we applaud after they cheat, are we applauding the cheating, too?
Are we unreasonable for wanting to applaud? Is it wrong to admire David Millar for his strict anti-doping stance, wrong to worship Dave Zabriskie for daring to be a vegan pro-cyclist when no-one thought he could? Is it wrong to esteem George Hincapie as one of the heads of state of the peloton, a loyal, capable rider? Or should we be shaking our heads and saying that everything that we love and believe about these guys has been washed away with the flood of guilt? That the moral high ground should take precedence over everything; that their right to be applauded was stripped the moment they admitted to doping?
I hold all of these riders among my favourites for these reasons, but I feel guilty in saying that now. I feel as though I should wash my hands of them to set a good example for other fans and riders; to show that we, the fans and the media, will not condone doping either. But I just can’t shake the desire to thank George Hincapie for being the capable lieutenant and road captain that led Cadel Evans to victory. I can’t shake that desire, and yet I can’t shake the question: does he still deserve our thanks? Or did he resign the right to that kind of admiration when he said yes to the drugs?
Should knowledge of redemption and the chance of returning to the fold form part of the doping culture in cycling? If riders admit, or repent, should their mistake be acknowledged and they be embraced upon their return? Or should complete ostracision by the cycling community and rescission of all respect and status be the unwavering punishment for doping? I’m not sure. I don’t think anyone is.
It’s not just the riders, either. Half of the support staff of the pro peloton is made up of former riders. Some are former dopers. What about Matt White, Bjaarne Riis, Jonathan Vaughters? Do we lump them in the same group as the riders, too – and what group is that, exactly? Can we admire their work as team managers and trainers without admiring their decision to dope? Is that even possible? I don’t know. It’s cycling’s version of a rock and a hard place – either we clap every good achievement, and provide no further disincentive from doping, or we draw a line and only clap clean riders and staff, and therefore clap far less often.
I really do feel guilty for saying it, but I think that, at least for now, I’m going to keep applauding. As much as I despise doping and think that desperate times call for desperate anti-doping measures, I still want to applaud these riders, even knowing their doping history. Despite everything they’ve done wrong, I keep finding that I can’t ignore everything they’ve done right, either. But I’d feel so much better if I could applaud them for their clean pasts as well. And I bet they feel that way, too.
The crowd certainly doesn’t seem to mind his history, applauding him as much as his Australian opponent, Simon Gerrans. The Spanish fans love him too, holding him with the likes of Luis Léon Sánchez and Alberto Contador. In truth, it hardly seems fair. After his actions, does Valverde actually deserve to be applauded? It’s hard to say. And this begs another, more serious question:
If we applaud after they cheat, are we applauding the cheating, too?
Are we unreasonable for wanting to applaud? Is it wrong to admire David Millar for his strict anti-doping stance, wrong to worship Dave Zabriskie for daring to be a vegan pro-cyclist when no-one thought he could? Is it wrong to esteem George Hincapie as one of the heads of state of the peloton, a loyal, capable rider? Or should we be shaking our heads and saying that everything that we love and believe about these guys has been washed away with the flood of guilt? That the moral high ground should take precedence over everything; that their right to be applauded was stripped the moment they admitted to doping?
I hold all of these riders among my favourites for these reasons, but I feel guilty in saying that now. I feel as though I should wash my hands of them to set a good example for other fans and riders; to show that we, the fans and the media, will not condone doping either. But I just can’t shake the desire to thank George Hincapie for being the capable lieutenant and road captain that led Cadel Evans to victory. I can’t shake that desire, and yet I can’t shake the question: does he still deserve our thanks? Or did he resign the right to that kind of admiration when he said yes to the drugs?
Should knowledge of redemption and the chance of returning to the fold form part of the doping culture in cycling? If riders admit, or repent, should their mistake be acknowledged and they be embraced upon their return? Or should complete ostracision by the cycling community and rescission of all respect and status be the unwavering punishment for doping? I’m not sure. I don’t think anyone is.
It’s not just the riders, either. Half of the support staff of the pro peloton is made up of former riders. Some are former dopers. What about Matt White, Bjaarne Riis, Jonathan Vaughters? Do we lump them in the same group as the riders, too – and what group is that, exactly? Can we admire their work as team managers and trainers without admiring their decision to dope? Is that even possible? I don’t know. It’s cycling’s version of a rock and a hard place – either we clap every good achievement, and provide no further disincentive from doping, or we draw a line and only clap clean riders and staff, and therefore clap far less often.
I really do feel guilty for saying it, but I think that, at least for now, I’m going to keep applauding. As much as I despise doping and think that desperate times call for desperate anti-doping measures, I still want to applaud these riders, even knowing their doping history. Despite everything they’ve done wrong, I keep finding that I can’t ignore everything they’ve done right, either. But I’d feel so much better if I could applaud them for their clean pasts as well. And I bet they feel that way, too.
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