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Outside magazine, April 1998

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Tour de Revenge (cont.)


	(Frank W. Ockenfels)

Then he mounts his bike, and the question of team colors seems suddenly immaterial. The Lance Armstrong Foundation's motto is Live to Ride, and you get the feeling that for Armstrong, cycling is like oxygen. Zipping out of the parking lot at the head of the ragtag peloton, he shows with his first few pedal strokes why he is one of the world's elite cyclists. His legs torque with formidable economy. Most of the other riders quickly appear to be languishing, and Armstrong keeps having to circle back to stay with them. Often he reaches out with an open palm, pushes a weaker rider uphill. Though the 30-mile ride through steep chaparral would ordinarily take him about an hour, he spends most of the afternoon on the course, and then he heads back to the Oakley headquarters to sit in the bus's cargo bay, shading himself and stretching his legs, until the broom wagon arrives with the last stragglers, including Nichols.

At his own charity event, at the home office of a company that stuck with him when others didn't, for a

"I'm attempting one of the biggest comebacks," says Armstrong, "if not the biggest comeback, in the history of sport." Which is almost, but probably not quite, true.

doctor who saved his life and quite possibly his career, Armstrong doesn't seem to mind.

"I'm attempting one of the biggest comebacks, if not the biggest comeback, in the history of sport," Armstrong tells me later, "taking into account the severity of my illness, the aggressiveness of my treatment, and how long I've been away, and putting all that into a sport I consider to be the hardest sport in the world." Then he adds, "As far as making money, the best thing I can do is be competitive in the sport of cycling. That's where I've made my money in the past."

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Both statements bear close consideration. The first, about his comeback, is unverifiable that is, it's almost, but probably not quite, true. Ben Hogan, the most dominant golfer of the forties and fifties, nearly died in a car crash in 1949, a year after winning the U.S. Open. Hogan won the Open again in 1950, 1951, and 1953, the Masters in 1951 and 1953, and the British Open in 1953. And Greg LeMond, who preceded Armstrong as America's best cyclist, was already the country's most accomplished rider ever, having won the 1986 Tour de France, when he almost bled to death after being shot in a hunting accident in 1987. He returned to win the Tour again in 1989 and 1990. Armstrong was entering the top tier of international riders when he was diagnosed with cancer, but because he was not yet among the very best of the best, his comeback doesn't have as far to go. On the other hand, he had the most aggressive form of testicular cancer, requiring the most grueling treatment. If Armstrong wants to claim that no other champion athlete has ever had to come back from so far to return to greatness, and can prove it by winning big races, who's to question it?

Yet it's the second statement, about focusing on cycling, that I find most telling. In our media- and business-obsessed culture, stories sell. And Armstrong seems to have a mature understanding of that basic fact. From the time he exploded onto the international cycling scene almost a decade ago, he's always had a great story: born to a single mother, Linda Walling, who left high school at 17 to have him; shepherded to swim meets, triathlons, and finally road races; turning professional at age 15; rising through the ranks of a European-dominated sport; crowned a golden boy by the press and coolly delivering on the promise, winning the World Championships in 1993. If he rides well, Armstrong knows, other good things are likely to follow. Revenge, glory, endorsements, vindication, media stardom, book and movie deals, riches the whole package. But first he's got to deliver on his bike. His determination to prove to himself and to the world that there's life after cancer even, as Nichols says, "to the extremes of human endurance" seems sincere enough. But there's the money, too, and Armstrong has always plainly regarded cycling as a business. He was already spending weeks at a time racing in Europe, sending thank-you notes to event organizers and keeping a Rolodex of potential sponsors, when other high school students were trying to invent real-life experience on their college-admission essays. After all he's been through over the last 18 months, it doesn't take a cynic to wonder whether his cancer may turn out to have been not only the most harrowing event of his life, but a good career move.

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