The Secret Race: Inside the Hidden World of the Tour De France: Doping, Cover-Ups, and Winning at All Costs: Inside the Hidden World of the Tour De France: Doping, Cover-Ups, and Winning at All Costs by Daniel Coyle, Tyler Hamilton Page A
Authors: Daniel Coyle, Tyler Hamilton
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sport, “revelation”—the ride where someone shows they have a champion’s capacity. And Pedro informed me that I had just performed my revelation, and, more impressive, I’d done it with a hematocrit of only 44.
Forty-four! He said it several times. That number moved him, because in it he could see how fast I might have gone, might yet go if I became more professional. Then he put a fatherly hand on my shoulder, and he told me something that changed my life.
You can win the Tour de France someday .
I laughed out loud, told him to be quiet. But Pedro insisted. I could win the Tour. Not this year, not next year. But some year. He made the case with doctorly assurance.
You can time-trial, you can climb, and you can push yourself where no one else can. Listen and remember, Tyler. I know. I have seen many, many riders, and you have something special, Tyler. You are a special rider .
I returned to the States when the season ended that fall. A few months later, Haven and I got married. Occasionally, over that off-season, the topic of doping would come up. People had heard of the Festina Affair, and they wanted to know what really happened. I usually responded by saying it was overblown, that there were a few bad apples and now they’d been found out. I told people I was grateful for the scandal, because it helped the rest of us who wanted to compete cleanly.
One afternoon, my father came to me with that question. He sat me down; he brought up Festina. My dad’s a smart guy; he knew that Festina wasn’t something that could be brushed away. He was clear: he didn’t want me getting mixed up in a bad scene, in something I might regret later.
I didn’t hesitate.
“Dad, if I ever have to take that stuff to compete, I’ll retire.”
I’d thought it would be hard to lie to my dad; it turned out it was easy. I looked him right in the eye; the words popped out so effortlessly that I’m ashamed to think of it now. The truth was far too complicated to tell. That fall, when other friends asked about Festina, I said the same thing with even more conviction— If I ever have to take that stuff to compete, I’ll retire . Each time, the words felt good to say. Each time, lying got easier. They wanted to believe I was clean, and in a way, so did I.
When I spoke those words to my father, it sealed my life in bike racing behind a steel door. That was the moment I started learningwhat we all had to learn: how to live on two planets at once. Only Haven and I would know the real truth. And I knew, even as I assured my father everything was fine, that I was about to go in a lot deeper.
At the Postal banquet in Paris after the Tour, word had begun to go around the team. Given all the shit with Festina, teams weren’t going to be able to keep supplying EPO and other products. Postal would pay for the legal recovery stuff, but beyond that, we were on our own. I understood the message loud and clear. A new era was about to begin.
* A year later, when Armstrong was late in paying the team the traditional bonuses after winning the 1999 Tour de France, Andreu went to Armstrong and reminded him to pay everyone their $25,000.
† In From Lance to Landis , by David Walsh (New York: Ballantine Books, 2007), Postal soigneur Emma O’Reilly says that she heard Postal staffers estimate that $25,000 in medical products was flushed down the toilet of the RV.
‡ Cofidis’s 1998 performance was statistically unusual. Over the rest of their careers, the top four Cofidis finishers (Julich, Christophe Rinero, Roland Meier, and Kevin Livingston) rode the Tour a collective fifteen times, averaging 45th place.
“It drove Lance crazy that Bobby [Julich] got third in the [1998] Tour,” recalled Betsy Andreu, Frankie’s wife. “Lance never considered Bobby to be that great of a rider, and so we used to tease Lance about it. Looking back, I think it motivated Lance a lot—if Bobby could get third, Lance probably figured he could
Forty-four! He said it several times. That number moved him, because in it he could see how fast I might have gone, might yet go if I became more professional. Then he put a fatherly hand on my shoulder, and he told me something that changed my life.
You can win the Tour de France someday .
I laughed out loud, told him to be quiet. But Pedro insisted. I could win the Tour. Not this year, not next year. But some year. He made the case with doctorly assurance.
You can time-trial, you can climb, and you can push yourself where no one else can. Listen and remember, Tyler. I know. I have seen many, many riders, and you have something special, Tyler. You are a special rider .
I returned to the States when the season ended that fall. A few months later, Haven and I got married. Occasionally, over that off-season, the topic of doping would come up. People had heard of the Festina Affair, and they wanted to know what really happened. I usually responded by saying it was overblown, that there were a few bad apples and now they’d been found out. I told people I was grateful for the scandal, because it helped the rest of us who wanted to compete cleanly.
One afternoon, my father came to me with that question. He sat me down; he brought up Festina. My dad’s a smart guy; he knew that Festina wasn’t something that could be brushed away. He was clear: he didn’t want me getting mixed up in a bad scene, in something I might regret later.
I didn’t hesitate.
“Dad, if I ever have to take that stuff to compete, I’ll retire.”
I’d thought it would be hard to lie to my dad; it turned out it was easy. I looked him right in the eye; the words popped out so effortlessly that I’m ashamed to think of it now. The truth was far too complicated to tell. That fall, when other friends asked about Festina, I said the same thing with even more conviction— If I ever have to take that stuff to compete, I’ll retire . Each time, the words felt good to say. Each time, lying got easier. They wanted to believe I was clean, and in a way, so did I.
When I spoke those words to my father, it sealed my life in bike racing behind a steel door. That was the moment I started learningwhat we all had to learn: how to live on two planets at once. Only Haven and I would know the real truth. And I knew, even as I assured my father everything was fine, that I was about to go in a lot deeper.
At the Postal banquet in Paris after the Tour, word had begun to go around the team. Given all the shit with Festina, teams weren’t going to be able to keep supplying EPO and other products. Postal would pay for the legal recovery stuff, but beyond that, we were on our own. I understood the message loud and clear. A new era was about to begin.
* A year later, when Armstrong was late in paying the team the traditional bonuses after winning the 1999 Tour de France, Andreu went to Armstrong and reminded him to pay everyone their $25,000.
† In From Lance to Landis , by David Walsh (New York: Ballantine Books, 2007), Postal soigneur Emma O’Reilly says that she heard Postal staffers estimate that $25,000 in medical products was flushed down the toilet of the RV.
‡ Cofidis’s 1998 performance was statistically unusual. Over the rest of their careers, the top four Cofidis finishers (Julich, Christophe Rinero, Roland Meier, and Kevin Livingston) rode the Tour a collective fifteen times, averaging 45th place.
“It drove Lance crazy that Bobby [Julich] got third in the [1998] Tour,” recalled Betsy Andreu, Frankie’s wife. “Lance never considered Bobby to be that great of a rider, and so we used to tease Lance about it. Looking back, I think it motivated Lance a lot—if Bobby could get third, Lance probably figured he could
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