How Should The Cycling Community Respond To The Ukraine Invasion?

 In response to the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, the United States and several other countries (including, ironically, the then-new enemy of the US, the Ayatollah Khomieni-led Iran) boycotted the 1980 Summer Olympics, which were held in Moscow.

Some  hailed the boycott as a strong statement of principle.  Others thought they unfairly penalized athletes, particularly those in sports for which the Games are the most prominent stage—and the end-point of athletes’ careers, especially in sports as diverse as gymnastics, wrestling and, yes, bicycle racing (at least for countries like the US that didn’t have professional racing circuits).

That last point makes an article in Velo News all the more interesting and relevant. “Where does the line end and begin between sports and politics?” Andrew Hood wonders.

Specifically, he relates that question to Putain’s, I mean Puto’s, I mean Putain’s, invasion of Ukraine.  Very astutely, he points out that while the Union Cyclisme Internationale’s  condemnation is laudable, it actually won’t do much to pressure the Russian sports establishment or government, let alone Putin himself.

While there are a number of world-class Russian cyclists—in particular, sprinters—there aren’t any major UCI-sanctioned road races—which, let’s face it, are the most-followed events in the sport—in Russia.  Moreover, there aren’t any major bike brands with a sizable market outside the country.

In brief, a full-on boycott by the UCI or any other cycling body will do more to hurt individual Russian racers, just as the 1980 Olympic boycott penalized individual athletes—and, arguably, accomplished nothing beyond a retaliatory boycott of the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics.

What Leads A Charge Away From Red Bull? Greenbacks.

 This year's Winter Olympics have just ended.  I have to admit that I didn't pay as much attention to them as I've paid to Olympiads past, though I haven't been living under a big enough rock to not know about the saga of Kamila Valieva.  Whether or not she intentionally took a banned substance, the way her teammates and coach and the Russian sports establishment have treated her is child abuse, pure and simple.  That the International Olympic Committee did nothing to prevent her situation from snowballing--and, if they do anything, they're more likely to discipline her than her team, coaches or the relevant Russian organizations--confirms something that I've long known:  The IOC is, purely and simply, one of the most corrupt organizations in the world. Even if Valieva's tale of woe hadn't unfolded as it did, the fact that this year's games were awarded to Beijing is, for all sorts of reasons, evidence of how avaricious the IOC is.

(As Harry Shearer reminds us, the Olympics are a movement, and we need one--every day!)

As bad as the IOC is, it has at least one other rival for unscrupulousness in the sports world:  the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI). (I'd also put FIFA in the same league, if you will.)  The travesty of Lance Armstrong's carrer is, alone, evidence of that.  UCI officials seem to react to doping in one of two ways:  They look the other way until they can't (that's how they acted in the L.A. farce) or they talk about how they're going to do whatever they keep riders from using banned substances and severely discipline those who did, while making some deal or another that sends the exact opposite message.

Red Bull, to my knowledge, isn't banned by any major sports organization.  I've never drunk it myself, but from what I've heard, it gives one of the quickest, most intense, legal bursts of energy.  That is probably the reason why it's so often associated, whether through sponsorship or in other ways, with high-intensity sporting events.

Evie Richards at the UCI Mountain Bike World Cup in Alberstadt, 2021

Such was the case with the Mountain Bike World Cup, the sport's premier UCI event.  Sponsors are selected by the UCI, as they are at other events under the organization's umbrella.  Red Bull is sponsoring this year's edition, as it's sponsored the past ten.  I can't help but to see some UCI official winking while making the deal.

Well, this will be the last time for Red Bull.  For next year's event,  Discovery Sports will be the sponsor.  They're part of the Discovery broadcast network, which broadcasts a wide variety of sporting events.  I don't fault their work, but, given UCI's history, it's hard not to think that the money involved swayed them--and will give the UCI even less incentive than it (or the IOC or FIFA) to act on its stated commitment to fight doping and other forms of corruption in the sporting events they sanction.

Getting Untucked

 This sort of thing has got to stop.  Otherwise people will keep on buying tickets.

That assessment has been attributed to Conn Smythe, the longtime owner of hockey's Toronto Maple Leafs.  He is also said to have threatened to fire any player who won the Lady Byng Memorial Trophy, which the National Hockey League awards for the player who best exemplifies "sportsmanship and gentlemanly play."

(What does it say about the league when one of the LBMT winners was nicknamed "Butch?")

Smythe--if he was indeed calling, if in sarcasm, for its abolition--was talking about the fights that often break out during hockey games.  To be fair, fisticuffs are less frequent today than they were in the 1970s and 1980s, when every team had an "enforcer" and at least one team built its strategy around rough, often violent play.

And I met more than a few people who, after watching a game, wouldn't talk about a deft pass or slick goal.  Instead, they'd enthuse about a brawl involving, say, Dave Schulz or "Tiger" Williams.  So, if Smythe indeed uttered the words at the beginning of this post, he may have been onto something.

At any rate, he knew that his sport, like just about every other, has moves and tactics that are popular with fans (some, anyway) but cause the sports' governing bodies--and, sometimes, commentators--to wag their fingers, whether at the player who did something not-quite-legal or ethical, or the fans who enjoyed it.

Photo by David Ramos/Getty Images

In cycling, one of those tactics is riding in a "super tuck" position.  The rider places his or her forearms on the handlebars--sometimes on "aero bar" extensions for this purpose--and pedals, head down and back tilted forward.  Sometimes the rider even sits on the frame's top tube.

This move originated with time trialists, became popular on the track and increasingly became part of road racing, especially in "breakaways" or downhill descents.  In races that are decided by seconds, or fractions thereof, riding for a time in this position can make a difference between finishing on the podium or in the pack.

For whatever advantages it may offer, one can be forgiven for wondering whether teams, race promoters or others encourage racers to ride in the position because it makes for great photos, posters and videos.  I'll admit that it catches my eye, even though I've seen it many times.

But that's not the reason why the Union Cyclisme Internationale (UCI) is banning it.  Rather, the sport's governing body cites the danger, not only to the riders themselves, but to the riders--and, in some cases, spectators--around them.  While the position is aerodynamically efficient and may allow maximum use of certain muscle groups for brief periods of time, it's also less stable.  

Opponents of the ban cite the riders' skill:  After all, their "day at the office," if you will, is spent on their bikes or trainers.  So, they say, such riders, who understand its pros and cons, should be allowed to take the risk of using it.  The other riders in the peloton have, one assumes, similar skill levels to person "going into a tuck" and will either do the same or adjust, in some other way.  

Of course, this argument begs two questions:  1. If riders are allowed to take the inherent risks of riding in "the tuck," should they be allowed to take on other risks--such as from using performance-enhancing substances?  2. Is a "blanket" ban the right solution to eliminate the risks inherent in "the tuck?"

Whatever its merits, or lack thereof, the ban is set to take effect on 1 April.  No, that's not a joke!

Even If It's Not Allowed

If every nation in the world decided to ban nuclear weapons and abandon nuclear energy, would scientists continue their work on understanding and harnessing the power of the atom?

Of course they would.  They're scientists:  They want to know what's possible and knowable.

Likewise, if some ruler decided to model his or her country after Plato's Republic, poets would be banned.  But would they stop writing or chanting?

Of course not.  At least, no real poets would.

Following this thread of logic, doesn't it make sense that just because the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI) won't allow road bicycles lighter than 6.8 kilograms (14.9 pounds) in sanctioned races, someone won't restrain him- or her- self from creating an even lighter bike?

Of course it does.  And that is exactly what Canyon, the largest direct-to[consumer bicycle company, has done.  Two weeks ago, it released the Canyon Factory Racing (CFR) version of its "Ultimate" road bike.  

It weighs a wispy 6.2 kilos, or 13 pounds, 11 ounces.  

Now, it may not appear in the Tour or Giro or Vuelta, whenever they resume--unless, of course, the UCI changes its rules.  But I am sure that someone out there simply must have it.  Hal Ruzal, the recently-retired maven of Bicycle Habitat, once told me that whenever the lightest bikes from Specialized (S-Works) or Cannondale or whomever came to his shop, people with  fat enough wallets (or high enough credit cards limit) bought them.  "They think those bikes are going to get them over the hill in Central Park," he quipped.

Still, though, I don't mind that someone is trying to make ever-lighter bikes, even if they're not allowed in races--or if I don't intend to buy one myself, even if I get rich.

In Costume

I haven't posted in a while.  Halloween might seem like an odd day to return after an absence, especially when that hiatus is a result of my mother's passing.  If she is anywhere, she knows I mean no disrespect:  If anything, she probably would be happy that I'm blogging again.  And that I've been doing some other writing--and cycling.

It seems, however, appropriate, to write a post about this:

It seems that everyone and everything in that photo is in costume.  Grant Petersen sometimes refers to lycra racing kit as a "costume."  And millennials with "ironic" beards and shaved heads are, by definition, in costume.

I couldn't help but to think, though, that the bike is in costume, too.  I mean, aside from the fact that it has two wheels, pedals and handlebars--and no motor--it doesn't bear much resemblance to other bicycles I've seen.  Perhaps it's really a tuning fork in the guise of a velocipede.

British Cycling collaborated with Lotus and Hope Engineering--British makers of sports cars and high-end bicycle componentry, respectively--to build the bike.  BC's track racing team plans to ride it in the 2020 Olympics--unless it is banned. 

Don't get me wrong:  I am not against developing such bikes.  Racers want every advantage they can get, and the hopes of a nation ride (pun intended) on its national team.  I just hope that new bikes made for everyday riders aren't made to look like that--or, more important, require the proprietary technology that is of little or no use to anyone who isn't trying to set a record or win a medal.

At the same time, if the bike is banned by the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI) or just about any other governing body--as Matthew Beedham expects it to be--I think it would be a hypocritical and simply dishonest move.  When the UCI or whoever decides not to allow bikes that are too technically advanced, or simply lightweight, for their tastes--or when they decide to regulate just about anything else, their rationale is always something along the lines of "We want the man, not the machine, to win."

I could respect such a stance if the UCI, the USA Cycling or any other governing body were serious, or at least consistent,  in enforcing policies about performance-enhancing drugs.  But, if Lance Armstrong used drugs (and intimidated his teammates into silence about it), I find it hard to believe that the UCI, USA Cycling or any other governing body didn't know.  Given that the Tour de France's--and competitive cycling in general's--reputation was in tatters after doping scandals involving the Festina team as well as other riders, the UCI and other organizations had every incentive to look the other way when Lance--especially with his "feel good" story--won.

Perhaps the folks at UCI, USA Cycling and similar organizations are wearing costumes:  those of "concerned guardians" of their sport.

By the way:  The bearded guy in the first photo is holding an image of a bike the UCI banned twice.  First, the Lotus 108 was barred under a 1987 ban on carbon-fiber monocoque frames.  Then the prohibition was overturned, but after a number of riders raced successfully on the 108, the UCI  used its "Lugano Charter" to outlaw Lotus' racing machine once again.

Defining A Human Right

Many, many years ago, I raced, albeit briefly.  My "career", such as it was, barely registered a pawl-click in the history of bicycle racing:  I once placed third and now I'm going to admit, for the first time, I probably finished that far up because someone better than I had a mishap.

I was young, full of myself (Who isn't at that age?) and full of...testosterone.  (You were expecting something else?)  Yes, in those days, I raced as a male because, well, I lived as one, by my given name and the gender marked on my birth certificate when I came into this world.  (It has since been amended.)  I could probably say the same for my erstwhile competitors.

The difference between them and me is that, as far as I know, they're all still living as males.  One or two might still be racing; I would guess that at least some of the others continue to ride, whether for fun, fitness or other motives.  I can't tell you whether any of them ever entertained any notions of living as anything other than the males they always knew themselves to be: My guess is that none of them have, though it wouldn't surprise me too much if one or two did.

If any of them were to undergo the same transition I have undertaken and wanted to continue racing, how would that rider be classified?

I'm not talking about "veterans" or "Category 3" or the classifications normally associated with racing.  Rather, I'm speculating on whether they would compete as males or females. 

You see, a couple of months ago, USA Cycling released its policy on transgender athlete participation to "bring clarity" to its "efforts at diversity and inclusion."  In all fairness, USA Cycling's new policy is clearly more progressive than that of other governing bodies in cycling or other sports--when, indeed, those governing bodies have written policies at all.

USA Cycling has divided its athletes into two groups:  Non-elite, which includes Category 3-5 racers, and elite, which includes Categories 1 and 2 as well as professionals.  

Non-elite cyclists may self-select their gender category, and if any questions arise about an athlete's eligibility, they may be resolved with medical documentation, how that athlete identifies in "everyday life" as well as other criteria.  None of that, really, sounds terribly different from what I used, before I had my surgery, to establish myself as female under the law as well as for employment, insurance and other purposes.

"Elite" cyclists, on the other hand, are subject to the more stringent rules of the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI) and the International Olympic Committee (IOC), which focus on hormone levels and medical monitoring.  

The reason USA Cycling has these two sets of standards is that "Elite" riders can qualify for international competitions, while non-elite riders generally race only within the US.  

Rachel McKinnon, a philosophy professor who teaches a class on sports ethics and inclusion, says she has mixed feelings about this new ruling.  Her thoughts are especially interesting since she is a Cat. 1 racer who transitioned from male to female before she started cycling.  

She believes the fact that the rules even exist at all is good because they say that transgenders can indeed compete in races.  Some of us don't race--and many other would-be athletes don't participate in other sports--simply because we don't know that we're allowed to do so.  Others don't compete because we fear, or have experienced, harassment from other athletes who either believe trans people shouldn't be competing against them or simply don't want us around.   

Moreover, even if we are aware, some of us don't participate because we don't feel safe "outing" ourselves to organizations, especially if we are not "out" at work or in our communities.  Trans people, McKinnon says, " were voluntarily excluding themselves because they didn't want to take the risk."  Having a set of guidelines tells athletes that it's OK to compete, she says, and tells them "Here's how you do it."



Her praise for USA Cycling's new guidelines, however, is tempered by her criticism that they don't go far enough in another area:  Not all Cat 1 and Cat 2 riders race internationally.  (I would guess that the majority don't.)  She believes that those who don't should not be subject to a testosterone limit or any of the other medical criteria imposed by international governing bodies.  "I think that aspect of the policy fails to meet ethical standards of justification," says the philosophy professor.

In response, Chuck Hodge, USA Cycling's Technical director, says the new policy was crafted "not to create a witch-hunt" but to build "firewalls" primarily so that non-transgenders won't try to race as another gender "to prove a point".  I guess such a thing, were it to happen, would be more likely in non-elite domestic competitions rather than international matches.  Still, I'm not sure how many guys it will keep from competing as women, or vice-versa.  For that matter, I'm not sure that very many have ever tried to compete as their "opposite" gender.  

Still, I think USA Cycling should be commended for its new policy.  While it adheres to more stringent IOC (and UCI) rules about gender identity, it does affirm Point #4 of the Fundamental Principles of Olympism, spelled out  in the Olympic Charter (p.13):  Participation in sport is a human right.

The Sad Saga Of Vladimir Gusev

Perhaps you have heard of Vladimir Gusev, the Russian cyclist who twice won his country's time trial championships. In July of 2008, the Astana team fired him for "abnormal values".  (It sounds like an accusation Ted Cruz would throw at Donald Trump, gay people or just about anyone else, doesn't it?)  On the surface, it sounds like just another doping case, wouldn't you say?

However, the story is more complicated than I've so far described.  You see, the Astana team--founded in Kazakhstan two years earlier--was kicked out of the Tour de France in 2007 after its star rider, Alexander Vinokourov, tested positive.  Needless to say, the team was in a crisis--one that could have threatened its very existence.

Vladimir Gusev:  Victim of the UCI and Johan Bruyneel

To show that Astana was taking a stance against doping (I see the eyeballs rolling!), it recruited who was undoubtedly the best man for the job:  Johan Bruyneel. If his name doesn't sound familiar, I'll tell you a little about him:  From 1999 until 2007 (Do those years ring a bell?), he was the directeur sportif  of--are you ready?--the US Postal Service Team.  Yes, the team that employed one Lance Armstrong.  And a fellow named Alberto Contador:  more about him later.

To show that he was really, really serious about running a clean team, he brought in the Grand Inquisitor of the anti-doping movement:  the Danish doctor Rasmus Damsgaard (Don't you just love that name?), who successfully established anti-doping protocols with Bjarne Riis' old crew, Team CSC.

OK, so maybe Bruyneel was ready to set his riders on the straight and narrow after all.  But soon after bringing Dr. Damsgaard aboard, which cyclist does he hire?  Why, none other than Contador, who'd just won the Tour de France under Bruyneel's tutelage with the Discovery team. 

Well, not long after, the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI), the sport's governing body, declared that it wouldn't allow the Astana team to participate in the Tour de France.  That meant, of course, that Contador would not be able to defend his yellow jersey.  But, even worse, from Astana's point of view, was that the ban would, in essence, destroy the team.

Bruyneel realized he had to show the UCI that Astana could take care of its own doping problems. So--quelle coincidence!--Damsgaard just happened to find "abnormal values" in Gusev's blood.  The good doctor informed the kindly directeur sportif--who, putting the good of the team and the sport above all else, fired Gusev.

He made the announcement in the middle of a broadcast on Belgian TV, where he was a commentator for its Tour de France coverage.

That went down nearly five years before Lance Armstrong made his confession.  During those years--and before, when Lance was winning seven consecutive Tours--accusations of doping swirled around him.  Now, I am not going to take a stand on Lance.  However, I do believe that it was hypocritical, to say the least, for the UCI to look the other way while Lance was winning the Tour but to, essentially, get Gusev to drop his suit against them so that he could continue his cycling career.

Then again, as loath as I am to defend the UCI, the organization looks pristine compared to Bruyneel, who--from all of the testimony we've heard so far--enabled Armstrong, Contador and other riders' doping but hung Gusev out to dry.

Today, Gusev is riding for the Skydive Dubai Cycling Team.  It's good to see that he's still "in the game" but, at age 33, his best years are probably behind him.  It's enough to make one wonder what sort of rider he might have become had he not gone two years (2008-2010) without racing, just when his star should have been ascending.  Perhaps we'd be hearing more about him than about a couple of other riders Bruyneel managed.

(In the near future, I will write about another Gusev who also has a connection with cycling, or at least with bicycles.)

Assuming A Postition: Scott DH And Cinelli Spinaci

Today, the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI) is one of those organizations almost nobody loves.  There are plenty of good reasons for that:  The organization is often accused of looking the other way when riders are doping--and taking bribes to do so, and threatening lawsuits against those who accuse it of wrongdoing.  It was, essentially, duped (or so it claims) into violating a country's sovereignty.  And the UCI makes and enforces all sorts of rules that defy logic or reason.

However, there was a time--believe it or not--when the UCI actually made rules that made sense.  One of those occasions came in 1997, when it banned aerobar (a.k.a. "tribar") extensions from competition.

Scott DH bar, circa 1988.  Don't you just love that neon yellow? ;-?

 

You have no doubt seen, and possibly ridden, them.  Originally, they were designed and ridden by triathletes.  They caught on with other racers and wannabes after Greg LeMond rode the final time trial stage of the 1989 Tour de France on a bike equipped with Scott DH bars.  He began that day (23 July)'s stage 50 seconds behind race leader Laurent Fignon.  Rarely does any cyclist--barring a crash or mishap to another--make up so much time on a single stage, let alone the final one, which is usually an individual time trial and is, as often as not, ceremonial rather than consequential.

Greg LeMond on his time trial bike--with Scott DH clip-on aero bars--in the 1989 Tour de France.

When it was over, LeMond--whose 1986 Tour victory was the first by an American--left Fignon in second place, 8 seconds behind in the overall classifications.  That was, and remains, the smallest margin of victory by any overall Tour winner. 

Until then, the jury was out on aerobars.  But a lot of cyclists looked at that result--an 8 second lead over a three-week-long race!--and thought that if the aerobars weren't the reason, then maybe, just maybe...

Sales of Scott DHs took off.   The "forward" position mimicked the "tuck" of a downhill skier, which is where the "DH" came from.  (Before they started making aerobars, Scott was a ski-equipment company.)  At that time, a lot of road bikers were taking up mountain biking, some in the form that would later come to be known as "downhill".  That, I believe, accounted for at least some of the popularity of Scott DHs with wannabes.  And, at that time, some cyclists who'd started off as mountain riders were "discovering" road cycling.  And those triathloners who hadn't adopted aerobars up to that time couldn't wait to get them.


The popularity of those bars, naturally, spawned imitators and tweaks.  Some, like Profile, were made by companies that had never before made bike components.  And most of the handlebar manufacturers of that time got in on the action.



Cinelli Spinaci, circa 1990.

One of the best-known of that new breed of bars was the Cinelli Spinaci.  Its forward reach wasn't quite as far as that of the DH.  So, while it wasn't quite as aerodynamic as the DH, it allowed the rider to assume a position more aerodynamic than the normal road-riding position for longer periods of time.   Also, the Spinaci could be set up in a greater variety of positions.  That latter quality also was one of its downfalls.

The ideal position, or at least the one recommended by Cinelli, set the clamps at 45 degrees and the bars parallel to the ground.  But some riders tilted their Spinacis to the "wheel licker" position in the mistaken belief that being in a below-horizontal position made you more aerodynamic.  Others rode them with the bars tilted so that the end were almost in a direct line with the rider's face.  That position was about as aerodynamic as a boulder.

How do I know so much about the Spinaci? All right, I'll make a confession that might cause some of you purists to lose respect for me:  I used it.  I like to think I was young enough to consider it now as a youthful folly.  Although I knew that the bars would wreak havoc with the aesthetics of my Colnago, I rationalized installing the Spinaci because, well, it was Italian--because it was Cinelli, the same brand as the handlebars to which I was clamping it.

I didn't ride them for very long, though.  As I have  mentioned, there was no benefit in tilting them upward or downward.  And even though riding them in the horizontal position was relatively comfortable (especially with the arm rests), I didn't spend much time riding that way.  So, after acquiring them in the spring, I had little trouble selling them in the summer, as they were at the peak of their popularity.

The biggest drawback, though of Spinacis, DHs or any other aerobar lies in using them while riding them in a peloton or any other kind of group or pack.  When you're riding on the extensions, your hands are nowhere near your brake levers.  On traditional road bars, if you're riding in the drops, you can move your hands to the levers relatively quickly, usually enough to avoid a crash or lessen its impact.  The real danger, though, is not just in one rider using it.  As the UCI folk realized, in one of their rare moments of anything resembling clarity or magmamnity, if a hundred riders are using them and one of them goes down, or there is any other emergency, the result could be, essentially, a race that ends by attrition.

Now, having said all of that, I am not trying to dismiss aerobars.  I never cared for the aesthetic, but I can understand why some riders, especially time trialists, would like them.  The UCI, in one of its increasingly-rare instances of clear thinking, realized that there are some situations in which those bars shouldn't be used, and banned them for that reason.
 

Why Should Cyclists Care About The FIFA Scandal?

In a previous post, I mentioned that the worlds of cycling and what most of the world calls “football” (but most Americans call “soccer”) are so close but never quite meet.  Some of the world’s most cycling-intensive nations also happen to be football powerhouses and some countries in the Americas are emerging in both.  (The US has elite athletes and teams in both sports but, on the whole, isn’t quite on the level of, say, Belgium, Italy, Spain, France or England in either one.)  I got to thinking about the relationship between the two sports again in light of FIFA’s current troubles.

Although I'm not as avid about them as I once was, I still love sports.  I have competed in three (wrestling, soccer and, of course, cycling) and have been a cyclist in one form or another for most of my life.  I even wrote about sports for a small local newspaper.  To this day, some of the things of which I’m most proud are things I’ve done in athletic pursuits. 

I must also point out that I have never participated in any athletic endeavor for money.  That doesn’t make me more virtuous or prove my love of sports or much of anything else.  However, I also realize that having always been an amateur—and having participated in sports that, at the times I was involved with them, offered few opportunities for scholarships, let alone professional careers—I never had an incentive to cheat.  Nor did most of those I competed with and against.  Likewise, my coaches and others involved in officiating contests or administering programs in which I was involved were not tempted by the prospect of payoffs or bribes of one kind or another.

That perspective—and my experience writing about sports—helped me to understand that when money, especially large sums of it, are involved, the attitude of everyone involved with sport changes.  It’s almost trite to say that money corrupts, and large sums corrupt in major ways.  To be more exact, the prospect of a large payoff exposes avarice that might lay dormant in the absence of lucre.

What I find ironic is that nearly every fan of any professional sport acknowledges that corruption exists, at whatever level, but he or she is almost invariably shocked when that corruption is exposed.  For all the whispers that Lance Armstrong, the Festina team and any number of other riders and teams were doping, when that doping was exposed or confessed, fans expressed a sense of betrayal.  Likewise, nearly every soccer/football fan believes that the sport’s officials and governing bodies are corrupt. (Most people also have the same sense about Olympic organizations.)  But some still said the equivalent of “no…really” when Sepp Blatter and others were implicated in various kinds of graft related to the awarding of the World Cup to the countries that hosted the tournament.

 

One interesting difference I’ve noticed between cycling and football/soccer is that in cycling, the investigations, accusations and crackdowns have focused on individual cyclists and teams, while in football, prosecutors’ sights have been set on the governing bodies and top-level officials.  Of course, one reason for that is that the scandals in cycling have had mainly to do with doping, or allegations thereof, while those in football have had to do with kickbacks and awarding tournaments to countries. 

Why has relatively little attention been paid to cycling’s governing bodies?  Surely, their officials must have known about doping, or the rumors of it.  It’s also hard not to imagine that in the administration of cycling, there are money scandals and nepotism similar to what is found in FIFA and football’s governing bodies in individual countries.  I mean, if corrupt officials can take bribes to allow Russia or Qatar or some other country to host the World Cup, it’s hard not to believe that similar (though smaller-scale) deals are made so that cities can host stages of multi-day races or for facilities to be built for cycling.  Likewise, if cyclists are doping and their teams and sponsors are pressuring them to do so, who’s to say that something similar isn’t happening in football?  After all, as in cycling, the world’s best athletes are competing in it, and the difference between victory or relegation could be laid to something as seemingly trivial as whether a key performer drank one glass too many or too few of water on the day of the competition.

And, as I have mentioned, there is a lot of money riding on the siting as well as the outcomes of competitions in both sports.  The incentives exist for cheating and corruption, and are so similar in so many ways in cycling and football.  But, in that regard, as in so many other aspects, the worlds of the two sports are so close but somehow manage not to meet. 

In Living Colors

Back when I was racing, we had to wear white socks.  I don't remember whether that was a UCI, or merely a USCF (now USA Cycling), rule. But wearing any other color under your Detto Pietro cleated shoes got you disqualified from a race.

In the early days of mountain biking, riders wore black socks in defiance of that tradition.

I wonder what they--or the UCI or USCF--would make of this:




From Biking Toronto



Check Your Pressure!

I took Physics in my junior year of high school.  That was, oh, let's say some time before the first Star Wars movie came out. So, I admit that I've forgotten much of what I learned that year, and that some of the basic tenets of that branch of science have changed since then.

But I'm pretty good at detecting male ungulate excrement, if I do say so myself.  And I've been told I have a sense of humor.  (I don't know how anybody could think that!)  So, very few things uttered by famous people have made me laugh as much as New England Patriots' coach Bill Belichick's explanation of the under-inflated footballs used in the American Football Conference's championship game.  

 

Now, in all fairness, the pressure--or, more precisely,lack thereof--in the footballs probably had little or no outcome on the effect of the game, which the Patriots won in a rout.  The Pats--and I say this as someone who isn't a fan--were clearly the better team in that game.

Still, you have to wonder what Belichick would be doing if he weren't a football coach.  Can you imagine him as a science teacher?  Or a minister?  A lawyer, perhaps:  He might win cases just by confusing people.  He's the only person I've ever seen who can channel Dwight Eisenhower and Richard Nixon at the same time.

I'm mentioning him, and the "Deflate-gate" "scandal" because it got me to thinking about how many controversies there have been in cycling over doctored equipment.  While the two-wheeled sport has not been without such incidents, given bicycle racing's 130-year (give or take) history and the number of events held during that time, there actually have been relatively few controversies about equipment.

Some might argue that there seem to be few such scandals in cycling because they're overshadowed by doping.  Fair enough:  a Google search of "bicycle racing scandals" turns up a lot of entries about substance abuse--and, of course, Lance.  However, I think that the presence of drugs in cycling might now be overstated:  The incidents of doping attributed to Lance (and some of his peers) were a decade in the past by the time he had that now-famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view)  interview with Oprah.  

Still, whether or not you accept that cycling isn't as "dirty" as has been alleged (I think that it's a "cleaner" sport than it was, say, a decade or two ago.), you have to admit that drug scandals aren't the reason why we don't hear more about scandals involving doctored equipment.  There are a couple of good reasons for this.

One is that cycling's governing bodies have, for the most part, fairly stringent regulations about equipment.  For example, the Union Cycliste International decrees that no bike ridden in a road race can weigh less than 6.8 kg (14.99 pounds).  Some have argued that this weight limit is too high, given today's technology.  But I believe that most people--whether they are racers, fans, coaches or the sport's administrators--agree that there should be a "floor" for bike weight, whatever it is.  After all, I don't think anyone wants to see a sport in which technology matters more than the physical conditioning or tactics.  At least, I wouldn't want to see such a sport.

The Nihon Jitensha Shinkokai is another governing body that tightly regulates equipment used in bike races.  The NJS, which oversees keirin track racing in Japan does not allow riders to use bikes or components that it hasn't approved.  What's interesting is that NJS-approved equipment isn't always the lightest available.  However, it stands up to the stress and abuse of track racing and the training involved in it.  NJS officials explain that such regulations help to ensure the safety of the riders as well as the integrity of the sport, on which considerable sums of money are wagered in Japan.

What I've long found interesting is that, even in the absence of regulations, racers ride remarkably similar equipment.  So, while the UCI has a weight limit, it doesn't specify which components or frames can or can't be used.  Even so, nearly all of the riders are spinning wheels made by the same three or four manufacturers and are pumping on cranks and shifting gears made by the about the same number of companies.  Still, the equipment used in today's peloton is far more diverse than it was in the days of Eddy Mercx, when nearly all of the European pros were riding bikes equipped with Campagnolo components.

One reason for such uniformity in equipment is, of course, that Campy was making the most reliable stuff available at the time, and nobody wants to lose a race because of equipment failure.  At the same time Campagnolo had a near-monopoly on the equipment preferences of the European peloton, Japanese racers--even greater in number than their European counterparts--were using SunTour derailleurs.  

So, in brief, most racers and coaches have figured out that there's little, if any, benefit to using altered or unorthodox equipment.  Still, they should check their tire pressure! ;-)

Lance's Offenses: Neither The First Nor The Last

Tonight I saw the 60 Minutes segment on Lance Armstrong.  I don't think I learned anything new from it.  Then again, I didn't expect to.

I'm not going to debate about the genuineness of Lance's confession or whether he doped in the last two Tours he wrote.  It's all getting tiresome, really.  Call me a cynic, but I don't think anyone--the investigators, Lance's teammates or Lance himself--is telling everything he knows.  And anytime Lance or anyone else is accused of doping, someone will say, "Well, everybody was doing it."  Be that as it may, the affair is a mess.

All right, I'll say one more thing before I get to what prompted me to write this post.  Lance and certain other people, of course, have an interest in his being cleared of the accusations and lifting the ban on his competing.  On the other hand, if Lance was indeed doping and did, in fact, make his teammates take the same drugs he was taking and threatened anyone who wouldn't, or who spoke of it, then there were also people who had a vested interest in denying it, or simply looking the other way.  Yes, I'm talking about UCI officials, among other people.  They were probably looking at Lance as a ticket to the American market.

Anyway, what I now find far more interesting than the question of whether Lance doped or not is the degree to which he controlled the Tour, and much of the racing scene.  One rider--Tyler Hamilton, I believe--said, in essence, that what Lance wanted, Lance got.  He was well-connected and, according to some riders, if you didn't go along with him, you could be essentially run out of the sport.

It got me to thinking about the ways in which a few athletes manage to control a competition, and not only with their athletic domination.  It's long been suspected in cycling and other sports that a few top-flight competitors conspire with each other to control the outcome of contests.  

It's not hard to imagine in a sport that's as individualistic as cycling.  In stage races like the Tour, teams compete, to be sure, but most people watch the races to see the performance of individual riders.  (Probably the only team sport about which the same thing could be said is basketball:  There were a lot more fans of Michael Jordan than the Chicago Bulls, for example.)  Track events and time trials usually pit individual riders against each other, so it's easy to think that there are conspiracies.  

Velodrome d'Hiver

In fact, collusion was very commonly attributed to the races at the old Velodrome d'Hiver in Paris.  Of them, journalist Pierre Chaney wrote:

There was a lot of talk about the relative honesty of the results, and journalists sometimes asked themselves what importance they ought to place on victories in these six-day races. The best of the field combined between themselves, it was known, to fight against other teams and to get their own hands on the biggest prizes, which they then shared between them. This coalition, cruelly nicknamed the Blue Train [after a luxury rail service patronised by the rich] imposed its rule and sometimes even the times of the race, the length of the rest periods. The little teams fought back on certain days but, generally, the law belonged to the cracks, better equipped physically and often better organised.

Chaney was writing about races during the 1920's. One could be forgiven for thinking that there is indeed "nothing new under the sun" and that whatever Lance's offenses were, they were neither the first nor the last, neither the beginning nor the end.