Saturday 18 January 2020

WHEN BIG GEORGE TOOK HIS FIRST SHOT IN THE ARM



EPO became a way of life 
Cycling has its Hall of Fame. Why not a Hall of Shame - for dopers?

How big would it need to be?  Vast, I imagine.

Reading the excellent feature on the Italian legend Fausto Coppi in the recent Rouler magazine brought doping into focus again for me.
It  must be stressed there were no rules banning doping back then. There was not the stigma we attach to it today.  It was probably just quietly accepted as "necessary", not talked about much.

So I don't think riders from that period would necessarily be in my Hall of Shame which will take nominations from the modern era only, for doping has become a far more sophisticated science and quite clearly recognised as cheating.

The idea of a Hall of Shame  came to me after coming across the autobiography of serial doper George Hincapie, “loyal” workhorse for that other serial doper, the infamous Lance Armstrong.

First the Coppi article.

Although the piece didn’t broach the matter of doping, an intriguing passage about Coppi's successful Hour record attempt at Milan’s Vigorelli track in 1942 allured to it.

During the “last segment” of the Hour, when it was touch and go whether Coppi would break Frenchman Maurice Archambaud record of 45.480km, Coppi took three pills from his back pocket and swallowed them. There was no explanation as to what the pills were but whatever they were, "they were enough to give him a final boost".   Coppi broke the record by  31 metres, establishing a new mark of 45.871km.

Notwithstanding Coppi’s remarkable athletic abilities in the pre and post war years, earning him the moniker “Campionissimo” Coppi, like so many of his compatriots, admitted doping.

And although  this was not illegal it nevertheless  provoked media interest as if perhaps the practice was considered just as questionable as frequenting a brothel from time to time.

As in the following television interview with Coppi who didn't deny he took "la bomba" when asked the following questions: 

Do cyclists take la bomba (amphetamine)?

Answer: Yes

Question: How often.

Answer: Whenever it was necessary.

Question: And when was it necessary?

Answer: Almost all the time!





That’s OK, then!


There are stories of his rival Bartali going into Coppi’s hotel room to rummage through his waste basket, filching out discarded medicines and empty pill packets to see what he was on.

Coppi's many victories included five times winning the Tour of Italy, and twice winning the Tour de France. Other major successes included the  world road title once, the Giro di Lombardia five times;   Milan San Remo three times and the cobbled classic Paris – Roubaix once.


In Italy today, an Italian journalist says doping in cycling is regarded as an occupational hazard.

Pro racing is especially tough, perhaps too tough if riders need to resort to chemical assistance to compete at the top. Single day races lasting several hours, Tours of three weeks duration, fierce competition, a long and heavy racing programme pushing the body and mind to the limit.

You can’t win the Tour on salad and mineral water alone, a famous rider once said. 


But this raises the question, could Coppi have  performed such feats of endurance in the Grand Tours and classics had he not resorted to doping?  The question can be asked of all of the others, too.

It's all or nothing for them. Some riders faced with this choice have either simply raced clean and raced the best they could, or given up their on dreams of competing against the top professionals.

Those who doped appear to have simply adjusted their moral compass, placing the use of steroids, testosterone, growth hormone and various cocktail power boosters in the same category as nutrition and having the best bikes and equipment. It all became part of the preparation in their virtual reality world.

They had no choice, they protested.

Which was the case for the defence when  in the early 1990s  EPO made its appearance in the peloton.

This brings me to George Hincapie’s book, The Loyal Lieutenant, My Story, published in 2014 published by Harpur Sport, an imprint of Harper Collins Publishers.

Perhaps the title ought to have been, Confessions of a serial doper?

I only discovered this in my local library last week.  I found Big George to be most enlightening about how he and Lance Armstrong famously and shamelessly doped their way to Lance’s seven consecutive Tour de France victories.

In 2012 Hincapie confessed to and justified using performance enhancing drugs.

"Given the widespread use of performance-enhancing drugs by cyclists at the top of the profession, it was not possible to compete without them," said the 39-year-old Hincapie, reported the BBC .


In January the following year, on the Oprah Winnie show,  Armstrong finally confessed to having doped for all his seven Tour victories.

That has gone down as the biggest sporting con in history, resulting in all seven victories being struck from the record. Not that it concerned either of them.  They still consider those victories won.

What interests me is what is going on in the head of a rider when he starts to dope.

Hincapie tells us in his book.

Hincapie, who is from New York, rode the Tour de France 17 times. A tall impressive rider, capable enough of being the champion in any race of his choosing, says Armstrong in the foreword.

Instead, their lifelong friendship which began in their junior days, saw Hincapie put personal ambition aside in the interest of the team.  More specifically he become the willing workhorse for Armstrong through the good and bad.

The bad being….well we  know all about that.

Hincapie’s story gets to the bottom of it.



When EPO (Erythropoietin) arrived on the scene we know that pros like Hincapie and Armstrong justified taking the stuff by saying they were merely levelling the playing field because almost everyone else was doping.

It was a two speed peloton in early 90s, those on it and those left behind!

EPO was rocket fuel, increasing oxygen in the blood, boosting even the average performer beyond his normal athletic ability.


That’s what pissed off Armstrong and Hincapie who were not yet on that stuff, the fact that riders who once were hanging on and being dropped, were suddenly riding along comparatively easily whereas they, the top dogs,  were struggling.  So they decided to reboot the system and re-establish the pecking order.

And they too eventually stuck needles in their shoulders and joined the EPO club to get back on top. They began living the lie, living the dream in the famous classics and the Grand Tours.  They faked it, courtesy of a skilfully managed and administered doping programme  to boost performance and fool medical controls afterwards.


George’s book provided me with a fascinating insight with what goes through the mind of a rider when he or she decides to cheat.

In 1995, he rode and completed his first grand tour, the Vuelta, three weeks of suffering, including getting smashed into the barriers by another rider 50 metres from a certain win three days from the end.


Halfway through the race Hincapie had pushed open the door to the hotel bedroom he shared with another rider …. “I saw him with a needle in his arm.”

Hincapie retreated, out of the room. The pair never spoke of it.

Hincapie admitted to an “overwhelming sense of unfairness”.

“I didn’t know it at the time, but the effects of EPO are staggering. The drug really was a game changer.”


His next moment of revelation came later in the race, which made him realise he could never compete with guys who were on the juice unless he too had assistance.

He’d listened to a rider complaining about how bad he felt, how poor his results were, that he couldn’t recover.  And then noted how the rider’s friend came by with special package and how the next day, having struggled every day until then, he was in the breakaway!


In 1996, Big George took the plunge. In his book he says that he felt he'd
reached the end of his options of racing clean. The only way he could compete on a level playing field with his rivals was to do what they were doing.

What finally convinced him to start cheating was seeing the contents of Frankie Andreu’s cooler. Inside was a Thermos-like container.

“…even though I had no real idea what I was staring out, I was gazing at my future.”

He was looking at labelless vials.  He figured it was EPO, the drug he

  had heard about. So this was what all the fuss was about?

“This is what I have to do to be the best I can be?”


Hincapie pressed Andreu to explain why he was taking EPO.

He replied he didn’t have a choice. He had to do it to survive. Everyone was doing it, he said.

Hincapie made his first purchase in Switzerland.  No prescription necessary.

He says he it planned it like a military operation, withdrawing cash from different ATM machines over a couple of days, following different routes to and from his accommodation.


On the big day he wore a no-name plain jersey and rode his bike across the Italian-Swiss border to Chiasso, a small  town.

In the pharmacy there he asked for a box of Epirex.  That was the name he was told to ask for.

The lady stared at him for a moment, causing Hincapie a surge of panic.  He worried he’d set off silent alarms somewhere and feared for his downfall.

Clearly, Big George knew what he was doing was wrong.

She went away and after what seemed a long time returned with an elongated box.

 He handed her 500 Swiss francs and she gave him his new future – up to eight weeks supply.

Have a nice day, she said.


Back at the accommodation in Italy Hincapie prepared to take his first shot in his upper arm.  It seemed that riders self-treated. No doctors telling them how in those days.

There he was, sitting on the toilet seat, tiny syringe in hand, nervous but determined.


“Here we go…” he said.

And he did the first of countless injections.

He exited the bathroom “a changed man”.

“I felt completely at peace.”

In 2004 two weeks before a major race he would take EPO every other day. Sometimes he would mix in testosterone or growth hormone twice a week.

“There was no guilt; it was part of the training.”

It was the new normal.


He found he could, ride harder and for longer and recover more quickly because EPO stimulated the production of red blood cells and increasing the flow of oxygen to his muscles.

The book is his confession about this dark period in his life as top professional rider. It tells in detail of the highs and lows of how he and Armstrong and their team came to dominate the Tour, of the tactical, mental and physical battles engaged in, of how he strived for success in the single day classics.

There are many contributions from compatriots, some of them also on the stuff, all singing the praises of a classy rider who would eventually came to terms with what he had done and bare his soul.

Big George, by the sound of it, is probably one of the nicest dopers you could wish to meet.


It is well known that EPO, by thickening the blood, leads to an increased risk of several deadly diseases, such as heart disease, stroke, and cerebral or pulmonary embolism. The misuse of recombinant human EPO may also lead to autoimmune diseases with serious health consequences.

World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA)












Tuesday 7 January 2020

Solved, my Bontrager speedo mystery


Now I know why my Bontrager computer had gone doolalley - in my previous blog,  up there.



It appears some sort of magnetic field was interfering with the signal, resulting in no speedo!

Let me explain.



I had my local bike shop fit a new Bontrager computer to my bike.

I asked them to do it because quite frankly I felt I had put a jinx on the first one.

And while at it I had the bike serviced - the gears were slipping, there was a bit of vibration from the front brake. Probably a bit of play in the  headset.

Well, I picked up the bike with its new computer set up and I was happy to note it was working nicely. As were the gears. But there's still a little vibration from the front brake at speed.

And next day – this afternoon – I went for a spin.

I rolled away and guess what?

It was playing the same game...no speed reading. Blank.

I stopped.

I said to myself what's going on?

I switched my brain to lateral.

And I asked myself, what's different?

Aha!

When the  comp was fitted at the shop there was no front light on the handlebars and the speedo was working.

On this ride there was a front lamp on the handlebars. And the speedo wasn't working!



So I removed the lamp!

And set off.

Hey presto, speedo began to work!!!!

It seems that the lamp - or the battery more probably - which was sitting directly above the wireless transponder on the fork blade, was interfering with the signal to the computer which was sitting just a few inches away from the lamp on the handlebars.

If these devices could talk I imagine it went like this.



Transponder to lamp: “Oi, you up there!  Yes  you, the lamp! I’m trying to send a message to the computer next to you on the handlebars and you’re blocking it.”

Lamp reply to Transponder:  “Oh, it’s you is it, giving me a frigging migraine.”



So I repositioned the lamp on the other side of the handlebars.

And set off.

And still the computer didn’t work!

So I stopped and moved the lamp three inches further along the top of the handlebars, clear, I hoped, of the “electrical field”.

That did the trick.

Soon I was batting along and a quick glance showed me I was moving at over 10mph!

Uphill, a two-mile long drag, into low cloud.

Managed about 19mph along the flat top road. Not bad for me. Quite happy with that. Easily amused.

However, the lamp in its new position means I cannot rest my hands on the top of the bars as I like. So now I will need to figure that out. A bike rider’s day is never finished!

Thursday 2 January 2020

My Bontrager cycling computer went doolally






My Bontrager cycling computer no longer records my speed. This is very annoying.

I bought this gizmo as an early Christmas present to myself because I fancied it would look cool. A  nice bit of hardware on a neat clamp projecting out over the stem and front wheel. It added a bit more style to my stylish midnight blue Condor Italia RC frame.



Its years since I had a comp on the handlebars. I remember when that last one gave up the ghost. It had gone haywire, recording 80mph on a flat road.

This latest one is set to metric.  20kph doesn’t feel as slow at 12mph.


It was the clock I wanted, so I could easily see how long I was out riding, so as to return to my duties on time, my wrist watch having packed up earlier in the year.

Besides it would be fun also to see how slow I was riding.


On a slight downhill run I knew well I registered 40kph.  I was a bit disappointed for I always imagined I was going much faster!

I used to go twice that fast off the Horse Shoe Pass in North Wales in my youth. Spinning 54x14.

I know because on one flying descent a passing motorcyclist held up a gloved hand showing me five fingers!   50mph (80kph in today’s money) on the 1-in-7 drop past Valle Crucis Abbey ruins rushing by on the left.

And if I recall correctly, a tricky double bend over a humpback bridge coming up.  No trouble for the centre-pull Mafacs of course.  Innocent days.


Back to the future.

After a week, my new gizmo packed up. I had set out and noted immediately that it  was showing me a blank screen as I was rolling along.

So I stopped to have a fiddle with it.


The clock was on; information from my previous ride was still there, the Odometer, total distance, calories burned???

Can you believe that?

Calories burned!

How could it know?  Extrapolated nonsense.


I spun the front wheel. Nothing, no speed registered.

So I reset everything at the roadside!  And noticed that when it offered a selection of wheel sizes to choose, the 700.23 was no longer an option!

Then I thought bollocks to this. I’m meant to be on a bike ride, not fiddling around trying to reset this computer.

Where are the IT specialists when you need them?

Even so, the fact it wasn’t working was irritating and 30 minutes later I was again stopped pressing buttons in the hope it would start working. It wouldn’t. 


At home I hung the bike up, gave the front wheel a twirl.

Hey, and it came alive, 4.5 kph!

So I wheeled the bike back outside and rode around block. Blank!

Nothing.

It was having me on!


Perhaps the battery in the transponder on the forks was dead?

So I bought a new 12 volt battery.  Spun the wheel. Nothing.

I got out my magnifying glass to study a small icon which had appeared as a smudge on the screen. The icon was of a spanner! Or a wrench, as the leaflet called it.

The leaflet explained what the icon meant.

It meant, time for a service!

What?

I’ve barely had the thing a week!

Still, clearly something needed attention. So thank you, Icon.


Rang my excellent local bike shop where I bought this thing from.  Told them my story.

Bring the bike in tomorrow morning, they said.

The mechanic puzzled at the sight of icon of the wrench portrayed on the screen.

So he turned to the shop computer and I presume he found the manufacturers technical support page.


He screwed up his nose in disbelief at what the screen was telling him.

That icon has nothing to do with the computer, he said. It’s a reminder to have the bike serviced!

Totally superfluous bit on information, we both agreed.

What next, an icon reminding you when to blow your  nose?


Leave the bike with us and come back later this afternoon, said the mechanic.

Four hours later I collected my bike. The computer was working again!

How did you do that?


We moved the transponder on the fork closer to the magnet on the spokes, he said.

I looked at its new position, slightly turned inward instead of sitting straight as per the diagram in the explanatory leaflet.  It had worked in the original position, to begin with, which I am sure was set to the correct distance of between 3mm and 5mm from the magnet.

But hey, it had stopped working then. Now it’s OK.

Three cheers for figuring it out, I said to the mechanic.

No charge, he said.

Even better, I said.

See how it goes, he said. Any problems bring it back, it’s on warranty.


Wheeled the bike out of the shop at 1.5kph. No reckless speeding, me!

Walked it across the road. I had shopping from the supermarket so I was walking. Anyway, my house is only 200 yards away and on that short trip the computer dutifully clocked 2.7kph. Shopper speed.


Got in the house, slung the Condor on to its hooks and gave the front wheel a spin, just in case!

6kph, standing still. All well and good.

Came back out an hour later, gave the front wheel another spin.

The screen blanked me!

Except for the clock. That was running.

But no speedo!

What the *%!?

To be continued….(maybe)