Drugstrong | Cycling in the South Bay

Review: 1982 Tour de France documentary

July 13, 2017 § 41 Comments

I just finished watching a documentary on the 1982 Tour de France called “Tour de Pharmacy.” It’s an HBO production that explores the issue of doping in one of the most controversial tours ever, the year in which an American, Slim Robinson, first wore the yellow jersey in Paris.

I dislike documentaries in general and cycling documentaries in particular, but this one did a pretty good job of pointing out the prevalence of doping in the sport before it was commonly known or acknowledged in the U.S. by general audiences. In addition to some fairly decent commentary by Lance Armstrong, there are a few interesting interviews with the head of USADA, who lists the banned substances commonly in use at the time. It’s a pretty amazing pharmacopia, and highlights how entrenched doping was even in 1982.

Tour de Pharmacy looks at the world’s biggest sporting event through the experiences of five riders, including one French rider who actually died during the race from a drug overdose. The transformation of an Austrian rider in a single year from pack fill to buffed-out “all rounder” who climbed faster than most sprinters closed the final 200m, was particularly impressive … and scary. Less interesting were some of the side stories, including a love interest, as well as the story of a rider who ultimately served jail time over a collision during the race that killed a sports commentator. These stories have merit in that they show how multifaceted the Tour is, but they detract from the focus of the narrative, which is about the normalization of drug use in the pro peloton more than fifteen years before Lance’s first Tour win in 1999.

As a cyclist you won’t help but notice the changes in equipment that have taken place in the last thirty-five years. Brake cables that come out of the hoods, downtube shifters, toe clips, and of course steel frames and no helmets dominate the visual effects. As the documentary shows, riders were more colorful then, used saltier language, and took things just a bit less seriously.

Tour de Pharmacy does an acceptable job of investigating how drugs operate beneath the surface to turn athletes into freaks, all for the vicarious pleasure of spectators and for profit. Another interesting aspect is the spotlight that the filmmakers shone on corruption at the UCI, and how collusion, fraud, and conspiracy at the top were what enabled such large-scale doping. Back in 1982, the UCI’s credibility was nil.

Sad to say, not much has changed.

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#winners

July 9, 2017 § 10 Comments

kayle_lance

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It takes work, dude

July 6, 2017 § 25 Comments

That’s what I want to tell Lance Armstrong after listening to his podcast covering Stage 3 of the Turdy France.

Several people told me I should “check it out” because “it was really insightful” and they admonished me “to listen with an open mind.”

Obviously, these were people who didn’t know me at all. The day I listen to anything with an open mind it will be due to a gunshot wound to the head.

That said, I did tune in and I was impressed. Impressed with what an impossibly lazy person Lance Armstrong is. Here is a guy with nothing to do. No job. No cancer to cure. No bike to race. Not even any poopy diapers left to change. At least he could put some effort into the podcast because, you know, if there’s one guy who knows how to race and win a Turdy France, IT’S LANCE FUGGIN’ ARMSTRONG.

Hello, ex-seven times consecutive Tour champion!! This is your turf!!

Here’s what I expected: A beginning-to-end breakdown of how the race unfolded, why it was significant (or not), in-depth looks at the protagonists and wankers alike, detailed analysis of the course, and detailed analysis of what was going on and why.

Why did I expect that? Because Lance knows this stuff. He is a bike racing computer. I don’t care about his drugscapades in that regard, he still had to know how to race and he had to understand what to do when. He was a savvy, smart guy on the bike.

But no. What Lance delivered was fluff, puff, and one particularly awful piece of near-slanderous misinformation. The fluff was about “why the yellow jersey was yellow.” Yawning, stream-of-unconsciousness observations about Tour history and stuff. Yo, Lance! We already have one babbling idiot in the commentator’s seat, and his name is Phil Liggett. You will never be as stupid or boring as Phil, so please quit trying.

The near-slander was egregious. At one point he talked about “trading favors” and insinuated that, for example, Team Sky gets on the horn and advises another team that it will “let” them win the stage, with the implication being that a favor will be returned later down the road … you know, “politics,” wink wink nudge nudge, otherwise known as collusion and sporting fraud.

Somewhat astounded, the other guy in the trailer pressed Lance for the physical mechanics of how that works. Phone call? Face to face? And Lance backpedaled like crazy. Doesn’t really know anymore, isn’t in the mix these days, can’t say, etc. etc. And then he finished off this rather explosive allegation by saying that it probably doesn’t really even happen much anymore.

Jeez, what a load of crap. Of course racers remember the outcome of one day, or who did what in a prior break, and of course they sometimes use it to trade horses during a subsequent race if and when advantageous. But the idea that Brailsford is on the phone with Madiot saying, “Okay, today you get the win, but in the mountains you owe me the GC,” is absurd. Even Lance recognized how dumb his premise sounded because he maladroitly transitioned into the history of the yellow jersey, thank you Wikipedia.

Armstrong could be a fantastic commentator. He knows a bunch. He’s done a bunch. He sees things we don’t. He has a very good commentating voice. He understands dynamics that are not immediately apparent.

But he doesn’t have a crystal ball, and in order to commentate he would have to do what first-class commentators like Craig Hummer do: Watch, re-watch, re-watch, and re-watch again. He would have to study, analyze, compare, interview, and bust his ass — all in a very short time frame because he’s doing same-day coverage. Instead of doing those things, which require hard work, dedication to a craft, and tons of practice, he picked up a mic and blabbered for forty minutes because hey, he’s Lance. Compare his shoddy, make-it-up-as-he-goes along podcast with Sean Kelly or Perico, and you’ll understand my rating for this horribly lazy fellow:

Ten thumbs down.

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He seemed like a nice doper at the time

June 9, 2017 § 97 Comments

I wish I didn’t care about all the doping in SoCal masters racing, but I do. With regard to races that I actually enter, I can put it out of my mind thanks to the advice of a fellow leaky prostate masters profamateur, who wisely said this: “If you can’t race your bike without wondering who’s on drugs, this isn’t the sport for you.”

The team of Kayle LeoGrande, the guy whose doping shenanigans arguably opened the door for the fall of the House of Lance by going after immortal badass Suzanne Sonye, Kayle LeoGrande, the freakshop who “won” a national crit title from Steve Tilford in 2012 and later zoomed to a masters crit title amid shouts of “Boo!” and “Doper!”, announced yesterday that Kayle was leaving the team due to [insert surprisey-face emoticon] a USADA doping test result.

Screenshot (5)

Kayle got busted again? Hard to say for sure because shortly after their Facebag page blew up, the team deleted all the comments and even the team page. A quick check of USADA’s sanctions page shows no positive test results for the esteemed Mr. LeoGrande. Hopefully it was all just a mistake and he’s been reinstated with his national champion’s clothing, pro bike & wheels, and his customary cheering section.

But if it’s true, well, too bad, so sad.

When Kayle joined up with Team Surf City Cyclery there was a lot of outcry, but not from me, as the team voted to “give him a second chance” and added him to the roster. I thought then and still do that after you’ve served your time you should be allowed to race. That’s what the rules provide for, and masters doping isn’t first degree murder. Whether I’d want this unrepentant cheater on my team is another story. But if those guys on Team Surf City wanted to throw in their lot with a doper thug, that was on them. Now every single rider in that outfit gets to explain how they’re clean and it was only Kayle and no one had any idea and blah, blah, blah. As my grandpa used to say, if you lie down with pigs you’re going to smell like shit.

My problem is that I really do want to support bike racing and see it thrive, but at the same time I’m repulsed by the cheats. Whether it’s Thorfinn Sassquatch or Richard Meeker or now Kayle LeoGrande, these clowns make it such an uphill battle. Ironically, they don’t make it difficult for me; I’ve known about doping in the amateur ranks since I was offered my first syringe in 1986. But they make it so hard for me to recommend the sport, to encourage others to participate in it, and to back it financially.

And can anyone really be surprised that there is doping among — gasp — SoCal masters racers? After all, Kayle wasn’t simply busted for doping back in 2008. The arbitration panel’s careful legal language suggested that they found him to be a thoroughly unconvincing, pathetic liar. Check out these choice bits from the ruling in 2008:

He [Leogrande] misrepresented his use of an inhaler by initially calling it a puffer. When realizing the inconsistency with the doping control forms, he then went on to claim he had no idea of the contents of the inhaler, but trusted the doctor who had prescribed it.
Respondent [Leogrande] had numerous communications with Joe Papp during the one year period from July 2006 to July 2007. Respondent testified that Papp stored EPO at his home, thus it is very certain that he was in a position to have knowledge of EPO and the ability to obtain it. This close relationship with Papp, combined with the UPS note card, which does appear to be a receipt for E. (EPO) and G. (Human Growth Hormone) addressed to “Joe”, and which was signed by “Kayle”, which Leogrande denies was his signature, calls his credibility into question. For Respondent to disavow any knowledge of this card is unconvincing. The signature, in addition to being that of his unusual first name, looks to this Panel, to include the same script features as Respondent’s distinctive signature on the doping control forms.
Respondent’s [Leogrande’s] lack of denial or outrage when he spoke to Andreu, under either Respondent’s or Andreu’s version of the telephone call, is persuasive of his having used the Prohibited Substances (EPO, albuterol and testosterone) he was being punished for/accused of taking in that conversation.
Respondent [Leogrande] did not recall important events and conversations when it would have been very helpful for him to do so. Thus, he had no credible explanation for the conversations recalled clearly by Sonye and Andreu.

Whatever you pretend to be, don’t pretend to be surprised that a lying doper who was busted in 2008 might have returned to the sport and continued to lie and dope, and don’t be surprised as you read through the 2008 decision that the same ill thought processes might still be alive and well in the mind of this truly disturbed dude. This is a guy who lied, cheated, admitted to using banned drugs, and then had the nerve to sue for defamation the very person to whom he’d made the confession.

This isn’t some poor slob who was choking down tainted meat, or some up-and-coming kid who chose the needle over an unemployment line, it was a deliberate, calculating, corrupt liar whose first line of defense was to wreck the lives of those who dared tell the truth. On the bright side, it’s awesome to note in the arbitration decision against Kayle in 2008, that in Paragraph 65 it says that despite the fact that Suzanne Sonye had everything to lose by going against this doping doper who dopes, “nevertheless she persisted.”

Hahahahahaha! Warren & Sonye in ’20!

And of course those who doubted that it was a new, improved, Kleen Kayle needed to look no farther than the famous Visalia punch-em-up, where Kayle exhibited violent behavior that looked less like a mature man and more like someone mentally overcooked on the fumes of ‘roid rage. With an apology and a bit of contrition his team let bygones be bygones. “Let Kayle be Kayle” they said, or some other such flibberflabber which everyone else interpreted as teamspeak for “STFU, dude wins races so IDGAF.”

But anyway, here’s what I know about watching Kayle race as a “reformed” ex-doper masters racer who was “given a second chance”: He was really good and one of the fastest in a crit but he wasn’t all that great. Because so many people dope now, there aren’t enough drugs in China for a saggy old fart like Kayle such that it will put him orders of magnitude above the drug-addled grandpa peloton. He won, but so did others. The Pollyannas pointed to that as evidence of a Kleen Kayle and a level playing field, but there’s a much worse explanation, which is that doping is now the norm because it has dripped down through the I.V. to the very lowest, contemptible, and delusional level of the sport: Middling masters racers.

How do I know? Because I’ve sat in a field as recently as this year and watched Kayle singe the nuthairs off of a 60-strong peloton, only to get brought back again and again and again. In the last race we did together I wound up off the front late in the race with him and it was like sitting behind a Ducati. “Just hold on,” he said as I bent over the bars trying to get small and looking like a giraffe on a barstool while he generated some impossible wattage, but not impossible enough that the peloton didn’t peg him back.

I slunk to the back, charred to the bone by my three-minute effort of sitting on, while Kayle took a breath, attacked again with two laps to go, and soloed for the win. Just another SoCal Sunday crit, dude.

And how doped was the peloton at Dana Point Grand Prix, where Kayle won his (hopefully) last race ever? According to one friend, it was the fastest race he’d done his entire life. To me this was just more evidence of what I’ve maintained for years: Doping in masters racing isn’t necessarily predominant at the top, but it’s absolutely predominant in the middle.

Nor is this bizarre level of speed and strength limited to the “young” masters racers. I’ve personally witnessed one old hack go from backass straggler to on-the-point hammerhead in a single season with no visible change at all to his physiognomy. I guess he just woke up in January and decided he would pedal harder than he had been for the last five years.

It’s the mid-level hacker with a zero percentage risk of getting caught who turns these mass-crit fields into NASCAR, because so many guys now are good for at least one 1200-watt effort, and where even if you’re doing drugs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it’s still not enough to reliably seal the deal as Meeker used to do almost every single time regardless of whether it was a hilly road race, a crit, a time trail, a sprunt … a whatever. USADA and USAC, far from having frightened masters racers into clean racing, have to reckon instead with the tidal wave reality that every year the dopers increase even as the number of racers evaporates.

And who’s quitting? The clean ones. There is a handful of also-rans on the SoCal masters circuit, guys who do everything right and who have all the right physiology, who can’t seem to close the deal on the big day because no matter how hard they train, you can’t out-train chemistry. And what about the ones who have no chance of winning and, more and more, who no longer have a faint chance of even finishing? Who remains under conditions like that? I’ll tell you who: The pathetic old meatbags like Dopey McDopester who are willing to pay good money to chase a tainted result, and the pack fodder frauds who lie to themselves that their testosterone and anti-aging supplements aren’t for bike racing but for their personal health needs.

Like Richard Meeker, this reprehensible SoCal crit cheat will go away and discover hiking, open a juice bar, devote more time to his family, find some part of his glory hole that hasn’t been inked, or *MAYBE* become a USAC-licensed coach for the seven juniors left in the state of California. Maybe he’ll even man up like Levi and start a famous grand fondue, or really serve the public like Jonathan Vaughters and start his own professional race team. But what he will not have left in his wake is destruction, ruined dreams, or shattered lives.

Because at this late stage in the autopsy if you still think it’s a clean sport with only the occasional random cheat, you’re almost as deluded as the cheaters.

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No short cuts to mediocrity

August 25, 2016 § 16 Comments

A buddy sent me the recent sad news about Robert Baatz (rhymes with “snots”) and Kimberly Ciolli, the two unfortunate Texas bicycle racers who were caught cheating. It appears that they used anabolic steroids around the time they were racing their bikes and, what’s worse, around the time that the USADA dope testers were wandering around with empty pee cups looking for someone to fill them up.

It’s really awful that a couple of sagbottom masters hackers are taking dangerous pills for little to no performance gain because they aren’t simply cheating their competition, they’re cheating themselves.

Mediocrity isn’t as simple as getting a nice race bike, joining a fancy club, and doping. Any poseur can do that. Flash-in-the-pan half-assedness is as common as your nearest Corvette dealer.

True mediocrity takes a lifetime to achieve and there are no short cuts. Sure, you can dope up and get 15th and people will recognize you as pack fodder. But is that real mediocrity? I say “No.”

Real mediocrity isn’t just shrunken testicles and male-pattern baldness, mediocrity is a lifestyle and it takes decades to perfect. In bike racing, it means getting shouted at, year in and year out, for sucking wheel in the break the entire race only to get last in the break.

Mediocrity means not simply borrowing money from everyone and never repaying it, but never putting in more than $5 for gas when your friend is driving his Sprinter van across the state. You may feel a twinge of ordinariness when that package of syringes arrives from Thorfinn-Sassquatch or from Joe Pappsmear, but the long game, the long buzz, the steady burn of not-really-worth-a-shit only comes from spending years, years I say, of forcing yourself to eat powdered drink mixes that contain kale and beets and still only manage to eke out 37th place.

Drugs are never a short cut to worthlessness. They get you the fame of being a cheating douchebag, or a douching cheatbag, but never with the consistency of having the most expensive stuff money can buy only to get dropped on the easy part of the group ride every single time. To be truly mediocre it takes years to develop the inherent suckiness that is you. It can’t be bought or imported or injected through a needle.

So do yourself a favor the next time you’re wrestling with the “Dope? Not dope?” quandary.

Think about what people will say when you get busted. Instead of saying, “That guy sucks. He is the worst bike racer ever. Why doesn’t he quit?” they will say, “That guy sucks. He is the worst bike racer ever. Why doesn’t he quit?”

The choice is yours. Do you want to earn mediocrity through the slow plodding of a lifetime riddled with failure and decay? Or do you want to achieve instant lameness through a couple of injections and your own clothing line? Will you be able to look at yourself in the mirror when, after getting busted, you get selected for the U.S. Olympic track squad? Will you?

Be inspired by the words of our most famous First Lady, who singlehandedly won the war on drugs with the slogan “Just Say No.”

Go on, say it. We’re listening.

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Pure as West Virginia snow

August 17, 2016 § 32 Comments

Do you watch the Olamepics? You should be ashamed.

Or ignorant. You should be willfully ignorant.

Or in pharma sales. You should be in pharma sales.

A relative asked me if I thought anyone in the Olympics was clean. “Sure,” I said. “The lifeguard probably is.”

I can’t even get out of bed without a cup of coffee that’s strong enough to jump-start a Boeing. And you’re telling me that some dude won 28 Olympic medals clean?

Fairy tales are nice, but when there’s a huge disclaimer on the front of the book that says, “THIS FAIRY TALE HAS NO BASIS IN REALITY” and you keep citing it as the linchpin for your scientific evidence that climate change is a hoax or that Noah really did build an ark with two of everything, including all of the antibiotic-resistant bacteria that hadn’t even evolved yet, I’m going to politely refer you to a psychiatrist.

In this case, the disclaimer was the admission that everyone in Russia doped, including the cleaning lady. If you were a Russian Olympian, you doped. And then, instead of booting out the whole rotten bunch, the IOC punted and let the federations decide because it would take too much courage to publicly admit what had already been publicly admitted. And we wonder why governments can’t ‘fess up to the use of chlorine gas in Syria against children? That icky old yucky truth.

The decision to let the cheaters in actually makes sense because why should we pick on the Russians when Team USA’s star track cycling Olympian tested positive less than a year ago? As punishment for his positive test he’s going to have to ride in the Olympics and maybe get a gold medal.

Or just gazing at the teenage U.S. gymnasts who have the muscular development of a 25-year-old man … that was all done pan y agua, for sure. Con esteroides.

Sports have transcended politics and become a race for human performance with no ethical or health obstacles in between. Whatever gets you to jump higher, or just gets you higher, is legit because all of the people who complain about doping are glued to their TVs transfixed by performances that are as real as pro wrestling.

Each one of those viewers is a tiny tick in a giant algorithm that says the beer and Visa ads are working. So watch away, but I’ll pass. I prefer to watch my drug cheats at the local masters crit. At least that way I can be sure that the dopers aren’t getting rich.

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I believe in miracles (you sexy thang)

June 4, 2016 § 6 Comments

In Italy they are describing Vincenzo Nibali’s comeback and Giro d’Italia victory as one of the greatest comebacks in professional cycling. Cycling in the South Bay sat down with Nibs to get the skinny on this most incredible, amazing, unbelievable, hard-to-swallow, astonishing, fact-defying, physiologically impossible, doubtful, suspicious, believable if you’re a complete fool, impressive and astounding victory

CitSB: How’d you do it?

Nibs: It was a miracle, a holy gift from above.

CitSB: A week to go in the race and you had crumbled, your bid was in ruins after losing 37 seconds on the big Dolomite stage to Corvara, and then you collapsed quicker than a Trump quote run through Fact-Check, losing close to two minutes in the mountain time trial to Alpe di Siusi.

Nibs: It was the depth of defeat, I had lost everything, the Holy Father was up all night praying in the sadness.

CitSB: Then you pulled a wanker move of the highest order, losing a further 1:47 on the relatively easy mountain stage to Andalo, a stage that, frankly, my grandmother could have beaten you on.

Nibs: It was zero, nothing, niente, everyone was stepping on my testicles. To bed every night, crying like the baby with dry teat.

CitSB: You seemed close to throwing in the towel and quitting the race. What was going on?

Nibs: I had the problem with my forma, everyt’ing in destitution, length of crank, motivazione, but it was over for me.

CitSB: So what happened?

Nibs: My team manager Alexander Vinokourov told me to pray to the Baby Jesus and only do the pan y agua and he go to Kazakhstan on special overnight trip and come back with special vitamin drink made from root of lubbertink.

CitSB: Root of lubbertink?

Nibs: Special Kazakhstan magic herb to replenish precious bodily fluids.

CitSB: Wow.

Nibs: Comes in special Kazakh plastic bag with I.V. drip.

CitSB: I see. That “magic herb.”

Nibs: I know what you t’inking. I have the two giant stages in the Alps and am out of the gasoline. How Nibali he can win? Dat’s what you t’inking. Nibali he doping shit-ass. Dat’s what you t’inking. Nibali cheat-ass doping cheat-ass bici lying volcano-doping shit-ball, dat’s what you t’inking.

CitSB: Well, yes.

Nibs: Itsa root of lubbertink and Sicilian pride and instinct, and destiny child when Kruijswijk fall off his bici onto head, putting Dutchman in trouble and bandage. I believe in my resurrection and complete masterpiece by dropping Chaves on the Colle della Lombarda like smelly sack of turd off tall cliff.

CitSB: Physiologically it doesn’t add up. One week you can’t pedal, then in the hardest week of the race you grow wings.

Nibs: Itsa look funny but I gotta trust Vino. He know how to pull the pepper outta the sausage.

CitSB: Anything else?

Nibs: Pan y agua and Sicilian pride.

CitSB: And root of lubbertink.

Nibs: And root of lubbertink.

END

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The ebikes are coming! The ebikes are coming!

April 26, 2016 § 57 Comments

One time I was whining to friend about using computer technology to compose music. “So bogus!” I declaimed.

“STFU,” he advised, being a composer. “If Mozart had had it, he would have used it. Musicians always use the best thing available. The piano was a revolutionary instrument and Mozart owned it.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but if he’d used a program to compose I can guarantee you one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“His music would have sucked.”

The first time I saw an ebike up close was a few years ago. Greg S-J had a new Specialized ebike that, with a tweak and a twist of Old No. 72, had been programmed to go 30 mph. “Great,” I had said. “Next we’ll have Smedley Sagbottom on the bike path doing 30 as he learns about things like the grippyness of sand in a screaming turn.”

As old and change-resistant and bitter and grumpy people are wont to do, I predicted the following:

People will begin racing them.
They will become ubiquitous.
It will be the end of civilization.

Two out of three isn’t bad.

When I was in Germany last summer dragging my son uphill along the Rhine from Cologne to Koblenz, we passed hundreds of ebikes going the other direction. We never passed a single ebike going in the same direction.

The ebikes were all pedaled by old German people who were getting exercise or running errands or casually whipping by the world’s fittest and most delusional 52-year-old profamateur SoCal bike racer from New Jersey who grew up in Galveston and Houston. And that last part made them sooooo happy. The first hundred times a creaky-kneed Opa showed me a wrinkly pair of heels it made me grind my teeth so much that I lost most of my enamel. But actually I was just following the Five Stages of Grieving for Getting Owned by an Ebike.

Anger.
Rage.
Murderous rage.
Wild, uncontrollable fury.
Defeat.

So then back at home the ebike thing continued to grow, and continues. Some people complain because of e-doping, where pro cyclists put tiny motors in their bike to add a few watts when the going gets tough, cf. Fabian Cheatsalotta in the Tour of Flanders. Others complain because it ruins the purity of the sport, where results depend on training, diet, natural ability, computerized watt meters, a race director with a radio who can instruct you exactly how hard to pedal and for how long, and a doctor who can advise you how to beat the drug tests.

In fact, some people care so much about ebikes that they have left cush jobs in the cycling industry, as if any job is cush, and as if cycling is an industry instead of a mafia for dumb people.

But back at the Mozart Ranch, though, where you pretty much have to admit that people will grab whatever technology gives them a leg up on everyone else (Charles Darwin wrote a book about it once), the world is shrugging. Motors let fat sprunters climb with the goats, and they let skinny goats sprunt with the big boys. Just kidding. If you are a tiny climber you will never beat a sprunter, even if he’s on a Big Wheel and you’re on a Ducati. That’s because sprunters win mainly on balls not watts. However, I’ve heard that Specialized is coming out with a pair of eBallz that will take care of that problem, too, and also make a cool ornament for your trailer hitch.

No, the world doesn’t care that we’ve moved on from human power to e-power in bicycles. The slow will get really fast, the homebound will get out and take the lane, and the nature of racing will shift from drugs-radios-computers to drugs-radios-computers-and-motors. Ah, excuse me. IT ALREADY HAS.

And don’t cry on my shoulder. There is actually a world for people who like obsolete shit that performs badly and only looks good because it’s old–it’s called Penny Farthing Racing and Classic Car Collecting. Help yourself to some nostalgia, and don’t forget to wear a helmet.

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UCI announces breakthrough in mechanical doping analysis

April 19, 2016 § 17 Comments

Pierre Fauntleroy de Brinvilliers, head analyst for the Departemente du Dopage Mechanique at the UCI, announced a breakthrough today that will allow the world’s governing body for cycling to effectively combat the use of hidden mechanical devices in the pro peloton.

“We have expended many euros in the fight against dopage mechanique, employing only the best experts to assist in discovery of the technique the most effective for prevention of the dopage mechanique,” explained de Brinvilliers at a press conference earlier today.

According to de Brinvilliers, his team has discovered “a variety incroyable” of secret devices that allow riders to go faster. “Eet is beyond l’imagination, how zees professionelles are cheating the sport and the fans, and l’investigation suggests many are complicit, yes, with an emphasis especiale on les manufacturers, who eet appears are working hands in their gloves to promote l’cheating avec these cheating cheateurs who cheat.”

Using many of the same staff members who have led the UCI’s successful fight against traditional doping in cycling, the UCI has now mounted an equally vigorous assault on the scourge of mechanical doping. In addition to recruiting Tom Danielson, David Millar, and other respected ex-professionals to assist with public outreach, de Brinvilliers has assembled “le foremost equipage d’experts technicale in the entire world” to “detect and destroy” all “vestiges of dopage mechanique.”

At the press conference, the UCI’s Technical Division revealed the first results of their unannounced inspections. “We have gathered proof that virtually 100% of the peloton is now using dopage mechanique; initial inspections revealed widespread cheating, even on training rides,” according to Chief Inspector of Mechanical Doping, Jacques Clouseau, who presented photos of an array of doping devices discovered by his undercover squad.

“This first item,” said Clouseau, “is of undetermined function but is cleverly hidden in the rear of the bicycle. Our laboratory is performing tests to understand how it adds power and speed, allowing cyclists to cheat.”

“This next item,” he added, “is perhaps more diabolical. Preliminary tests show that rather than adding speed, it appears to reduce it, which is counterintuitive, however, our working hypothesis is that by reducing speed illegally at certain points, perhaps, such as bends in the road, it provides secret and illegal methods of allowing the rider to accelerate later, which he would not be able to do if, for example, he smashed into the curb and broke his head.”

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Fresh doping meats starts apparel line, medical web site

March 27, 2016 § 27 Comments

New doping meats Michael Buckley of Reno, Nevada, accepted his four-year doping suspension for doping as a doped doper with grace, courage, humility, thoughtfulness, and optimism tinged with regret.

Buckley’s masters cycling profamateur agent, Hoydinck van der Leyen van Poppkorn, issued the following statement:

“Michael wants to apologize to his Specialized-Touchstone Masters teammates, none of whom dope or knew anything about doping in general or his doping in particular, his wife, his kids, and of course his mom and dad and brother Biff. This doping suspension for using dope and being a doper in no way defines who he is, his ethics, or his character. He plans to move forward to put this one-time mistake behind him and work to foster an environment where doping does not have to be an option for California masters profamateurs trying to achieve their dreams and win the 35+ Festersore RR in East Stonefuck, which has twelve entrants and a $12 prize list.”

CitSB caught up with Buckley, the doping doper meats who doped, and got an exclusive interview.

CitSB: That was a pretty heartfelt statement written by your agent.

Meats: Yeah, he’s good. Fuggin’ Belgians know how to say “sorry” for doping, y’know?

CitSB: What’s next for a washed up masters profamateur doping meats like yourself?

Meats: I’ve had a long time to think about this since December, that’s a full three months.

CitSB: One full “cycle.”

Meats: Exactly. And I want to make the sport better. It’s not right that we profamateurs have to choose, in the quest to actualize our dreams of winning the local training crit, between racing clean and being loaded to the meats on doping meats. I want a sport where you don’t have to choose. Where it’s not meats or nothing.

CitSB: Wow, that’s really impressive. How are you going to achieve it?

Meats: I’m going to start a web site.

CitSB: A web site?

Meats: Yeah. It’s called Gastrocnemia Patients Group.

CitSB: Is that even a word?

Meats: Yes. It comes from the gastrocnemius vein, one of the veins of the leg. There are a lot of people out there with gastrocnemiitis, a rare disease of the leg veins that inhibits the uptake of things you put in it.

CitSB: Uh, okay. And what does one do on this web site?

Meats: It’s for informational purposes only. How to obtain maximal uptake for the leg vein in case you’re really ill and need to put something in there.

CitSB: I see.

Meats: And I’m also going into cycling apparel.

CitSB: Do tell.

Meats: There’s a high demand for custom, bespoke, made-to-measure cycling clothing, high end stuff that is clean, fits well, lasts forever, and stands out on the group ride.

CitSB: Do you have a name for the line?

Meats: “Meats.”

CitSB: “Meats”?

Meats: Uh-huh. That’s trademarked, by the way, so shoot me a copy of this interview before you publish it so I can have my lawyers proof it to make sure you don’t infringe on my Meatsmark.

CitSB: So why the name “Meats?”

Meats: Because it takes a lot of power to, you know, make the big meat sing.

CitSB: Are we still talking about cycling?

Meats: You know, the big meat. The big ring. That’s what we used to say when we were drilling it in the 53 x 11. “He’s making the big meat sing.”

CitSB: Got it. Singing meat. What are the first product offerings on this … Meats … website?

Meats: We’ve got the red “Extra Watts jersey” for $631 per vial, the “Recovery bibs” for $589, and the “Race Day speedsuit” for $1,550 in two monthly treatments.

CitSB: Are you on Strava by any chance?

Meats: Yes. That’s part of my marketing strategy.

CitSB: It is?

Meats: I’m going to get lots of KOM’s using my Meats to raise Meats brand awareness and awareness of gastrocnemiitis.

CitSB: Do you think people might actually be turned off by Michael Buckley, a doping meats doper who doped and got caught cheating by doping against other people who also might have been doping?

Meats: No way. People will understand that you make mistakes. Ask forgiveness, never permission. Toss in a few rebel alleycat unsanctioned races and talk a little smack, maybe get a few tatts, I’ll have a whole new career turning my life around just in time to age up for 45+ masters nats.

CitSB: Hasn’t this all been done before?

Meats: Not that I know of.

CitSB: What’s your Strava handle, by the way?

Meats: “Meatsquatch.” But you can’t write that. It’s trademarked.

CitSB: Of course.

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