ASPEN — The cyclist pushing his way through clusters of riders along the roadway between here and Carbondale chatted nonchalantly and pedaled with ease. He was a man pedaling along with no pomp and circumstance.
For Lance Armstrong, that’s reality — removed from the global celebrity status, the worldwide travel, the international racing circuit. But the man who once held seven Tour de France titles before being stripped of them for doping, after years of denials, appears eager for a second act. He spoke to a Denver Post reporter during the 50-mile stage between Carbondale and Aspen, hours before he would speak during a question-and-answer session, for riders of the Ride the Rockies.
He detailed the disappointment he feels in watching his cancer foundation, Livestrong, crumble since his public doping admission. He severed ties with the group in 2012, and he doesn’t ever expect to be involved with the foundation again, but said he does still send encouraging notes to people fighting cancer.
He discusses with vigor his desire to stay involved in endurance sports, even if he remains banned for life from cycling and other Olympic sports by the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency. He said he hadn’t spoken to Travis Tygart, USADA’s CEO, in some time but noted that he’ll soon be able to return to competing in events that he’s long been barred from, so long as they aren’t considered “international.”
The U.S. Anti-Doping Agency gave its lifetime ban in 2012. In January 2013, Armstrong confessed publicly to everything during a live interview with Oprah Winfrey.
One thing he won’t discuss is the federal civil fraud lawsuit that still looms, a case that, if he were to lose, could cost him $100 million and lead to his financial ruin, he has said. The lawsuit alleges that Armstrong and his team defrauded the federal government when it sponsored the U.S. Postal Service team for $32.3 million from 2000-2004, saying that his later admissions of doping show the Postal Service was lied to, a breach of the contract. Armstrong’s team argues that the promotional value the Postal Service received, citing studies, far outweighed the total value of the sponsorship.
The case has languished in court for years, starting when former teammate Floyd Landis filed a federal whistle-blower lawsuit against Armstrong in 2010, which the government joined in 2013. If the government were to win, Landis would be awarded a portion of the money. Three weeks ago, a judge ordered him to respond to requests from the government.
On Sunday, he and a handful of other friends and confidantes wore navy blue jerseys with the phrase, “WEDU” emblazoned across the back as a small film crew followed him along the route. He has been coy so far on what his plans are for the venture, declining to speak more specifically on the record. A simple splash page for e-mail updates simply reads: “Solidarity for the Solitary.” But he hints of more to come, a platform of sorts for endurance sports.
Regardless, Armstrong certainly isn’t shying away from his past. Hours later, in a conversation moderated by former professional American cyclist Ron Kiefel, audience members at Aspen Elementary School asked him questions ranging from the best place to cycle in the world — France, with its narrow, windy roads and picturesque landscapes — to whether he felt he could have ever won the Tour de France without doping. No, he stated flatly.
No question, save for the lawsuit, was off-limits.
“I made those decisions because I was a kid — I was a hungry kid, I was a competitor,” Armstrong said of the decision to dope. “Having said all of that … I don’t think crossing that line is the problem. I think most people can look at it and say, ‘OK, it looks like it was everywhere.’ The problem was the way I acted. The problem was the way I answered the questions. The problem was the way I treated people. The problem was the way I carried myself in an aggressive and inappropriate way. That was the problem.”
At times, the conversation was light, and at other times tense. Armstrong, even years removed from professional competition, still likes a battle. At numerous points, Armstrong received applause. Some in the crowd remarked they had come to try to forgive him — the cancer survivor who captivated the world with his resurgent feats of athleticism on the bike.
But back on the bike along a hot windy road, Armstrong pedaled at a steady pace. He slowed to wait for his friend, Tim League, the CEO of Alamo Drafthouse. Riders half his age passed him, and he motored past others, most oblivious to the man riding alongside.
Some 10 miles outside of Aspen, facing the final climb of the day, Armstrong stood up in his saddle. The grade was steep, a brutal last effort. He cranked hard, pedaling away quickly into the distance, enveloped in the crowd, another rider on his bike.
