I sometimes curse myself for having gained the knowledge that I have over the last decade or so, as it seems to have done nothing but made me more jaded and stripped the absolute exhilaration I once felt watching these god among men achieving what, in my widest dreams, I could only dare to imagine.

I know in times past, Ive recalled standing at the bar of a rock and roll show at San Franciscos Bottom of the Hill, while the Kansas City band Shiner ripped through their set. I was gazing up at the television, watching Riis crush all comers in whatever mountain stage happened to be televised that night, covered in goosebumps watching the crowds go berserk as his victory was all but locked, but now when I think back on it, all I see is this;

As Ive said before- I want to believe that these men are truly capable of the achievements Ive watched completed with baited breath year after year, but as every disgrace and scandal rears its head, and the he- said-she-said finger pointing comes to a climax, Im increasingly unable to invest the same passions I once was.

You know, except for the Roubaix. We all know how I feel about the Roubaix... And as long as youre stuck here reading my words, Ill reiterate. I think that all of the classics, but most especially 'The Hell of The North', looks down its collective nose at all of the pissant controversy and chuckles as it casually rolls up all of the doping alligations, the infighting, designer sunglasses, posturing and the Rock and Republic jeans, and flicks it off like a booger.

Anyhow, back to The Tour.. Through Armstrongs 1999, 2000, and 2001 wins, I like many American fans of the bicycle races, welled up with pride, most especially after the stage he won in honor of his fallen comrade Casartelli. As he crossed the line, zipped up his jersey and pointed to the sky, I was floored with what still stands as one of the most memorable and reaffirming events Ive experienced since I fell for the sport so many years ago.

Perhaps my innocence was partially responsible for the joy that I used to feel. Witnessing the super-human accomplishments of people like Lemond and The Badger, Big Mig, Jan, of course The Cannibal (though only in reruns, as during his last victory, I was just four), and The Pirate (despite Pantanis eventual fall from grace) was like watching someone preform magic. You cant believe your eyes, yet there it is right in front of you.

For example, I wondered how it was as a title sponsor, the entire Festina team had been ousted from the 1998 Tour, and that it must surely mean they got caught simply because they were cheating, so justice had been served.
It was the following year that Id learned that in fact Festina had planned on pulling its sponsorship, so for the UCI it was no harm done, and an example had been made of those, who some say, were doing just what everyone else was anyway, its just that they were expendable.

Conspiracy, conspiracy, conspiracy.

A secondary gripe that Ive got is that as Lances victories began to mount, I watched the same pride I felt for the Texan develop and devour in every direction until I was silently witnessing American popular culture bastardize this thing I loved with him as an unwitting posterboy, until I finally felt that the lifestyle and specticle that once was uniquely mine had at some point slowly been stripped from my grasp by throngs of hamfisted, flagwaving 'Merikuns on the international stage of competitive cycling chanting 'U.S.A., U.S.A..."

I mean christ, didnt watching Rocky Balboa defeat the gigantic blond Russian teach us all that America kicks ass at EVERYTHING?
Why do we have to be so brash about how killer 'we' are at it all?

Anyhow, when presented with the chance to rub elbows with any number of the men Ive seen over all the years on television and in magazines, Id be lying if I said that I still dont get a distinct thrill based on the simple fact as athletes, but more over as cyclists, they all have experienced something that I could only dare to dream about, and that all of the controversy aside, when you happen upon anyone of these people, its hard not to be just a little bit in awe.

Even if your friends have a clumsy way of showing it.

I can still get a glimpse of my former, more naive self from time to time, so I know hes in there. Perhaps all I need to do is let a bit of time to pass, and the dust settle so that again eventually this epic of all events can regain the luster and shine that it once held.

And as efforts are made to clean up the sport, and the arm chair experts fall off by the wayside, I wait with a unique cynical certainty that eventually, it will again.

And now finally, I would like to note that after literally hours of penning, editing, and re-editing this piece, I glanced upon it late Thursday afternoon, only to see that a majority of it had been swallowed up into cyberspace- flicked like the aforementioned bogger, and with this, I can only surmise that the bicycle Illuminati is sitting somewhere in gigantic red leather chairs, smoking cigars that cost as much as I make in a day, and laughing smugly.

You really should have read the first draft, man.
It totally ruled.

Have a good weekend everybody, and from this corner of the world, signing off-