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by Jeff Sambur
In the furnace-like summer of 2002, I rode my bicycle 1,650 miles along the borders of Colorado as a fundraiser for the Lance Armstrong Foundation. I called my ride the "Perime-rado LAF a lot Bicycle Tour". I groveled, pleaded and cajoled donations from friends, family members and complete strangers at Wal-Marts. A few generous folks even gave willingly. After it was all said and done, I had attained "Polka Dot Jersey" status in the LAF's Peloton Project. For my efforts, I was rewarded with a few perks, one of which was a private ride with Lance Armstrong prior to the LAF's main fundraiser, the Ride for the Roses. I have to admit I was nervous and excited about sharing asphalt with "The Man."
I began to fantasize about cruising the hill country of Texas with the five-time winner of the Tour de France. We'd be motoring along at a mellow 23 mph speed, all the while conversing about race strategies, Shiner Bock beer and the new significant other in his life. Unfortunately, this was only a dream; 150 other Peloton Project groupies would be tagging along as well. I now had to set my sights on different goals for the ride. Maybe, just maybe, I could ride by his side and for one moment pass him! Now, that would be something to tell the folks back home.
In the month prior to our fateful meeting, I received information concerning the private ride from a LAF coordinator. He waxed on about the secret location of the ride, even going so far as to state that we would be blindfolded en route. (That didn't happen.) He also mentioned that we should eat a big breakfast, always a good idea before a ride with Lance. He said that all of our other needs would be cared for beverages, mechanical support and snacks. (This was all true.) As a final note, he issued this warning: DO NOT TRY TO RACE LANCE! He added that Lance would be able to beat us while riding a one-speed bike and wearing a lead suit. This, too, is probably true. However, I was not going to allow a threat or two deter me from my mission.
On the afternoon of the ride, the weather in Austin was steamy, air so thick you'd need a broom to sweep it aside. There was a strong breeze coming out of the southeast. We boarded the buses and were dropped off at Emma Long Park on the banks of Lake Austin. The Lance rumor mill was overheard saying that he had just arrived back from Paris after the unveiling of the 2004 Tour de France route. Hmmm! Maybe he'd be tired and sluggish from jetlag. We waited like children anticipating Santa's arrival on Christmas morning.
Later, with no fanfare, we were told to ride off and that Lance would meet us along the two-and-a-half mile circuit. The route was a tight, hilly and potholed affair. Volunteers advised us to slow down on the treacherous downhill portion. Up in the distance, I thought I spotted that familiar piston motion of Lance going uphill. After two laps, I was beginning to see my dream deflate like a slow leaking tire. Then an apparition appeared, he was there right in front of me. I approached him on his left flank. Lance Armstrong has features that could easily be drawn with a T-square. He is that angular. At the base of a small hill, I launched my bike with its 48-year-old, 5-foot-4inch, 145-pound cargo upward.
On the 10th stage of the 2001 Tour de France, Lance became famous for giving what in the future would be immortalized as "The Look" to Jan Ullrich. This was over-the shoulder glare with an "I double-doggy-dare-you to cross that line" attitude tossed in. Mr. Ullrich lost heart and the Tour after "the Look."
Time stood still as I surged ahead of Lance by 10 feet. I paused and turned my head to give Lance a fair imitation of "The Look." I didn't see much of a change in his expression behind those dark sunglasses. He might have been speaking to another rider or had a speck in his eye. Nevertheless, deep down inside, I knew that I had given Lance back, his look. Now, I really had a story to tell the folks back home.
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