A couple of weeks ago a friend sent me this link and instructed me to click on "Austin". I watched some fixed gear studs I'd never heard of tear it up in and around what I took to be Austin. A ways in, Lance showed up and he was not bad.

In fact, when he takes off down that hill toward the end of the clip, I'm still impressed (subsequent research has revealed 141rpm). 

I came to cycling late. I watched ABC's coverage of the '89 World Championships back in high school, the camera showed Greg Lemond getting off his bike to go take a leak in the woods on his way to the win. I knew little enough about cycling that this seemed uniquely bad ass.

Around the time my wife started racing triathlon we took to watching the Tour, would've been 2004. For reasons that mostly have to do with us living in Berkeley, 2004 was the first year we had a TV and basic cable. Lance was instrumental to my early understanding of the sport. I got "no gifts", I got "run like you stole something", and I got his chasing down Filippo Simeoni.

That same year, Lance was supposed to race at the San Francisco Gran Prix - only he didn't. I remember walking around before the race started, hearing that he wouldn't be racing and then literally bumping into George Hincapie while he navigated his bike through a crowd along the embarcadero. The only other interest of mine that tends to result in this kind of proximity between luminaries and guys like me is jazz.

But so Lance Armstrong came and went and my interest in cycling didn't. A couple of Tours of California later, my second road bike and my first fixed gear (a Father's Day gift) are hanging on the wall in my garage. I watch races with Dutch narration. Knowing better I try different browsers when live feeds get twitchy, this year I had the novel experience of watching the olympic road races with no narration at all, and I've watched all of your comments about Cycling TV for two seasons now thinking I just can't bring myself to do it.

I'm ambivalent about Lance Armstrong and his legacy. Living in the bay area, catching Giants games when there were no takers for my dot com's season tickets, I wanted to believe Barry Bonds. Growing up in Southern California, bombing out of high school track and field competition at the regional level, I worked the state meet when Marion Jones was there and just demolishing her competition. When she was indicted, I wanted to believe her too. But this wanting to believe thing tends to not work out well.

Despite the formative experience involving Greg Lemond cited above, he's not necessarily my horse in the race between those two. When Lemond starts talking VO2 max in a public forum, I imagine an entire nation's eyes glazing over. If he values public opinion, he seems to need a PR person that he actually listens to.

And then you reach the end of that MASH video and there's this room in Lance's house. A room for all of his yellow jerseys. I came across blog monkey who thought it was creepy that Cadel Evans had that portrait by Simon Benz over his mantel. Wonder what the same guy would think of Lance's yellow jersey room?

Part of me thinks, "Well, obviously you'd need a room for them." But if that room were in your house, would it have plush red drapes and mood lighting?