Garrett Lai

It was revealed on Friday that the lab responsible for the positive drug test for Floyd Landis at last year’s Tour de France allegedly didn’t adhere to proper protocols, with one possible result being dismissal of the doping case against Floyd. I was asked, “Is this a good thing, does this mean it will clear things up for Floyd?” My answer surprised even me — I don’t really care.

   It’s not that I don’t care about Floyd. I do. He’s a likeable guy, and while we don’t know each other personally, in cycling’s close-knit world I’m probably just one or two degrees away from the man. From what I hear he’s a stand-up person, the kind of guy I’d be happy to ride with, and more than likely to clink mugs with afterward.

More than that, I care a lot about this sport. This is something I’ve pursued and followed for most of my life, and while I’ve never dreamed of going pro I have always respected those guys tough enough, and fast enough, to make it into the pro ranks doing something I dearly love.

Doping is the dark cloud every cyclist labors under, whether they race or not, and frankly I’m tired of it.

If Floyd is let off on a procedural technicality he’s always going to remain dirty to the people who think he’s guilty now. Even if that same lab were to say they made a mistake, and he’s clean, it’s no victory for the sport or for Floyd. To most of America, who only read the headlines after the Tour, he’ll always be that guy who cheated his way to victory.

As I see it, the problem is much bigger than Floyd’s individual case. Even if he’s clean (and I sorely, desperately hope that’s true), the perception among the public is that cycling is a dirty sport. And as much as I’d love to refute that, I’d have to say I agree.

According to some, cycling has the most active anti-doping program in athletics, with cyclists subject to more on-site testing at races and random out-of-competition testing than any other sanctioned sport. But I don’t think the current testing is enough. It’s not that the testing isn’t thorough enough, it’s just too infrequent.

Consider this: 189 racers start the Tour de France. How many get tested for dope on each stage?

The answer is eight — the three leaders on the overall, the top three for the day’s stage, and two riders randomly selected from the field. In other words, unless you’re on the podium, your odds of getting asked to pee into a cup after a stage are just two in 183, or less than 1.1 percent. The defense for the small sampling is it’ll catch people who are doping to win. But that’s not how doping starts. It starts with survival.

I’m not on the sauce, and I don’t know any admitted dopers, but I don’t think anyone makes the decision to become a full-fledged doper overnight. I think it starts out small. Maybe you try a pill or injection to make it through a stage, and end up having the ride of your life. So you try it again, then try it with something a bit more powerful, and then you’re on the slippery slope.

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Even if you were to just jump right into doping, you wouldn’t see results right away. Years ago, I was on a ride with a former TdF veteran, and we were talking about dope. He’s an interesting source because he’s seen it all, and I’ve never met a rider who knows more about physiology and training. Jan Ullrich had just won the Tour de France, one of the youngest winners ever in the modern era. My friend noted that this was an interesting thing, and a good thing.

According to him every body is different, and not all of us respond to drugs in the same way. So if someone were to go on a doping program it might take a few seasons to figure out what combinations of drugs would provide the biggest boost — and this was why we saw riders who were mid-pack suddenly bloom into race-winners in their late 20s and early 30s, a time when, physiologically speaking, they should already be in decline.

Historically, strong riders were always strong — Eddy Merckx was an incredible junior racer, and destroyed everyone at his first Tour de France — they didn’t blossom late. And Ullrich was the first seriously strong young rider to come along in years. My point being that, to be a successful doper, you must first be a mediocre doper. And that’s probably an easier stage to catch someone in their doping career.

By the time a rider gets to a top-flight team they’re under some of the most intensive medical care in the world. A cycling team’s budget now runs in the millions, and a huge percentage of that goes to the medical team. So who do you think has the best chances of beating a doping test — the guy being supported by a squad of lab-coated medical technicians with deep pockets? Or the guy who’s popping the occasional amphetamine on his own? It should be the guy on his own — only the chances of that racer actually being tested are slim. He’s only going to get caught if he’s sampled, and as it stands his chances of being sampled are almost nonexistent.