Greg Lemond, cyclist

Oh, Floyd. It's probably safe to say that the Tour de France has really only had two American winners, or at least only two who will remain on the books.

And Lance. Lance seems bent on world domination centered entirely around Lance and what Lance wants. I'm not a member of the Church of Armstrong and don't wear the cult bracelet -- I KNOW it's for cancer, but funny how it's also for Lance, for how he's convinced people to brand themselves for him, and you Live Strong because it's Armstrong, and it's on your Arm, and you now belong to Mister L. Look, good that it's raising money, good that it keeps cancer an active on-going cause and concern, good. But I can't help it; the guy creeps me out, and I wouldn't be surprised to see an Armstrong Celebrity Center going up on Los Feliz Blvd some day.

And that brings us back to Lemond, Le-Mond-Ond. Greg, Lemond, the bi-cyc-list, he's a drop of golden sun. I followed both the Tour de France and the Ironman Triathalon every year when I was growing up because I couldn't believe the feats these people accomplished. It looked so HOT. And WET, and MOUNTAINY, and TWISTY and HOT, again, and just so very very TIRING. Can't we go to a cafe or a luau and forget all this? But they wouldn't, because they're crazy and dedicated and that's worth watching on tv, for some reason.

And because they look happy -- I don't know if it's the kind of happiness that comes from losing your mind, like the euphoria people on hunger strikes experience, but it's certifiable happiness nonetheless. Even the miserable ones, the racers skidding out on top of other races on tight roundabout turns, the wretched sprinters enduring the chug up a mountain stage, or the time trialists getting split reports and knowing, not only in their gut but in their earpiece, that they're falling farther behind with each stroke -- even they look happy. As a kid stationed at the tv every summer, I loved them all.

And then came the miracle of Lemond's 1989 win, the joy of it (not for poor, dashing, blonde ponytailed Laurent Fignon), still one of the most thrilling sporting events I've ever witnessed. ABC used to do such great Tour coverage back then, following the stages closely, but also skillfully setting the stage by profiling the racers and their teams, and how the racers joined the teams, and giving us a sense of the history and rivalries that informed the current race choices. Content with context. [Today's coverage is unspeakably bad, choppy and uninformed, pointless after the Armstrong era, maybe because they don't care about George Hincapie or any of the rest since they lost their star, amybe because all the good character get banned for doping sooner or later any way.]

Lemond rode with a great cast of characters who helped shape his story: the legendary Bernard Hinault, who couldn’t resist using the young upstart to sneak another win in 1985, then couldn’t resist challenging Lemond the next year when he was supposed to be repaying the favor and protecting and assisting Lemond to the yellow jersey. Lemond fought back and the torch was passed whether or not Hinault was willing to admit it was time. It was RED RIVER on the Pyrenees!

Then Lemond’s brother-in-law shot him full of shotgun pellets in a 1987 hunting accident, and Lemond barely survived the wounds. After two years of recovery, he signed on for the 1989 Tour de France hoping just to make a respectable showing.

So we knew all this dramatic backstory as the race progessed. And there was Lauren Fignon, the arrogant (who isn’t in this sport), striking blonde scowling through the race with gritted teeth, clearly pouring his entire heart into it. And there was Greg Lemond, surpassing even his own expectations, appearing buoyed up as each day passed and he felt stronger than the one before. Until the final time trial on the Champs Elysee, the first time they’d ended a Tour this way, forcing a rider in this jostling, team-based, yet solitary sport to face only his own abilities at the end of the race. Nothing to think about but how good you can be or how badly you can fail.

As overall leader at the end of the previous stage. Lemond was privileged to ride last. Long an innovator in the sport, his time trail bike featured a new, more aerodynamic handlebar and disk sheet. He had come from the future to win the race! Fignon left every bit of himself on the road and finished with a seemingly insurmountable time. It was a dramatic ending to a thrilling race, bound to end in failure for Lemond, but what an entirely noble failure.

Yet he won, by an unbelievably slim eight second margin. At home, I jumped and cheered and ran around the house, so full of adrenalin I needed to run laps. A beaming, incredulous Lemond hugged his wife and small child on the street. Fignon sat with his wonderful sweaty blonde mane slumped over the handlebars, but my god what a race he made it.

I am indebted to Lemond for showing me the possibilities of being truly dedicated to your profession, always seeking the cutting edge technically and in your training, having the nerve to challenge decades of French tradition and cycling egos and hierarchies and thrive within them, and for loving him sport so much that he has the balls to repeatedly speak out about the swift and appalling degradation it has suffered from widespread doping, and to keep urging the guilty parties to confess and clean up. No one else in this sport will tell the truth right now, but I get the sense that Lemond is such a dedicated cycling geek that he feels personally betrayed by what has become of his sport.

For being a true gentleman champion, for not giving up, for speaking up when he doesn't have to bring anyone's wrath onto him at this point, for standing up to both bullies and shotgun pellets, for so beautifully and gracefully riding that incredible last stage in 1989, Greg Lemond is one of my very very few sports heroes left.