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problems. Now things went wrong all at once or maybe they just evened out.
It started in the winter, when Kik and I separated. Anyone who has been through something similar
understands how catastrophic it is emotionally, and how it overwhelms any other concern. I tried to tell
myself that I was managing the situation and that my personal trials had nothing to do with the bike, but it
worked on me. I never cracked physically, had a day where I couldn t get out of bed or get on the bike.
But it was a disruption, and I don t mean a disruption in training. It was a disruption in my head and my
heart.
 As the Tour approached, there were other, smaller problems. I crashed in an important tune-up race for
the Tour, called the Dauphine Libere, on Friday the 13th ironically, and was slow to recover. I came
down with tendinitis in my hip. I caught a stomach bug from my kids the week I was supposed to leave
forParisand barely made the trip. I was still doubled over the day before the race began.
As I prepared for the Prologue, I told myself maybe I could still find my form on the road once the race
began. But everyone expected another big, dominating victory from me, more than they had in any other
year. When you hear that all the time, it gets to you, and you begin to feel that there isn t much to race
for. You can only lose.
I promptly lost. I finished seventh in the Prologue, and started the Tour in a full-blown crisis. Now
everybody knew what I d hoped to hide: word immediately swept through the peloton that I wasn t the
rider I d been in the past. My performance bolstered the hopes of every rider that night, including those
of Jan Ullrich, who showed up inParislooking as lean and fit as he ever had, and riding for a new team,
Bianchi.
From there, things just got worse. The very first stage, to Meaux, was marked by an epic crash. The
peloton was jumpy and tightly packed as we raced for the finish, and one small event caused a huge
chain reaction. A guy came out of his pedal. That s all. Within seconds, 176 riders piled into each other,
total carnage. The worst casualty of the day was my friend and neighbor Tyler Hamilton, who broke his
right collarbone but somehow got up and kept riding. I was luckier; I had some bruises and road rash.
But the crash signaled what kind of race it would be.
So did the heat. It was hot all acrossFrance, very hot, and it made the race hard for everybody. In the
early sprinting stages, the heat rose to 100 degrees and beat down on our heads and shoulders. It was
like being leaned on by something heavy and it steadily sapped me. Instead of feeling better as the days
went on, if anything, I felt weaker.
But my teammates carried me through the first week. Postal won a wonderful collective stage victory, a
team time trial from Joinville to St. Dizier of 42.9 miles. It was a highly technical stage that required all
nine riders to go flat-out, together, against the clock. We yearned to show that Postal had become the
best team in a European-dominated sport, and we rode perfectly, a flying blue wedge of speed.
We won the stage in 1 hour, 18 minutes, and 27 seconds, half a minute faster than our closest
competitors, and that vaulted me from 12th place into second. Just as satisfying was the fact that Postal
riders occupied the top eight places in the overall standings, and I actually trailed my own teammate,
Victor Hugo Pena, who claimed the yellow jersey. As we d neared the finish line, we were all tired, but I
urged Victor on, saying,  What color do you want to wear tonight? What color?
After a week of riding, we were heading into theAlpsand I still didn t feel great. I kept telling myself that
it was a long race, and I waited to feel strong again, but anyone who knew me could see that I was
struggling especially when we arrived at Alpe d Huez for the eighth stage. In the past I d taken control
of the Tour in theAlps, and the presumption was that I d mount another huge attack. But Alpe d Huez
was the site of yet another mishap, and a reckoning.
The stage included a monstrous climb up the Galibier, a 30-kilometer ascent that was among the highest
in theAlps. I felt uncharacteristically leg-weary as we climbed, and I couldn t understand it. Finally, on the
descent, I looked down and realized that my back brake was rubbing against my wheel.
On the radio, I called Johan.  Johan, I have good news and bad news, I said.
 His voice crackled.  Okay, tell me the good news first. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]