From 2005 to 2007, without planning it, I wrote a trilogy of stories about my relationship to the Tour de France — probably overly personal narratives that were almost not at all about the racing but how the best and worst of the race felt. To me. The first one happened because, in the final year of Lance Armstrong’s first phase of his career, Bicycling was running out of original ways to laud him, and a regular-guy focus on the Tour seemed fresh. Then the Tour went to hell and nobody could really figure out how to write about it beyond posting the breaking news of doping. We gambled that an embarrassingly emotional admission of heartbreak might connect with readers. By the third one, when I had to try it again, I could tell I was done with something, but whether it was this line of storytelling or the Tour itself I couldn’t tell. In 2008, I was back at the Tour, but mostly writing about anything except the winners. In 2009, I was there to write about Lance Armstrong, which meant I was also writing about Alberto Contador, so I had to write about the winner. But I also wrote about the guys who finished second, third, last, and some who never finished. I wrote about the mechanics and the chefs and the team directors and the fans, and myself again, dammit, but also the mountains and the roads themselves. That all became my book about Armstrong’s comeback.
Me and the Tour, 2005: Love
Me and the Tour, 2006: And it Breaks My Heart
Me and the Tour, 2007: Unbelievable
