The Indignity of Commuting by Bicycle: The Dignity of Attending a Press Conference

If you're in New York City, you may have noticed a bunch of black SUVs with police escorts around the Sheraton Hotel on 53rd and 7th this morning. This was due to the Clinton Global Initiative, at which a group of dignitaries and world leaders (and Bono) gathered to, as far as I can tell, solve the problems of the world.

Ordinarily I wouldn't be concerned with a gathering like this since it doesn't really fall under my purview, which is cycling and making fun of it. But it just so happens that this was the place where Lance Armstrong (the Bono of cycling) would be announcing the details of his return to professional cycling. So I figured I might as well attend.

I weaved through thicker-than-usual traffic, arrived at the Sheraton and fastened the Ironic Orange Julius Bike to a nearby pole as securely as possible.



Affixing my press credentials to my pants (fortunately I was wearing pants) I ran the secret service gauntlet, the metal-detection gauntlet, and the temptingly sticky pastry platter gauntlet.


I then entered a plush, carpeted room which I was warned would soon be filled to capacity. I took a seat at the front (in case Lance did any magic tricks, I was hoping he'd pick me as a volunteer) and passed the time watching the Clinton Global Initiative proceedings on the video screens at the front of the room.

Bono talked a lot about starving children, which made me feel really guilty about not eating anything from the pastry platters. (I made a mental note to eat a danish for the impoverished peoples of the world on my way out.)



By the time Al Gore started speaking, I felt acutely aware of my growing need to relieve myself. However, I was reluctant to leave my seat in the increasingly crowded room lest it be taken. I'd like to believe there's a "siblinghood of journalists" and that they'd save my chair, but firstly, I'm not a journalist, and secondly, this was a shifty-looking bunch. Nonetheless, I put my bag on my seat and hit the head. If you're wondering what the urinals at the Sheraton look like, here they are:


I returned to my seat, which was fortunately still mine, and alternated between staring at the video screens and staring at my feet. (Despite the fact a cyclist was about to speak, I was the only person in the room with clipless-compatible shoes.)


At this point the room was full, and anything with a lens was trained at the podium in anticipation of Armstrong's entrance.

Armstrong was introduced by Doug Ulman, the President of LiveStrong, who is the guy in the yellow tie. Doug is flanked by John Seffrin, the CEO of the American Cancer Society on his left, and by Taylor "Mini" Phinney on his right. On the far left is Dr. Don Catlin. Lance Armstrong is the guy at the podium gesticulating meaningfully.

Armstrong's comments were very straightforward, and I'm sure you'll be reading them on various other blogs, websites, and periodicals in the coming days. Basically, he said that Leadville reminded him how much he enjoys spending hours at a time on a bike, and that he's returning to the sport to implement his global cancer awareness strategy. His number one goal, he emphasized, is the message. He also said that he'll ride for Astana (which was a tremendous disappointment to me, as I was hoping Mellow Johnny's was about to become the world's wealthiest shop team) and that the races he'll definitely be doing at this point are the Tour Down Under, the Tour de France, and of course, the Leadville 100. (Which, as far as I know, will make him the first-ever cyclist to use the Tour as a training race for Leadville.) He also called 18-year old Taylor Phinney the "future of American cycling," though he failed to comment on his more-than-passing resemblance to Andy Samberg from SNL. (Here's what Phinney looked like as Armstrong anointed him):

Speaking of people who look like people, that Dr. Catlin guy who looks like Carl Reiner on the left is the guy who will be testing Armstrong constantly for performance-enhancing drugs. Word is that absolutely nothing gets past this guy, and that he can't be bought. (I'd have to say this appears to be the case, as he wouldn't sign the photo of Carl Reiner I always carry with me in my wallet, even after I offered him ten bucks.) Armstrong said this will be the most intense testing program ever ("suck on that, Vaughters," he failed to add), and that he will "do whatever [Catlin] asks me." (I observed this to be true immediately after the press conference, when Catlin sent Armstrong to a nearby deli for a corned beef sandwich.)

By the way, if you're wondering who's paying Catlin, it's Astana. Meanwhile, Armstrong is riding for free. I find it interesting that cycling has reached a point where the world's most famous cyclist must ride gratis while a doctor whose sole job is to look for drugs is receiving what I would guess is a pretty substantial salary.

Essentially, though, Armstrong summarized, his return to professional cycling is centered around: 1) spreading the LiveStrong message; 2) developing the sport (through a U23 team which Phinney will lead and which Axel Merckx will direct); and, 3) being the anti-dopingest and most tested rider in the known universe.

Then came the questions, fastly and furiously. Here's what journalists look like while they formulate questions:

And here's the mess they leave behind them when Lance Armstrong finishes answering their questions, leaves amidst the sound of camera shutters (I didn't even know cameras still had shutters) and they depart en masse:



I've not written much (or really anything) about Lance Armstrong's comeback up until now, mostly because so many other people are too and I don't like to do what everybody else is doing. However, as I've often said, cycling is rife with irony. And one of the most ironic things about cycling is that cyclists hate winners. (Even I have said that "winning is for dopers sandbaggers," though that's only because I never win.) I suppose this is why Armstrong's comeback has been met with so much skepticism in the cycling world. I mean, everybody knows he cheated, right?

Well, as I said, I don't like to do what everybody else is doing. I would, however, like to thank the cycling press for getting me into this press conference. Of course, as much as I'd like to, I can't, because they didn't.

I suppose that's because I don't like to do what everybody else is doing.