Barring accident, Lance Armstrong will take a fourth Tour de France in a row tomorrow, edging closer to a record-equalling fifth win. Dominating the sport since recovering from cancer, the American has also had to fight accusations of drug use, writes Shane Stokes
It's Sunday in Le Mont Ventoux. Although he has just taken more time out of his rivals and fortified his stranglehold on the yellow jersey, the Tour de France race leader is fuming. Lance Armstrong had attacked 7 km from the barren, sun-bleached summit of the Giant of Provence and sped upwards to open an impressive gap over his labouring competitors.
Yet, rather than cheering, some of the spectators heckled the American with accusatory cries of "doped, doped". He was not impressed.
It has been 17 years since the French last won the race, and this frustration may be partly to blame for the catcalls. So, too, the fact that Armstrong's late charge endangered the (ultimately successful) stage-winning attempt of home favourite Richard Virenque, who had been out in front all day.
The setting, too, may have accentuated the hostility. Thirty-five years ago these same scree-covered slopes saw the British cyclist Tommy Simpson succumb to a lethal combination of illness, dehydration, over-exertion and amphetamine use.
The Ventoux is an emotional place, haunted by the poignancy of Simpson's final moments and Armstrong's continued domination, and it seems to have touched a raw nerve with some of those standing by the roadside.
Whatever the reason, the taunting rankled. Armstrong has faced these allegations since his monopolisation of the Tour began in 1999, ensuring a love-hate relationship with the French people and with certain sections of the world's media.
To some the 30-year-old Texan is a modern-day hero, a determined, driven fighter who beat cancer and then returned to the sport to prove to other sufferers that there is life after the disease. To others, the story is too Hollywood-esque, too much of a fairytale not to have a hidden catch.
Cycling may be a minority sport in the United States, but Lance Armstrong is nevertheless a superstar. He receives twice as much as Bill Clinton for delivering corporate speeches (typically $200,000) and has been the guest of honour in the White House on several occasions. Numerous talk-show appearances and a best-selling autobiography ensure that his is a household name.
Dominating the Tour de France is a part of the reason, but the bulk of his popularity derives from his successful battle with cancer. Six years ago he was handed what was effectively a death sentence; at the time, doctors gave him a 40 per cent chance of living, but later admitted that this figure had been exaggerated to provide him with some hope. The real odds of survival, they say, were far lower.
Armstrong had first consulted a specialist after one of his testicles swelled to the size of an orange. By this stage the tumour had spread throughout his body, seeding spores in his stomach, lungs and brain that had blossomed into other cellular time-bombs.
Exhaustive sessions of chemotherapy and brain surgery were quickly lined up; against most expectations he survived, recovered, and returned to the sport of cycling.
While his physical strength and fitness was part of the equation, it was his mental determination which helped most of all. Those who know him say he has been a fighter all of his life; from the time his father walked out of the family home and left the family broke and broken, right up to the moment of that awful diagnosis and beyond.
So it was little surprise that he met the challenge, even embraced it. "Cancer has made me a better person and I wouldn't change a thing," he said, after being given the all-clear in 1997. "This has been the best thing that ever happened to me."
Armstrong was certainly deeply affected by the experience. He established the Lance Armstrong Foundation to raise funds for cancer research, gave motivational pep-talks and advice to sufferers and generally spread the message that there was hope.
He has recently taken up a position on President Bush's cancer panel, where he will act as an adviser until 2005.
These are what he terms "the obligations of the cured", recognising that his public profile provides a valuable opportunity to help others.
On a personal level, the post-cancer Armstrong proved to be a very different person - less brash, more mature; he quietened down, met and married Kristen, and had three children by in-vitro fertilisation, using sperm frozen before his treatment (chemotherapy made him sterile).
His family, he says, is now the most important thing in his life and when not racing he spends as much time as possible with them in their home in Girona, Spain. He envisages spending another three to four years cycling, after which he says he is looking forward to "sitting on a beach with my wife and kids, and having a cold beer".
For the moment, though, that beer is on hold. He plans to continue trying to win the Tour de France, to continue trying to exceed the record of five victories set by Jacques Anquetil, Eddy Merckx, Bernard Hinault and Miguel Indurain. Armstrong relishes challenges and in cycling, this is the biggest of all.
He is quick to credit cancer with his transformation into a stage-race rider. Armstrong had always had a massive talent, winning professional triathlon races at 16 and then becoming one of the youngest pro world champions at just 21 years of age.
Chemotherapy stripped down some of the upper body bulk which had limited his speed in the mountains; this, a strict dietary regime and an obsessional drive to succeed helped transform the rider. He returned to the sport leaner and lighter and as a result went on to win his first Tour de France.
Yet it is this success which has led some critics to question the source of his power. Ever since the near-collapse of the Tour in 1998 due to drug scandals, cycling has been under the spotlight. As the winner of the race on every occasion since, Armstrong consequently finds himself foremost in the firing line. Convinced that something is amiss, his detractors point to his superiority, the increasing speed of the race and his ill-advised links with Dr Michel Ferrari, a physiology guru who is under investigation on suspicion of supplying banned substances to riders.
On this last issue, Armstrong is unapologetic: "Dr Ferrari is a great trainer. He has never spoken to me about using drugs. I believe he is an innocent man and unless a trial proves otherwise, I will continue to work with him."
What convinces others of Armstrong's innocence is the inherent risks associated with performance-enhancing drugs. Blood clots, tumours, heart problems; would he really take such chances after being at death's door, they ask?
There is also the result of a two-year judicial investigation, which found no trace of doping after thorough analysis of his blood and urine samples.
Armstrong himself is convinced that the questions will continue. "It's a war I will never win," he admitted.
"People can keep searching, but they will find nothing and that is because there is nothing to find," he says.