One-Way Ticket by Jonathan Vaughters

Author:Jonathan Vaughters
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-08-26T16:00:00+00:00

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After the Vuelta finished, USA Cycling called up and asked if I wanted to ride the World Road Championships in Holland. I felt totally exhausted, but I was still riding really fast, so I agreed to compete.

It was a new sensation to feel like utter crap every day, to not have enough energy to lift a spoon, yet to have the ability to really push hard on the pedals. The effects from the EPO program during the Vuelta were in full flow now, but even though my hematocrit was nowhere near 52 percent, Pedro was still stressed.

Lance and I were the two Americans riding in the time trial, but I really had no idea how I would fare. The U.S. team were all staying in a tiny little bed and breakfast in Valkenburg, one of those places where it felt like you were staying in someone’s bedroom, and everyone watches TV together in the living room.

Lance’s room was right off the living room, so when the TV didn’t get shut off early enough in the evening, he’d open the door and yell at the under-twenty-three riders and junior riders to go to bed.

Early on the morning of the time trial, Pedro came rushing into my room in a giant trench coat, looking as bulky as a heavily pregnant woman. He pulled off the coat to reveal a huge bag of saline.

“Jonathan, quick—get this into your vein,” he snapped. “The UCI are here! We need to get your hematocrit lower, quickly.”

I did as he said. He duct-taped the bag of saline on the wall over my head and kept cussing and swearing in Spanish when it wouldn’t stick to the wallpaper.

I was still a little bemused and bleary-eyed.

“How do you know they are here, Pedro?” I asked.

“How do I know . . . ?!” he said. “They’re setting up all their testing equipment in the living room, that’s how I know! Incredible!”

He stayed with me, peeking around the door now and then, until the bag was almost empty.

“Okay, now I must do Lance,” he said breathlessly. “Good luck with the test, and remember, show them your other arm, not the one we just punctured.” He rushed off.

I finished the saline and wandered out into the hall to get some breakfast before my blood test. As I sat down, I watched Pedro come back into the hotel with the same trench coat on, clearly hiding an enormous bag of saline solution under it.

By this time, the UCI doctors had all their testing equipment set up and were busy chatting over some chocolate croissants and coffee before they began their work. There was no other way for him to get to Lance’s room, so he nervously walked right past the team of UCI doctors, saying “hello” and “good morning,” a huge bag of saline drip under his coat, as he made his way to Lance’s room.

After fifteen minutes or so, Lance emerged from his room, with no Pedro, and casually asked the UCI medics when they were going to test him.

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