• This is what Armstrong sees in his nightmares, big Greg fucking gunning for him.

    You can say what you want about money, politics, motivation, attitude, personality, style; cycling (like just about every sport now) was more poetic when people weren't dangling a big fuckoff bag of cash over the finish line, where you'll be asked model for some god awful product that pollutes half the planet, paid to use some equipment made in some Eastern sweatshop by five year olds that have already lost half their limbs through industrial accidents, then whisked off on your first book signing tour before being forced to bribe your way round the sport to sustain your image.

    The end.

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