At Speed: My Life In The Fast Lane - Plot & Excerpts
My instinctive reaction to Lance Armstrong on Oprah’s Next Chapter? Too many adverts. Lance and I had met at the Interbike trade show in Las Vegas in September 2008. Introduced by George Hincapie, once Lance’s domestique deluxe and then mine, we had instantly struck up a rapport. There was something mesmeric about Lance. That’s something people often say about so-called celebrities, but not until I spent an hour or two with Lance did I really fully appreciate what it meant. I think it’s best summed up by saying that if Lance was in a crowded restaurant or bar, you could somehow sense or feel his presence. There was a buzz, an electricity that seemed to take hold of the room. The energy he radiated seemed to hang everywhere, yet when Lance spoke, the space suddenly emptied to leave just you and him. His eyes were like strobe lights, burning through you. He inserted your name into every sentence, paid attention to everything you did, remembered everything you said. It was hard, as a 23-year-old who had watched him win seven Tours de France, goggle-eyed, not to be impressed or at least intrigued.
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