Cancer Claims Another: Laurent Fignon, RIP

Author's note: I had planned a different post for today. Alas, the sad news of Laurent Fignon's death preempts more trivial musings.

In 1989 I was one of (maybe) 15 other people in the United States who cared.

I watched this, enraptured:



We celebrated Greg LeMond's incredible victory. The comeback. The impossibility of those eight seconds. The shotgun pellets in his heart's lining. It was an American story with an American hero, defeating some damned foreigner.

Nous étions jeunes et insouciants ("We were young and carefree")

The story appealed to our American virtues—work ethic, innovation, humility, family—and one of our great vices—jingoism.

Yet, vices aside, it was impossible to not sympathize with the man who was beaten; for Laurent Fignon was a champion. A champion's champion.

No shrinking violet, he was the perfect, media-made foil for the aw-gee-shucks child of the American West that was Greg LeMond. Fignon looked the part: he was "continental", "euro", and "sophisticated". Her personified panache. Nicknamed "The Professor", he was bespectacled—favoring not-quite-round lenses—with a streaming, blond ponytail, pulled back from his receding hairline. Fignon was debonair. He instantly stood out—even within the peloton of the 1980s.

Fignon: a studious, stylish champion

But he was more than a notable, if unique, fashion plate. He was also a tenacious rider. As Reuters reported: "[He] had made no secret of the fact that rivalry, almost hatred, was necessary for him as a competitor and he had few friends in cycling."

His approach—however unsavory in these days of the Contador/Schleck lovefest—was effective, as his results testify. His palmarès? Outstanding:

• Tour de France (1983, 1984)
• Giro d'Italia (1989)
• Milan - San Remo (1988, 1989)
• La Fleche Wallonne (1986)
• Criterium International (1982 and 1990)
• among others...

As LeMond ascended, Fignon demurred, retiring from the professional peloton in 1993. But he remained close to the sport, managing races (notably Paris–Nice) until 2004.

Suffering.
You know he fought his cancer with the same tenacity.

He resurfaced on the global stage in 2009, for tragic reasons. As reported in CyclingNews.com:

Fignon disclosed in June 2009 that he was undergoing treatment for cancer. It is said to have started in his intestine and then spread further through his body. He continued to commentate for French television on the Tour de France this summer despite a tumour affecting his vocal chords.

In this book, "We Were Young and Carefree", Fignon admitted that he had used amphetamines and cortisone during his career. To me, it's interesting, but not surprising, and certainly within cycling's long history of improving performance through the transforming power of chemistry. I do not think it diminishes his legacy. Considering the way the cycling culture embraces and celebrates Tom Simpson's death on Ventoux, it would be churlish to dismiss Fignon as anything less than a champion.

In both 2009 and 2010, despite his treatments, Fignon remained a Tour de France commentator for France Television. In one of his public statements about his cancer, he declared:

“I don’t want to die at 50,” he said, earlier this summer. “All I know is that my cancer isn’t evolving. I’m still fighting.”

He died at age 50.

Rest peacefully, M. Fignon. And many thanks for the memories.

In a Lighter Tone...

NOT his seatpost (but you get the idea...)

A fellow on my team had a problem, and he posted it to our team mail list:

The glue that holds my seatpost onto the part that lets you adjust the seat has worn out and I can take it apart. Should I reglue it and with what or should I buy a new seatpost?

You can imagine the responses. Here was mine:

Ellicott City, MD
Sunday, August 29, 2010
For immediate release...

An Ellicott City man was admitted to Howard County General Hospital this morning with a rare and unsettling case of cycleous anus insertus irreversus. The CDC has been alerted, and the ward is under quarantine.

The man, Christopher Hilfiger, a middle-aged cycling enthusiast and noted collector of imported beers and obscure bicycle parts, is reported to be in serious, but stable, condition.

Cycleous anus insertus irreversus only manifests when certain two-wheeled transportation devices come into contact with the human perineum, while in the presence of high tensile-strength bonding materials. Under these conditions a most horrid confluence of man and machine occurs, where the bicycle is no longer removable from the (deleted for propriety's sake!).

One complicating factor—rumored to have occurred—is the influence of methane gas upon the bonding materials. Mr. Hilfiger's flatulence, it seems, caused additional chemical reactions to occur. Biochemists on the scene recounted their wonder.

According to Dr. I. Rather Schtinky: "We've never witnessed quite such a collection of volatile materials in open space. Usually, such toxins are released only under tightly-controlled laboratory conditions. It's a wonder he's alive!"

The victim—unable to comment due to the aluminum tube thrusting out of his gullet—has been communicating with medical personnel by assorted grunts and a deep, resonating chime, reminiscent of a tubular bell....

The best response from the list was from Dr. Bill (anesthesiologist, RAAM veteran, and endurance/adventure racer):

One thing I will never forget, while Ray was having surgery on his clavicle. A nurse said to me afterward, "are all cyclists that funny when they are on morphine"?

There, but for the grace of God, go I

I can be a superstitious fellow. I throw a pinch of salt over my shoulder. I carry an umbrella on threatening, but not-yet-rainy days, and I "knock on wood" (or my forehead, which is much the same substance) when appropriate.

On rides, I have my superstitions as well. I like to wear my socks just so and I always check my front wheel's quick release after starting the ride.

And when I see roadkill, I always state purposefully, consciously, and honestly: "There, but for the grace of God, go I."

Seriously. I do. Always.

The Risks We Run

If you ride a bike, you will fall. It's a universal truth, like taxes. And death.

And if you ride a bike, you risk your life.

In the United States, fewer than 1,000 cyclists are killed each year.** It's not a big number. Yet, it's no consolation for the families. Numbers are cold, and all-but-meaningless. It's like when the doctors assign you with a 97% chance of survival. It means nothing—if you are in the other 3%.

We know this. It's a knowledge that resides deep down below, in that inner space where we contain our fears, dreads, and apprehensions. Sometimes it surfaces, like great cetacean breaching, disturbing our placidity with a crashing, splashing, distressed anxiety. Then...quiet once again.

We don't like those waters. We fear swimming within them, so we suppress our fears and move along.

To do otherwise would paralyze.

The Tragedy within Pelotonia 2010

A rider died.

A Reynoldsburg woman riding in the Pelotonia bicycle tour died Saturday after being struck by a vehicle in Hocking County, the Ohio State Highway Patrol said.

She had a name: Michelle Kazlausky.

She could have been any one of us.

But...They Did Everything Right!

A trooper was directing traffic at the intersection at about 2:15 p.m. with his marked cruiser's lights on, Norris said. He motioned for the pickup truck driven by Ervin Blackston, 57, of Rockbridge, to stop, but the pickup truck continued into the intersection.

Norris said Kazlausky realized the truck wasn't going to stop and tried evade by ditching the bike.

"So the bike slides one way, she's not on it. She slides another as an evasive action," Norris said. Blackston also swerved to avoid the crash, Norris said, missing the bike, but hitting Kazlausky....

Two physicians and a nurse were at the intersection along with a Pelotonia care vehicle, which follows the route to provide support and emergency aid, he said.

No matter what we do, how we plan, or how we prepare, the scythe will cut when the scythe will cut.

We have no control. We have no say.

When It's Time, It's Time

I suppose that is the message, the take-away, the lingering thought: when it's your time, it's your time.

It's stoical, but what else is there?

How else could we get back on our bikes for the return trip—knowing that we would pass through that intersection?

How else can we continue to ride, to pursue our passion? We have responsibilities. We are sons and daughters. We are husbands and wives. We are parents and grandparents. We are friends, lovers, and everything in-between.

Yet, when it's your time, it's your time.

Michelle—“Shelli” to her friends and family—was a mother and a daughter. She was a friend to many. She was described by Tom Lennox (Executive Director of Pelotonia) as: "a compassionate staff member in the rapid response lab at University Hospital East and a caring coworker." She knew the risks, and she rode.

Nagging effects of carpal-tunnel syndrome and a spill two weeks ago didn't dampen Kazlausky's enthusiasm, friends and family said yesterday.

"She still came to work, even with broken bones in her face," said Dr. JoAnna Williams, director of pathology at University Hospital East, where Kazlausky worked.

She had fallen during a ride two weeks prior to Pelotonia. She broke bones in her face. Most certainly, she knew the risks.

Yet, she rode.

We Ride On

Yes, she rode. As do we all.

Knowing what had happened, and what could happen, I rode. My friends rode. Their friends rode.

We rode.

We knew the risks.

And I will continue to ride.

I cannot live in fear, awaiting fate's next great blow. And I will not ride in fear. Riding is my passion and my freedom. I ride to live.

I never met Shelli, yet I know her...a little. She lived with purpose. She was a a thriver. She knew the risks; yet, she rode.

And by riding on, I honor her.

So, I will remain my superstitious self. I will still pinch salt, check my quick release, and all the rest.

And when I see death, I will always state purposefully, consciously, and honestly: "There, but for the grace of God, go I."

**Resources for that <1,000 cyclists each year statement...

• Helmets.org (Based on CDC data)
• Edgar Snyder & Associates (yep, ambulance chasers)
• Ken Kifer's Bike Pages
• Bicycle Universe

For the Iron Chicas: Final Thoughts

Chicas!

Tomorrow you will glide through the water like dolphins, splashing and cavorting with joy!

Tomorrow you will roll across the countryside like bullet trains, surging over hills and dales—powerful, awesome.

Tomorrow you will stride across well-trod pathways, blazing your own trail to your personal victory.

Your will is strong. You are the masters of your minds and bodies.

Envision your ideal race. Take the time to close your eyes. Make perfect pictures of your perfect moments. String them together. Press "Play". This is your filmstrip. This is your vision. Use it. And make it real.

Tomorrow you race. It's your race. It's your gift to you. Be generous. Be grateful. And in the end, you'll be:

Fight for What You Love (Pelotonia)

Bike to Battle, Missouri

The diseases we call cancer are legion. Mobilizing a counterforce to do battle is our challenge. The enemy must be engaged on all fronts: financial, scientific, spiritual.... Such an undertaking requires endless resources and boundless passion.

Are we up to the challenge? Are we prepared to wage total war against this inexhaustible enemy?

Safe & Sound, UAE

The human spirit is able. But have we the will to harness our resources and march forth? Have we the strength to carry ourselves once more into the breach, dear friends? Once more?

Pelotonia is an answer. All who ride have declared themselves. All who support have pledged themselves. All involved have mobilized. We are a force, countering cancer's corruption.

Love Life. Fight Cancer, Netherlands

You play a part. Your neighbors play a part. We are all part of a global struggle. We all fight this battle.

We are the dreamers of dreams...we are the movers and shakers, of the world forever...

We are audacious. We are bold. We draw strength from one other. We are united in our cause: end cancer.

Ride. Roll forth. Show the world that we are making our stand. Here. Now.

Be bold. Be defiant.

Sound your barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world and declare "no more!"

You are among many.

Together, we ride.

Together, we...

Thrive.