“Lance Armstrong didn’t invent doping. We all did the best we could”: Levi Leipheimer on coming to terms with cycling’s “grey” past, “making amends”, and why road racing in the US has to “adapt or die”

The redwood forests of Sonoma County, part of California’s world-famous Wine Country, are a striking example of the resilience of nature. A defining feature of the coastal county’s landscape for thousands of years, and featuring some of the tallest trees in the world, the forests fell victim to the Californian timber rush of the nineteenth century, reducing once mighty behemoths to mere stumps, and ancient forests to open grazing land.

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Miraculously, however, in the early twentieth century, these stumps responded to the devastation around them by tenaciously sending up multiple fresh shoots, allowing young and mighty second-growth redwoods to spring up from their gnarled foundations.

According to local environmental activists, the variety of Sonoma County’s redwoods, consisting of battle-hardened survivors and up-and-coming saplings, indicates a healthy recovering forest where young trees can grow quickly and pack away large amounts of carbon, providing a much-needed boon in an age of climate emergency while also restoring the area’s ancient arboreal majesty.

It’s fair to say that road racing in the United States – and retired pro cyclist Levi Leipheimer in particular – can relate to the Sonoma redwoods’ example of rebirth, resilience, and growth.

Because, 12 years on from the doping admission which ended his career and threw American cycling into disarray, Leipheimer – the man behind one of Sonoma County’s biggest non-grape-based exports, Levi’s Gran Fondo – is now planting his own seeds for what he hopes will be the revival of road racing in the United States, currently the cycling equivalent of Sonoma’s ‘stump towns’ of over a century ago.

Earlier this month, the former Tour de France podium finisher sent out a press release stating his intentions to “reinvigorate” the struggling US road racing scene – which, like its British counterpart, is experiencing a period of financial pressure and dwindling race numbers – by turning Levi’s Gran Fondo into the “richest” professional one-day race in the world.

In some ways, the 51-year-old is well placed to spearhead the revival of American road racing. After all, he was there, front and centre, during the most recent, albeit ill-fated wave of evangelistic enthusiasm for cycling in the US.

One of the sport’s pre-eminent stage racers throughout the 2000s, an era when the United States was planted firmly at the summit of the sport thanks to Lance Armstrong’s seven Tour de France wins, Leipheimer was regarded at the time as arguably the greatest American racer not named Lance or Greg.

A teammate of Armstrong’s at US Postal at the beginning of his career in Europe, and later at Astana and RadioShack, Leipheimer also raced for Rabobank, Gerolsteiner, and Discovery Channel, racking up 41 wins over 12 years in the peloton.

A stage race and time trial specialist, he finished on the podium of the Vuelta a España twice, and in the top ten on GC at the Tour de France on four occasions, including ending up in third, just 31 seconds down on Discovery Channel teammate Alberto Contador, at the fraught 2007 edition of the Tour, to this date the closest podium in the race’s history.

He also won the Tour of California, by then his home race, three times in succession between 2007 and 2009, as well as the 2006 Dauphiné Libéré and the Tour de Suisse in 2011, at the age of 37.

However, Leipheimer’s career came to an abrupt halt in the autumn of 2012, after he confessed to using performance enhancing drugs between 2000 and 2007 in testimony provided to the United States Anti-Doping Agency as part of its case against Armstrong, which ultimately led to the Texan’s lifetime ban.

Leipheimer, along with other ex-teammates who co-operated with USADA, such as George Hincapie, Dave Zabriskie, Christian Vande Velde, and Tom Danielson, received a six-month suspension and was stripped of his results from 1999 to 2007.

He was sacked by his Omega Pharma-Quick Step team – a decision USADA chief Travis Tygart branded “a classic omerta move” – and duly retired a few months later, unable to find a team, despite asserting that he raced his final five years as a pro clean.

“I really believe in the road bike”

Since then, Leipheimer has spent his time mentoring young riders in California, as well as organising Levi’s Gran Fondo, the mass participation event he established in 2009 off the back of his third and final Tour of California victory.

Comprising seven routes through Sonoma County, ranging from a 10-mile casual course for beginners to the monstrous 138-mile Growler, the Gran Fondo attracts thousands of amateur and professional cyclists every year, and has raised over $3.2 million for charities supporting at-risk youth since its inception.

And now, with new sponsorship on board, Leipheimer is looking to lift the event to the next level by turning the Growler into a fully-fledged pro race, with a prize pot to match – a move he hopes will reinvigorate the United States’ dwindling road racing scene, a victim of the reputational damage suffered by the Armstrong era, financial pressures, and the rise of gravel.

“The very definition of a gran fondo is if you want to ride it as slow as you want, and eat all the food and look at the views, that’s awesome. That’s every bit as enjoyable and worthy as going out there and seeing how fast you can do it. They’re both great,” the 51-year-old tells the road.cc Podcast from his home at Lake Tahoe.

“Over the years, I’ve enjoyed seeing both sides and having that ecosystem exist at the same time, and support each other. There’s inspiration from the fastest riders and there’s also some inspiration from people who are getting out there and doing the biggest ride they’ve ever done. Everybody’s pushing themselves.

“That being said, it’s always been kind of in the back of my head, wondering if we could ever really turn this into a polished, well-organised, professional race. It’s taken us all these years to dial in all of our processes and procedures, of how to pull that off. Now, we have separate starts. We have police escorts. We have marshals on motorbikes. We’re hoping to live stream the event this year. It’s going to be a big cost.”

To cover that big cost, Leipheimer has partnered this year with Skipstone, a limited production estate winery in Alexander Valley, the largest and most fully planted wine region in Sonoma, itself the most prolific exponent of wine in California. As part of the new title sponsorship deal, a grand total of $156,000 will be awarded to the top men and women to finish the Growler, with $25,000 on offer to the two winners (and equal prize money distributed at both the men’s and women’s events).

Defending champions Lauren De Crescenzo and Keegan Swenson are once again set to ride this year’s Growler race, which will take place on 19 April, along with local boy and Soudal Quick-Step pro Luke Lamperti.

“The sponsors like having that whole ecosystem which means we have all ages and all abilities, from beginners, young kids, to the very best professionals in the US, all competing or riding routes at the same time,” Leipheimer says.

“And we’re all doing it for a really great cause in supporting at-risk youth – because for me, when I created the Fondo, the idea was that as a professional athlete, it always really felt selfish and self-centred to me.

“So many people were happy to help me, it wasn’t lost on me that I was getting a lot of support. I think I was paying it back with entertainment value, but I wanted to pay it forward because I was lucky that all these people had supported me.

“And if you look around the world, not everybody has those chances. If cycling was truly accessible to all parts of the world, we’d see a different peloton and in the Tour de France. And I used to think about that a lot.”

The former US Postal rider believes that part of paying it forward means breathing new life into US domestic road racing which – compared to the “full calendar” enjoyed by Leipheimer during his Saturn days in the 1990s – now boasts only two major historic races, the Redlands Classic and the Tour of the Gila.

And one way to reinvigorate US road racing, Leipheimer reckons, is to invoke the open spirit of arguably its biggest existential threat: gravel.

“We’ve built something and it’s evolved,” the Montana native says of the growth of Levi’s Gran Fondo. “And we’ve seen things change – the decline of road racing in the US and the rise of gravel, for example. And we’re having to adapt or die.

“We’re just trying to innovate and do what we can. Because I really believe in the road bike. I’m not going to stand up here and say, we’re going to save road racing in the US. I’m not that presumptuous. But I do think we’re in a position to do something. I think we can set an example for other organisers on how to make an event that is sustainable and makes sense for everybody.

“Gravel races are self-sufficient. So I thought, why can’t we just do that with a road race? For road racing to survive and thrive again in the US, we have to lower the barriers to entry, open the doors to more people.

One of the favourites for this year’s Growler, Luke Lamperti, rides the 2023 world gravel championships (Simon Wilkinson/SWpix.com)

“We are vetting people, but they don’t have to be on a team or have a follow car. Basically, the riders have to be self-supported. That has allowed us to cut costs, lower that barrier, and make it possible for the 18-year-old kid who’s fast but still new to the sport compete with Peter Stetina and Keegan Swenson.

“And we’re getting big names, which I hope will inspire the next generation. There’s an old photo of me with Luke Lamperti, who’s at Soudal-Quick Step. He’s eight-years-old, he’s just a little kid, and I’m in my WorldTour kit. And now look at him. There’s going to be an eight-year-old who wants to take his photo with Luke.”

“Doping is not black and white. It’s so grey”

Leipheimer’s point about inspiring future generations, however, raises an important question, one that strikes at the heart of cycling’s turbulent and often inconsistent relationship with its troubled past.

Should a retired pro with a history of doping and an asterisk firmly attached to their achievements, from an era of systemic cheating which inflicted severe reputational damage and left a tarnished legacy for cycling in the United States, be charged with helping shape the sport’s future?

“That’s a good question,” Leipheimer says, before pausing. “I fell in love with road cycling when I was 13-years-old. Doping was not even in my mind. But as I dedicated my life, and I worked my way up from team to team, and I got to the highest level, it was obvious what was happening.

“And it was a very slow process and it was a very difficult decision. I feel like myself and many others were just put in a situation where we had to make a really tough choice.

“Little by little, I accepted it was part of what I had to do. Never proud of it, was super stressful. It was always my worst nightmare that it would become public, and in the end it did.”

Like he did when he first confessed to doping as part of USADA’s investigation in 2012, Leipheimer insists he went clean in 2008, a consequence, he says, of the UCI’s introduction of the biological passport, which allowed anti-doping authorities to track a rider’s haematological profile over time and pinpoint any anomalies in their blood levels that could indicate drug use.

Nevertheless, the threat of being exposed continued to haunt Leipheimer, a spectre that soon became reality in 2010 when US federal prosecutors began to pursue allegations of doping against Armstrong, paving the way for USADA’s subsequent investigation and eventual ‘reasoned decision’.

These investigations confirmed the extent of the systemic doping programmes at US Postal and other teams during the 2000s, and triggered a wave of confessions from almost an entire generation of world-class American talent, ultimately leading to Leipheimer’s own early ostracization from the sport – an experience the 51-year-old admits took him years to fully process.

“My worst nightmare came true,” he says, reflecting on the aftermath of USADA’s reasoned decision, his confession, and subsequent “forced” retirement.

“It was completely overwhelming. And I felt really small and it took me a long time to process that. I mean, years and years.

“And I think now that I realise that, from the outside, it’s just so easy to put the whole thing into a black and white category. And I can tell you, it’s not black and white. It’s so grey.”

He continued: “I’ve done my best to make amends or make it so that the next generation or future generations, they’re not put in that position. It was between a rock and a hard place. It was a tough decision to make. It was stressful. I don’t wish it upon anyone.

“I told the truth when I was asked. I accepted my ban. I even went and spoke in front of a bunch of WADA scientists. That was completely out of the media and it wasn’t part of my punishment or my ban. I did it because I wanted to tell my story and give them insight, so that they could make the best decisions possible to protect future generations.

“I think most of the guys in my generation would have preferred if there was absolute airtight testing and no one could do those things. That would have been ideal, but it wasn’t the case. The reality was that it was very prevalent in the sport and unfortunately it was the choice that we had to make.

“Lance, for example, he didn’t invent doping. He just, quote unquote, played the game like everybody else did. I think it’s all very grey and everybody has had their own path in life and things have happened to make us who we are.

“And we all did our best. I really believe no matter what, whether you’re Pantani or Lance or Vino, everybody did the best they could. And some people have tools and abilities that others don’t and they’re better at things than others are.”

Contemplating whether his perspective on his career and achievements has shifted over the past 12 years, Leipheimer says: “When it happened I got caught up in the black or white of it, in the sense that I think I thought that I was supposed to immediately be able to make sense of it all and clearly define it all and organise it in my head.

“And it was traumatic, there’s no other word for it. It was traumatic and it took a long time. And I think now, 12 years later, I can look at it and appreciate how complicated it was and how grey it was.

“And I can feel better within myself about the fact that I did the best I could. I was in a really tough situation and I wish it wasn’t, but it was the way it was. And like I said, it’s taken me a long time to just feel good about the fact that I did the best I could in a really difficult situation.

“It’s very complicated. It’s very grey. And we should learn as much as we can from all that happened and do our best to prevent it from happening again.”

But now, Leipheimer appears focused on the future, and turning his 16-year-old event into a staple of a revived US racing calendar.

“I absolutely love the sport and I’m just trying to do my best to make it better, and to make it survive,” he says. “And it’s up to other people to make up their minds up about whether they want to accept that or not.”

Levi Leipheimer’s relationship with cycling over the years, just like the history between Sonoma County’s majestic redwoods and the area’s residents, has been a fraught and occasionally destructive one, a never-ending game of give and take.

And in the same way the environmental campaigners of his adoptive home county view generational variety as the key to recovery in the region’s forests, Leipheimer will also be hoping that very combination of new and old – which will be strikingly evident as Levi’s Gran Fondo snakes its way through Sonoma’s vineyards in April – can revitalise the stumps which currently make up the US road racing scene, enabling it to thrive again.

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