Wynne Gray: Recycled heroes have lessons to teach

As kids, whenever we complained about the 13km daily round trip cycling to school, the old man would deliver some perspective with tales about his long-distance bike trip home during one holiday.

He used the bulk of the day to travel 130km, which included negotiating the shingle surface of the Razorback Rd over the Bombay Hills, on a heavy bike without the advantage of a comfortable seat or the luxury of gears.

That memory returned as the Tour de France pedalled into the mountains at the end of the first week of the event. It was time to have a gander at these lean men with pistons in their limbs who, daily, carve out stages twice the distance my old man pedalled.

My knowledge of cycling could fit easily on to a postage stamp, but the sport does have a strange allure. Forget, if you can, the despicable drug culture which remains a stain on the sport and that notoriety which hovers around the records and is linked to the names of those who have pedalled through the tour since it began.

Lance Armstrong is the name on everyone's curiosity list this year, back in the saddle several years after apparently retiring with his seventh successive Tour de France title.

We are all fascinated to see how Armstrong fares. Seeing him return in such powerful form, is a bit like watching Greg Norman last year at the British Open when somehow he stayed near the championship lead despite his lack of intense tournament play.

Norman had a new bride then, Wimbledon great Chris Evert, and almost added a third Open title before he faded in the difficult conditions. The victory might have been the greatest of his career. Same with Armstrong as he works through his comeback.

The man born Lance Edward Gunderson is an agnostic cancer-surviving father of four ( after his new girlfriend gave birth last month) whose cycling deeds have enthralled or repulsed observers, depending on their views about his "clean" system.

Whatever your view, Armstrong is in the Tour de France's hall of greats with others such as Eddy Merckx, Miguel Indurain, Jacques Antequil and Bernard Hinault.

After his layoff, Armstrong is apparently involved in a scrap with his team leader Alberto Contador about company orders and finishing positions. The commentators are fascinated with this protocol as the jockeys on speed machines whizz round hairpins, switchbacks and up and down inclines.

At least we see most of the action though we did not get to hear the intriguing commentaries from Phil Ligget and Paul Sherwen as the peloton raced up and out of Andorra. Some other geezer in a van at the finish line delivered the commentaries.

The cyclists are wired up to team officials who monitor the broadcast and deliver instructions. That part, like the sideline gophers who have become fashionable at rugby and league matches, is way too artificial.

It has removed the intrigue of chance, daring, intuition and seat-of-the-pants judgment which must have formed so much of the intrigue before the all-seeing eye of television and invasive communication.

Sure the cyclists still have to perform and they are remarkable athletes. But they are now told when to make their move or when to hold the main group back. No one wanted to help Aussie cyclist Cadel Evans even though he was something like three minutes behind the leader. Go figure.

It was a bit like trying to work out what was going through Kevin Pietersen's mind as he batted in England's first innings of the Ashes series in Cardiff.

After England's top order wilted, Pietersen and Collingwood dug in. Pietersen shelved ideas about any extravagant shotmaking as his technique matched his more traditional haircolour rather than the racoon-stripe he used to wear.

Then having done all the hard work, he had a brain fade. Modest spinner Nathan Hauritz delivered another innocuous delivery well outside off and for reasons only known to Pietersen, his shrink and perhaps the England coach by now, he tried to paddle it round the corner.

It was a nothing shot, at best it might have earned a brace of runs. Instead he dollied a catch, clipping his helmet on the way to short-leg and wandered off probably muttering some new jingle about "using your Brains" which is also the local beverage.

Pietersen has talent to match his imposing height. He is unorthodox, he is exciting, he is someone you would want to go and bat. If he could marry some of Armstrong's application to his game, England might have avoided much of their latest cricketing anxiety.