Motor doping: the scandal that could kill cycling

In the 30 degree bedlam of a Giro d’Italia finish line, crammed with sweating bike riders, harassed team staff, aggressive TV crews, and VIP guests, Nick Raudenski, cycling’s head of the fight against techno­logical fraud, is tagging the bikes he plans to take to a nearby tent to screen for hidden motors.

Raudenski, a former US homeland security investigator, has to work fast if he and his team want to catch any of the Giro’s riders “motor doping” in this year’s race.

The chaperoned bikes and ­riders are led a few yards away, the bikes quickly scanned by handheld X-ray machines, and then, if deemed ­normal, released back to them.

Things have been deemed ­normal for quite a while now. It is nearly a decade since the first – and so far only – rider was caught, Belgian Femke van den Driessche, who was banned for using an e-bike at the 2016 World Cyclocross Championships.

Yet the persistent rumours that hidden motors have been used to win the biggest races in cycling won’t go away. Tales are rife of strange sounds ­emanating from bikes during races and of frantic mid-race bike swaps.

Most insiders believe a motor ­doping ­scandal involving a Tour de France winner could be fatal for cycling. David Lappartient, the president of the sport’s governing body, the UCI, said: “If we have a case of cheating with a motor in the bike – sorry, but it will destroy our sport.”

The Frenchman is probably right. The yellow jersey using an e-bike to win a race which has built its brand on suffering, sacrifice and camaraderie? It would be the ultimate betrayal, far worse than any “conventional” doping strategy employed by the likes of Lance Armstrong.

The rumours have in part been fuelled by the claims of an ­infamous inventor, Stefano Varjas, who has claimed he got “big money” for a hidden motor as long ago as 1998.

There have been allegations too that motors were used in the Tour de France, particularly in 2015, when Jean-Pierre Verdy, a former testing director for the French anti-doping agency, claimed that a dozen riders were using motors.

In the past decade or so, extra­ordinary performances from the likes of Tadej Pogačar, Chris Froome, Alberto Contador and Fabian Cancellara have fuelled conspiracy theorists. They have all consistently denied any wrongdoing.

Raudenski’s appointment in 2024, with a CV in high-level criminal investigation, represents a quantum leap in the seriousness of the UCI’s efforts. He says he is being treated respectfully by teams and riders but he knows, too, that they are on alert.

“We have to look at different ways that somebody would employ a cheating method,” the American said, “whether it’s to gap a rival, to conserve energy, for a domestique to motor-pace up a climb. I have been trying to expand our view of how this could potentially happen.”

At the moment, detection is heavily reliant on iPads spotting any “spikes” – disruptions in magnetic fields caused by a motor or battery hidden in the frame – when scanning bikes at each start, followed by the hand-held X-ray process at the finish.

But he says other less-static ­methods, such as in-race monitoring, could soon be in play. “I’m moving towards a targeted approach, based on what makes sense in the race. Is somebody really good one day and not so good the next day?”

The riders are not informed in advance of the post-race checks, and are told only after they finish.

“Everybody that gets selected for doping control, their bikes automatically get checked,“ Raudenski said.

”If we do specific targeting that’s not doping control, we notify them, as we tag the bikes, that their bike was selected for a ­targeted tech fraud control.”

Raudenski admits that just because a bike that crosses the finish line breezes through the tech fraud tests, it does not automatically mean a motor was not used by that rider ­during the race. “There are bike changes, wheel changes, riders change bikes before a climb, if they have a mechanical fault, and then finish on a different bike.”

In short, Raudenski and his team need eyes everywhere. “Our ­programme is continuing to evolve, and we are ­considering how people would try to get away with it,” he said.

Last June, much was made of Lappartient announcing that the UCI would offer cash rewards for ­information on motor ­doping.

Raudenski will not expand on how successful this has been, or if any rewards have been paid. “The rewards programme is set up to get information we wouldn’t be able to get in any other way,” he said. “I want to avoid the view that it’s transactional.

“We want robust and credible information that’s not in any way compromised. We want people who have an interest in doing the right thing. We have to move towards a ­culture of integrity.”

There is no doubt the UCI’s tech fraud team are up against it. Multiple riders using multiple bikes and making multiple wheel changes, throughout races, make it almost impossible to track any potential sleight of hand with the resources currently available. Raudenski and his team are ­looking for a needle in a haystack.

While the UCI technicians have their scanners, they are also increasingly reliant on intelligence, whistleblowing, the police and the media to highlight potential fraud.

Past doping scandals, in which whistleblowers, the media and the police have often played a part, have revolved around issues of public and athlete health. But cheating with ­hidden technologies is purely an ­ethical issue.

Motor doping may fake the sport’s basic principles, but unlike the use of blood transfusions or ­carbon ­monoxide rebreathing, there is no risk to athlete health.

However, Raudenski may also be aided by the widespread distaste within the peloton for any riders ­winning races using hidden motors.

Doping, after all, is one thing, but even if you have had a blood transfusion, have microdosed EPO and “leaned down” on corticosteroids, you still have to turn the pedals and sweat.