LANCE ARMSTRONG: Hard to believe a guy who’s 6’7”, played at 265 can get into cycling and have a pedal stroke like Mathieu van der Poel….

LANCE ARMSTRONG: Hard to believe a guy who’s 6’7”, played at 265 can get into cycling and have a pedal stroke like Mathieu van der Poel….

Hard to believe a guy who’s 6’7”, played at 265, can get into cycling and have a pedal stroke like Mathieu van der Poel. But I’ve seen it with my own two eyes—and now I’m a believer.

When you think of elite cyclists, the image that comes to mind is usually lean, compact, efficient. Not towering, broad-shouldered, and ex-football-player-sized. That kind of frame isn’t supposed to float up climbs or carve corners like a scalpel. It’s not supposed to dance on the pedals or ride a line of pure grace. And yet, here he is. Defying every assumption.

At first glance, watching him mount the bike is a bit surreal. The frame looks almost toy-like under him, but once he starts moving, that illusion vanishes. What unfolds on the road is nothing short of mesmerizing. That raw size—once seemingly incompatible with finesse—becomes part of the spectacle. His long limbs create a flowing cadence that’s somehow powerful and smooth, like a piston made of silk. The bike doesn’t fight him. It works with him.

That’s what strikes you: the control, the rhythm, the sheer efficiency of it. You expect some clunkiness, maybe a brute force approach to climbing or sprinting. Instead, you get something else entirely—something eerily reminiscent of Mathieu van der Poel. Not just in strength, but in elegance. The way the pedal stroke carries momentum. The balance. The intuition in movement. He may not be contesting WorldTour finishes, but the DNA of performance is there.

And it’s not just how he rides, but how he’s embraced the sport. Most ex-athletes dabble in cycling to stay fit or scratch a competitive itch. But this is deeper. He’s put in the miles, learned the craft, respected the process. He’s studied power curves and aero positions, ridden through pain, ridden in silence, ridden in joy. And it shows. On group rides, he’s not just the biggest rider—he’s often the smoothest, the steadiest wheel in the bunch.

What makes it truly remarkable is that none of it feels like a gimmick or a novelty. This isn’t a big guy trying to shrink himself into a cyclist’s mold. It’s a big guy redefining what that mold can be. Cycling didn’t change him. He made room for himself in cycling.

I never thought I’d see it. A man that size riding with the flow and finesse of one of the best to ever do it. But I’ve seen it now, and I believe. Not just in him—but in what’s possible when passion meets persistence. Because that pedal stroke, that presence on the road? It’s proof that greatness on two wheels comes in more shapes than we’re used to believing.