Bjarne Riis, The ‘Eagle of Herning.’ The man who, for a brief moment in 1996, soared higher than anyone else in the sport of cycling. A Tour de France winner. A ruthless competitor. A man who was, at times, as cold and calculating as the Danish winter that shaped him. And, of course, a man who later confessed to doping during his career, stripping away the veneer of his greatest triumph. His autobiography, “Riis: Stages of Light and Dark“, isn’t just another ghostwritten puff piece designed to burnish a legacy or gloss over uncomfortable truths.
No, this is a book that gets down into the grime of professional cycling in the 1990s, when EPO was as common as energy gels and the peloton was split between those who took the plunge and those who got left behind. Riis doesn’t try to be a hero. He doesn’t even ask for forgiveness. He just lays it all out there, a mix of brutal honesty, detached pragmatism, and the occasional flicker of regret.
The Making of a Champion
Riis was never the most gifted. He didn’t have the raw, explosive power of a Hinault, the metronomic precision of an Indurain, or the swashbuckling bravado of a Pantani. What he had was an almost monastic dedication to suffering and a relentless, analytical approach to improvement.
He takes us through his early years in Herning, Denmark, where his obsession with the sport began. A skinny kid with glasses, pedalling furiously through the wind-swept roads of Jutland, dreaming of something bigger.
It was a long, hard road from those modest beginnings to standing on the Champs-Élysées in yellow, and he makes sure we understand every painful, grinding step along the way.
His early professional years were spent in the shadows, domestique duty for bigger names, absorbing everything he could, learning the art of patience. But it wasn’t enough. He could see the men around him making ‘gains’ that couldn’t be explained by training alone.
And so, like so many others of his era, he made a choice.
The Dark Side
Riis doesn’t dress it up. He doped. Systematically. EPO, cortisone, growth hormone—you name it. He details it all with the same matter-of-fact tone he used when dismantling the field on Hautacam in 1996.
No drama, no moral grandstanding. Just the reality of the sport at the time.
He explains how he made the leap from a good rider to a Tour de France contender: it wasn’t a miracle training regime, it wasn’t a new diet, it was a needle in the arm. And yet, even in this admission, there’s no sense of pride or even deep shame. Just an acknowledgment that this was the world he inhabited, and he did what he had to do to compete.
One of the most chilling aspects of the book is how methodical Riis was in his approach. He wasn’t reckless or desperate—he was coldly efficient.
He studied his body like a scientist, fine-tuning dosages, monitoring every possible variable. If cycling hadn’t worked out, you get the sense he’d have been just as successful as a CEO or a military strategist.
1996: The Year of the Eagle
When he finally breaks down his Tour de France victory, it’s with the same analytical detachment. He knew 1996 was his year. He knew he had the power, the endurance, the strategy. And yes, he knew he had the best preparation.
Hautacam is the defining moment. A ride of such brutal dominance that even now, all these years later, it still looks unnatural. The way he danced on the pedals, dropped Indurain like a stone, then toyed with the remnants of the lead group before riding off into the mist—it was like something out of a different sport. We all know why now, of course. And so does he.
What’s fascinating is the way he describes that stage: not as a moment of triumph, but almost as an inevitability. He had trained for it. He had visualized it. He had made sure every single aspect of his preparation was better than his rivals.
And so when the time came, he simply executed the plan.
The Aftermath
Cycling is a cruel sport. One minute you’re the king, the next you’re just another name in the history books. By the late ’90s, Riis was already fading.
The emergence of a brash young Texan named Lance Armstrong signalled the dawn of a new, even murkier era. Riis retired quietly, but his story wasn’t over.
His second act as a team manager is just as compelling as his racing career. He took a ragtag CSC squad and turned them into one of the most dominant teams of the early 2000s. Under his guidance, riders like Tyler Hamilton, Carlos Sastre, and the Schleck brothers became Grand Tour contenders. He was a master motivator, pushing his riders to their absolute limits.
But the shadows of the past never quite disappeared. When he finally admitted to doping in 2007, it wasn’t a tearful confession. It was as clinical as everything else in his life.
He expected backlash, and he got it. But he also knew the truth: he was far from the only one.
The Verdict
“Riis: Stages of Light and Dark” is a brutally honest, occasionally unsettling, but always fascinating look into the mind of one of cycling’s most enigmatic figures. He doesn’t ask for sympathy, nor does he try to paint himself as a victim. He simply tells his story, and lets the reader decide what to make of it.
If you’re looking for redemption arcs or Hollywood-style happy endings, this isn’t the book for you. But if you want a raw, unfiltered look at what it really took to win in the ’90s, and the cost that came with it, then this is essential reading.
Because Bjarne Riis was never a fairytale hero. He was a man who did whatever it took to win—and he lives with the consequences.
* * *
“Riis – Stages of Light and Dark” by Bjarne Riis
- Publisher : Vision Sports (14 May. 2012)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 352 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1907637516
- ISBN-13 : 978-1907637513
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