His past offers a key to his riding. Landis was one of six kids in a strict Mennonite household that banned modern influences such as TV and short pants. Bikes, however, were allowed. With close friend Eric Gebhard, he began riding at age 15 to reach their favorite fishing spots. Soon, riding became more fun than fishing. "We liked the competition, " Gebhard remembers. “But it was something more for Floyd It was an escape.”</p>
<p>It was also a dream. What Landis really wanted to do was race. “I read all sorts of training books, but I didnt really know what I was doing,” he says. “The main thing I got from reading is that pros ride 500 miles a week, so I said, Ill do that.” Busy with chores and a job at the local grocery store that didnt end until 9 p.m., he piled up mileage at night, riding until 2 or 3 a.m. “It was the only time I could ride without anyone saying anything,” he says.</p>
<p>Lancaster County wasnt exactly an anonymous place for a boy named Floyd Landis; the phone book has 147 listings under “Landis”, double the number of “Smiths.” At the grocery store, he once met another Floyd Landis. Racing could be his ticket to a land that wasnt filled with Landises.
In 1993, he raced to an astounding win at junior nationals over defending world champion Jeff Osguthorpe. A stunned Landis was given a plane ticket to France for the world championships. The bike had, finally, taken him farther than he could ride it.</p>
<p>"It was my first time in an airportmy first time out of the country, " he says. “I was trying to be as professional as possible, and the other kids were out drinking until two in the morning. I was stressed, and the race went horribly.”</p>
<p>He returned home and didnt ride for a month. Then one day he told his mother that he was moving to California to be a bike racer. The Landises had supported Floyds racing, even encouraged it. But they couldnt understand why he chose California. For Landis, the reason was clear: “San Diego was as far way from Pennsylvania as I could get and still be in the United States. I could start over.”</p>
<p>He spent four years racing the mountain bike circuit on small teams with no paychecks, married and had a daughter. Broke, he entered a 75-mile road race on a blistering, 95-degree April day. Seething over being relegated to the amateur field, Landis dashed off the front from the gun, chasing the pro pack that had been released 15 minutes earlier. Arnie Baker, a well-known cycling coach, recalls, “Were riding along pretty good and I look over and theres Floyd, head down, passing us in the dirt on the side of the road.” Landis won the amateur race by 45 minutes.</p>
<p>Baker wasnt the only expert who noticed. That season, Team Mercury signed Landis to a $600-a-month road-racing contract. After Mercury disbanded in 2001, USPS called.
He stays in four-star hotels now, keeps an apartment in Spain, owns a brand-new, 2,500-square foot home in Murrieta, California (though he travels so much he cant remember the address), and thanks to the bike, hes entered a world that a 17-year old kid with a frost-rimmed mouth could only imagine: his own private Landisville.