That’s cheating.

Correct.

So when does doping begin exactly?

Precisely.

And where does medical care end?

Exactly. Just before the infamous 1998 Tour – where brilliant riding was utterly overshadowed by the drugs scandal cum witch-hunt despite not one rider testing positive – well, another team approached me. The directeur made it very clear that I was to maximize the riders’ performances under stringent medical control.

What did that mean between the lines?

It meant that doping was part of team policy expressly to prevent the riders obtaining drugs for themselves and threatening their health in doing so.

You didn’t take the job, then.

God, no. I’m a conventional gentleman doctor and I’m also a romantic when it comes to sport – I like to admire supreme muscle tone without suspicion as to its provenance, to marvel at consummate athletic triumph without wondering if it’s synthetically enhanced.

Haven’t drugs always been synonymous with cycling?

In the 1930s, it was tiny doses of strychnine, soon enough and for a long time, amphetamines. Now EPO, human growth hormone. There’s PFC – a chemical relative of fucking Teflon. Oh, and the charming Belgian Pot.

Belgian Pot – surely a laid-back stoned cyclist is a contradiction in terms?

I’m not talking marijuana but a delightful combination of up to ten drugs – amphetamines, cocaine, heroin, analgesics, nasal or bronchial dilators, corticoids, morphine. Very pleasant.

Tell me that Belgian Pot isn’t rife?

It isn’t. But it’s there. Think of the pressures on a rider – not just the physical duress of three weeks, two mountain ranges and 4,000 k sandwiched between the equally taxing Giro D’Italia and the Vuelta Español. Consider the pressures of riding for a team sponsor on a short contract. Ride better, ride faster, reap glory. The pursuit of success can be just as addictive as substances.

But their health – are the riders stupid?

Not stupid. But consider, on the one hand, how many come from small, rural, simple backgrounds. They join a team. They ride for all they’re worth, their bodies are ravaged, their spirits are exhausted. The directeur, the doctor, the soigneur say, ‘Take this, it’s recuperative, it will help, it will do you good.’ Why wouldn’t they? These are the rider’s mentors, their father figures. They trust them and they depend on them.

And on the other hand?

Some riders proclaim themselves victims duped into dope but these are the same shrewd guys who ruthlessly negotiate huge contracts.

And you, Ben?

‘Trust me, I’m a doctor’ can be the most dangerous words in pro cycling and that frustrates and depresses me. Personally, I believe my duty as a doctor is ethical as much as medical. My obligation to my vocation, my employer and my riders is to ensure that my charges suffer as little and recover as quickly as possible. I study each man intensively and I administer a range of substances – nutritional, hormonal, anabolic – to maintain optimal balance. My scientific background enables me to do this – what the fuck and why the fuck would a rider know anything about how much beta-hydroxy beta-methyl butyrate and how often?