Back in the day, we used to joke that OLN was the Only Lance Network. The outfit calls itself Versus now, but the Only Lance Network remains as a multimedia collection of web sites, newspapers and wire services for whom bicycle racing means All Lance, All the Time.

The latest from the OLN is Armstrong’s out-of-competition encounter with a French drug tester — who, according to John Leicester of The Associated Press, is “a man with 15 years of testing experience who teaches other would-be testers about the job and who has worked at the Tour, the Rugby World Cup and the athletics world championships. …”

At issue is a 20-minute shower Armstrong took between encountering the drug tester and the actual tests themselves. He and his people say it was a question of taking time to verify the tester’s bona fides; the French say it was a violation of the International Standard for Testing, which requires an athlete notified of his or her obligation to provide a sample to “(r)emain within direct observation of the DCO/Chaperone at all times from the point of notification by the DCO/Chaperone until the completion of the Sample collection procedure. …”

It all sounds very mundane and annoying until you remember that cycling is home to more dopers than was Haight-Ashbury during the Summer of Love. Take your eye off ’em for a second and they will be up to their bug-spattered Oakleys in human growth hormone, EPO and other people’s blood, frantically trying to cover their tracks like a diarrhetic cat in a litter box full of pot belge. Some jaded sorts, upon hearing on Fox News that Armstrong got busted doing belly shots of Floyd Landis’ Black Jack off Tyler Hamilton’s chimera, might wonder aloud, “Innie or outie?” Not me, of course. But as HST once noted, the world is full of slander.

Nevertheless, Armstrong is predictably outraged, as are his fans, most of whom probably aren’t subject to drug screening as a condition of employment — unless, say, they’re a maintenance worker at a tourist attraction in Bibleburg, a UPS truck driver or a copy editor for The Los Angeles Times. I know this last because I got an interview and a tryout there back in the Eighties, when the LAT was not yet an embarrassment to journalism and Peruvian marching powder was all the rage. I was understandably nervous; after all, you never know where those French fellas are gonna turn up.

But c’mon. What we have here, as a colleague noted wryly, is a pissing match, pure and simple. Armstrong takes a squirt at the French, the French reply in kind, and the rest of us get to sit back and watch, hoping we don’t get splashed.

The scary thing is, it’s more interesting than Le Tour has been for the past few years. Quel dommage!

Late update: Comments seem to have turned themselves off somehow, but only on certain posts. Weird. I think I’ve successfully re-enabled them, but should you find yourself on the wrong side of the moat, staring at a raised drawbridge, drop me a line.

Just when you thought it was safe to go back on the sidewalk, Segway and GM team up for a two-wheeled version of that silly-ass scooter, dubbed PUMA, short for “Personal Urban Mobility and Accessibility.” Huh. I thought that was why God gave us feet. You can even strap a pair of Pumas onto ’em, if you’re so inclined. And they won’t cost you one-sixth of what a car costs today, which is as close as Segway chief Jim Norrod would come to discussing a price point with the Detroit Free Press.

The spin is even worse this time around, and provides some additional insight regarding why GM is circling the bowl. “Think Facebook on wheels,” chirps GM vice president of research Larry Burns. That may be the single dumbest thing I’ve heard this week. But it’s only Wednesday.

C’mon. You want a $6,000 golf cart, buy one. You can score a 2009 Yamaha Drive right now for less than that and spend the savings on Scotch at the 19th hole. Leave GM’s nitwits to spiraling down the loo while shrieking nonsense like, “If you want to be in the business of selling a mobility machine, you better have one that works in cities!”

Plenty of folks beat you to that little niche a long time ago, Larry. They’re called “bicycle retailers.”

Late update: A correspondent notes that Chrysler — yes, Chrysler — has offered electric autos for the better part of quite some time, as in since gas was cheap. They’re available at dealerships nationwide as we speak — even here in Bibleburg.

Yesterday was death. Buried head-down in the VeloNews.com barrel, which was full of fish heads, dead cats and used Pampers.

Today was another sort of day altogether, as in a day off, mostly. Banged out a ‘toon for VeloNews the magazine, then went for a rare mountain-bike ride, in Palmer Park. Rode a few sections that ordinarily baffle me, too. Maybe it was the allergy meds. Maybe it was the weather, mid-60s and sunny. Nah, probably the dope.

Upon returning home, I flung open the windows, took the cats out for an airing, watered the lawn, fired up the ’83 Toyota for a quick spin to charge the battery and otherwise loosen up its elderly joints, and then cracked a Mirror Pond Pale Ale in honor of the day the beer flowed again. Thanks and a hoist of the Mad Dog stein to The Gnome and DrunkCyclist for the link.