During his thirteen years as a professional cyclist, Greg LeMond never used performance-enhancing drugs or artificial hormones or transfused blood, nor was he ever accused of doing so, and yet in a sense his legend has become the greatest casualty of doping’s encroachment into the sport. LeMond—who retired in 1994 and who has to be bored selling frames with his name on the down tube—is acutely conscious of his withering legacy. He knows that his “clean” achievements, which once appeared superhuman, now look mortal.

And perhaps as a consequence, LeMond has established himself as the go-to whistleblower whenever a new doping scandal crops up. He is perfect for the job, admittedly. When he rode in the peloton, he often behaved like cycling’s spoilsport, pointing out the cheaters and the dopers to racing authorities and the velo press—who, to his frustration, were generally unsympathetic.

So when American racer Floyd Landis tested positive last July for spiked testosterone levels just four days after winning the Tour de France, it was entirely predictable that LeMond would emerge from the woodwork and give television interviews encouraging the accused to come clean for the good of the sport. What was somewhat less predictable, though, was LeMond’s testimony on behalf of the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency at Landis’s arbitration hearing several weeks ago.

The purpose of LeMond’s May 17 appearance, everyone assumed, was to reiterate his insider opinions about cycling’s doping problem—even if they were hardly news to anyone who follows the sport. But instead, under oath, LeMond stated the following: That in order to prevent his appearance, Landis’s manager had called him the day before and threatened to reveal that an uncle molested LeMond when he was six years old. (For an excellent account of the hearing and how blackmail entered the picture, see VeloNews. LeMond explained that he had confided this information to Landis last August by telephone. He had wanted to persuade Landis that keeping a dark secret would inevitably eat away at him. “This will come back to haunt you when you are 40 or 50 . . . this will destroy you,” he said, recounting their conversation. LeMond, now 45, must have known what he was talking about. This was the first time he had publicly spoken about his sexual abuse.