B8 TUESDAY, DECEMBER 1, 2020 SCORES ANALYSIS COMMENTARY
NJustin Williams is a professional
American cyclist, a celebrated national
champion and a standout for another
reason he wishes were not so: He is one
of the few Black racers in the sport.
Now, he is bent on changing that.
After setbacks and a long journey
through professional cycling, Williams
formed his own team of riders in Los An-
geles in 2019 with his younger brother
Cory. The team, called L39ION (pro-
nounced legion), has 14 riders, including
10 professionals, who race the full gamut
of events: criteriums, road, gravel and
cross.
“L39ION doesn’t force riders to con-
form to white norms,” or the expecta-
tions of what professional cyclists should
look, act, or sound like, Williams said. He
brought old rivals, former teammates
and friends together to form the Los An-
geles-based team, a roster that includes
Black, Latino, Pacific Islander and white
cyclists. “We wanted to win races while
making the sport inclusive.”
This month, L39ION announced plans
to form a squad that will compete in one
of three tiers of racing overseen by the
U.C.I., the governing body of cycling.
Williams said he aimed to bring diver-
sity to a sport in which few Black riders
have cracked through. He is leading a
new generation of racing that’s a far cry
from the long tenured traditions of the
Tour de France, circuits that have his-
torically been filled with predominantly
white, European athletes
“I’ve been fighting all my life, why
would I stop now?” said Williams, 31.
As one of the most successful riders in
the country, Williams focuses on criteri-
ums, or crits, which are short road races
often looping around a city or neighbor-
hood.
Getting to where he is today was not
easy. Williams charted a winding career
path, one in which he repeatedly refused
to conform to the mores in pro cycling.
Williams, who is from South Los Ange-
les, got his first bike when he was 13,
learning to ride from his father, Calman,
an amateur racer. Biking was one of his
few escapes from a rough neighborhood.
“I remember it being unpredictable. A
lot of gang members in the community
and kids selling drugs on the street,”
Williams said. “Other than our time rid-
ing bikes, my parents kept us inside, fo-
cused on studying. They didn’t trust us to
go out, which feels justified now. You
could easily be caught in the wrong place
and end up dead or in jail. I remember
bullet holes in our street sign. I don’t
know what I would have done without a
bike.”
Near the end of high school, Williams’s
cycling career started to take form. He
focused on road racing, eyeing iconic Eu-
ropean stage races with a dream of be-
coming the next Lance Armstrong. “But
it was different for me,” he said.
“I was isolated, didn’t have support,
and everything felt foreign,” Williams
added. “Trying to develop as a young
man and an athlete was impossible. It
was so far from how I grew up.”
The numbers are stark. Only five of the
743 riders on cycling’s elite World Tour
are Black. None of the 113 professional
riders licensed by U.S.A. Cycling are
Black. (In 2020, L39ION was not licensed
by U.S.A. Cycling.) This year, there was
one Black athlete, the French cyclist
Kévin Reza, out of 176 riders on the start
line of the Tour de France.
Williams got his start as an amateur at
local crits, and in 2006 won the Junior
Track National Championship.
Despite his promise in the closed-cir-
cuit-race scene, Williams continued to
dabble in a mix of disciplines like time tri-
als and multiday stage races. That is an
anomaly, as most riders tend to special-
ize in one event.With his race results improving,
Williams moved to Europe in 2009, fol-
lowing the template for talented, young
riders who dream of being the next great
American cyclist. But even with moder-
ate success, Williams frequently felt os-
tracized. “In Europe I was called ‘diffi-
cult,’ ” Williams said. “They called me a
charity case and stereotyped me as an
angry Black man.”
“I was written off faster than other rid-
ers and watched a lot of guys get on
teams that never won a race,” he contin-
ued. “As a Black man from the ’hood, I
was typecast before managers even got
to know me,” he continued.
Williams returned to the U.S. in 2010
after spending a year abroad, putting hiscycling ambitions on the back burner to
study graphic design at Moorpark Col-
lege near Los Angeles. He would race
again when he was ready, he figured.
When that day came in 2016, he ex-
ploded back on the scene as part of the
Cylance Pro Cycling team, winning 15
races at the highest echelon of the sport
in road races and crits.
Despite his meteoric rise, Williams
found himself frustrated with contracts
that paid a minimum wage and did not
allow for him to have any real say in his
race calender or roles within the team. “I
wanted a voice that wasn’t moderated,”
he said. Without a predictable salary, he
gambled on his own training, hoping it
would pay off in prize money. He went onto win back-to-back national champi-
onships in 2018 and 2019, a feat that few
have accomplished.
Williams says he believes the lack of
diversity in cycling, and inaction, starts
at the top, with team managers, race or-
ganizers, and cycling power brokers at
the wheel. “Not one has spoken up about
the racial justice movement because
they don’t have to,” Williams said.
With L39ION serving as a bellwether,
that may be beginning to change.
In April, St. Augustine University be-
came the first historically Black college
to add a cycling team. The EF Pro Cy-
cling team, a Colorado based team
known for their pink jerseys and sus-
tained success on the World Tour., re-
cently started two cycling programs at
H.B.C.U. and Tribal colleges and univer-
sities with support from Cannondale and
U.S.A. Cycling.
“We took a hard look in the mirror and
asked ourselves what type of role we
would play in making change,” said Den-
nis Kim, global vice president for mar-
keting at Cannondale, referring to the
wave of social action spurred by the po-
lice killing of George Floyd.
“We looked at everything from sup-
porting youth teams to feeder teams to
the World Tour, but after conversations
with EF and U.S.A. Cycling, we decided
working with H.B.C.U.s would create
more impact. It would be amazing if this
program one day created an Olympic
champion, but a better sign of success is
a graduate of the program returning to
their community and starting their own
team.”
On a similar timeline, two organiza-
tions have sprung up in the wake of so-
cial justice protests around the world.
Bike Rides for Black Lives organizes
mass rides around the country, and Ride
for Racial Justice creates access to cy-
cling resources and education.
“We want everyone to feel safe on a bi-
cycle. The fact of the matter is, that many
don’t” said Massimo Alpian, a board
member of Ride for Racial Justice.
“Change only happens if we work grass
roots with communities and top-down
with brands and local governments. To
make cycling more inclusive, we must
change social norms, offer education and
create more representation.”
The movements echo the work
Williams has led with L39ION. The team
has a partnership with Outride, a non-
profit that aims to get children on bikes
through school programs and support
young cyclists who cannot afford travel
costs or entrance fees to races around
the country.
But there is more to be done, according
to Williams. “As a kid, cycling freed me
from so many things. It connected me
with people from all walks of life and
helped me grow,” he said.
“In terms of impact, we’re not making
nearly enough, honestly. We’re not
reaching the level we want yet.”Justin Williams, above, winning the
Tulsa Tough race last year for his
L39ION team of Black, Latino, Pa-
cific Islander and white cyclists. He
said that in Europe, he was ster-
eotyped as an “angry Black man.”DANNY MUNSONJOHN W. RUTLANDOn a Worthy Course,
Unbowed by Bumps
Williams in 2005 being treated by his father. Williams and his brother Cory, left, formed L39ION last year.STEPHEN OSMAN/LOS ANGELES TIMES, VIA GETTY IMAGESJustin Williams, a champion, hopes to open doors
largely closed to him and other Black cyclists.
By ANDY COCHRANE