Rough Ride (10 page)

I couldn't believe it. I entered our room at the hotel and
he was there, already showered and dressed in ordinary clothes. I walked over
to him, put my hand on his shoulder and said, 'Shit'. I couldn't think of
any other word to console him. I showered and slipped out of the room for
a cup of tea and to give him time to think by himself. I went for massage
and then returned to the room, and we watched the TV highlights of the stage
as on any other night. But this time we watched in silence. I realised now
just how upset he was. He just sat there in the same position with a sad,
empty expression on his face. I rose and suggested we go down to dinner, but
he didn't follow. Half-way through the meal I mentioned to the lads that Jean-Louis
was very upset. Claveyrolat, who had been on the same team at La Redoute,
left the table to bring him down. Half an hour later he returned alone. Gauthier
had told Claveyrolat that he was ashamed, that he couldn't bear to eat with
the team. He didn't eat tonight. He must be starving, for his last meal was
at nine thirty this morning and he had raced 150 kilometres before climbing
off. Before sleeping he said only three words, 'Bonne nuit, Paul.'

Wednesday, 16 July
Stage 13: Pau to Luchon (186 kilometres)
Stage winner: Greg LeMond (USA)
Race leader: Bernard Hinault

Jean-Louis woke early and I heard him sneak down for breakfast. When I eventually dragged myself out of bed he was back in the room and had his bags packed. He gave me a few vitamin tablets he said he would no longer be needing and then we shook hands and said goodbye. I felt we were close friends. Here was a guy who had ridden seven Tours and finished them all. But all that seemed to be no consolation to him now. Before coming into the race I was 100 per cent determined to finish. Thinking of Gauthier I feel almost ashamed of myself. My 100 per cent determination is not nearly enough.

Today was desperately hard again. I felt dead at the bottom
of the first col, the Tourmalet, and was instantly left behind. But after
three kilometres of struggling I suddenly felt the strength to pedal faster
and I upped the pace. I caught a group, left them behind and caught another.
I couldn't believe it when I saw Stephen in a group of stragglers. He was
suffering really badly and I felt desperately sorry for him. Damn it, I was
getting used to being left behind on the big climbs but this was a new experience
for him. I threw my arm around him and tried to console him. I should have
waited with him, but I felt a new thrust of power and I wanted to see just
how far it could carry me. I went across to the next group and rode really
strongly up the rest of the Tourmalet. I got a bit of a fright on the descent.
I was going too fast as I entered a long, sweeping bend in a sort of half
tunnel. I bounced off the wall but incredibly managed to stay up. I rode hard
in the valley that brought us to the bottom of the second col, the Aspin.
I climbed this with the same vigour as I had climbed Tourmalet but it was
on the third climb, Peyresourde, that I started running out of steam. The
final two kilometres were never-ending and I crawled over the top. Stephen's
group caught me as we were about to start the last climb, the thirteen-kilometre
rise to the ski station, Super-bagnères, with the stage finishing at
the top. This time Stephen was encouraging me and I realised I had made a
big mistake. It would have been much wiser to have stayed with Stephen's group
on the Tourmalet, but instead I had set off like an idiot on the glory trail
and burnt off the small reserves my body still possessed. Superbagnères
was Calvary, but I made it. Tonight we are staying in an old school dormitory.
It's an awful kip, but I'm so tired I don't mind where I sleep.

Thursday, 17 July
Stage 14: Luchon to Blagnac (154 kilometres)
Stage winner: Niki Ruttiman (Switzerland)
Race leader: Bernard Hinault

Today I realised just how tired I am. Some idiot attacked just before the feeding
station and there was chaos. I grabbed my feeding bag and threw it over my
back. The attack split the bunch into one long line and I was the last man
and too occupied to transfer the food from the bag to my jersey pockets. Thevenet
drove up beside me and told me to move quickly to the front. I pulled out
and started making my way up the line. I passed five guys when all of a sudden
I realised I hadn't got the strength to go any further and I started slipping
back, only to end up back where I had started from. The five guys I passed
started laughing when they saw me going backwards, and I couldn't blame them.
The chase lasted over twenty-five kilometres, and it was half an hour before
I could empty my musette and we all settled down. I'm looking forward to the
rest day, but it's another four hard stages away.

Friday, 18 July
Stage 15: Carcassonne to Nîmes (225.5 kilometres)
Stage winner. Frank Hoste (Belgium)
Race leader: Bernard Hinault

It's dreadfully hot tonight. My body is sweating all the time and I know I
won't sleep too well. After dinner I went out for an ice-cream with Clavet,
Castaing and Dede. We had to sneak out of the hotel, as Thevenet doesn't take
too kindly to us eating ice-cream. It was good fun, but irritating to watch
the holiday-makers enjoying themselves in the bars and cafes of this bright,
ancient Roman town. How many times have we cycled by lake-shores, crammed
with people enjoying themselves? Or been applauded by sunbathers in scanty
bathing costumes? Is it worth it?

Saturday, 19 July
Stage 16: Nîmes to Gap (246.5 kilometres)
Stage winner: Jean-François Bernard (France)
Race leader: Bernard Hinault

Today we arrived in the Alps and tomorrow is the first Alpine stage. The air
is cooler and cleaner here than the hot and sticky stuff in Nîmes. Castaing's
face is all bloated. I am not sure what it is, but perhaps he has been dabbling
with cortisone and got his doses wrong? The other lads are giving him a hard
time about it. Phoned my parents in Dublin. Da was out, so I talked to my
mother. She says my father has bought a plane ticket for Paris and is coming
over to the finish. This made me angry. He should know better than to presume
I will finish this race. At the moment I am not sure of anything. I take it
day by day. I've been surviving ever since the time trial at Nantes. Getting
to Paris is all Thevenet expects of me, but I'm not sure if I can.

Sunday, 20 July
Stage 17: Gap to Col du Granon (190 kilometres)
Stage winner: Eduardo Chozas (Spain)
Race leader: Greg LeMond

This was to have been my stage. The one I trained specially for. What a joke. What a cruel joke. At least I know now that I'm not a climber and never will be. A strange thing happened at the finish. I crossed the line and Thevenet was waiting for me. He put his arm around me and told me I had made it, I was inside the time limit. And for a few seconds I was disappointed. I was so exhausted, so knackered that I would gladly have accepted being eliminated. Elimination would end the nightmare of getting up each day to face another six hours of this bloody, endless torture. Today was easily the hardest day of my life. I was in trouble from the start, on an insignificant little third-category climb which was nothing compared to the three giants, Vars, Izoard and Granon, which awaited us.

I tried to get myself together for Vars. I talked to Stephen just before it and he told me to start the climb at the front of the bunch. I followed him and attacked the first hairpins in the best possible position. Then the pressure went on, not a big attack, just an increase in pressure. I felt for the gear lever, pushing it downwards, trying to make things easier. But I was going backwards. I tried to hold on, but it was no use. I looked for the top of the mountain and the lines of spectators showed me exactly how far I had to go. 'Christ, I'm not sure I can make it.' I kept slipping backwards and all the time one minor detail was troubling my brain. Of the three giants Vars was the easiest.

But curiously I felt much better on Izoard. I was in a big
group of twenty-five riders and I could have left them behind on the fifteen-kilometre
monster. But I remembered the Tourmalet and decided to stay with them until
the bottom of the Granon. We descended into Briançon and then rode out
to the bottom of the last mountain. The Granon was desperately steep. Out
training I had sailed up it but now I was dying. The training reconnaissance
was now a big disadvantage, for I knew exactly how hard it was. I said to
myself, 'I can't make this.' The good sensations I had had on the Izoard had
now disappeared, and I slipped to last in the group. Our second team car was
behind me. At the bottom of the climb they had stopped to pick up a fellow
called Robert, who works with RMO in Grenoble. He was standing on the front
seat shouting at me through the sun roof. Three of the twelve kilometres had
passed, I was dying. Spectators started to push me. Robert, who knew nothing
about cycling shouted at the people not to push me. It is illegal to take
a push and Robert thought he was doing the right thing. I turned around to
face him in a rage. I said, 'Robert, for fuck's sake, let them push me.' He
was stunned, then realised his error and started shouting at the people to
push me. I was pushed all the way up the climb but the last kilometre was
still hell. My two hands on the tops of the handlebars, my head had dropped
between my arms and I could hardly lift it to seek out the line. When I crossed
the line, Thevenet was waiting. 'You made it Paul, a couple of minutes inside
the limit.' 'Fuck.' I was sorry I had made it. Tomorrow I must start all over
again.

Monday, 21 July
Stage 18: Briançon to L'AIpe D'Huez (162.5 kilometres)
Stage winner: Bernard Hinault
Race leader: Greg LeMond

Emile gave it to me before the start. A caffeine tablet. He told me to take it immediately the stage started at the bottom of the highest climb of the race, the Col de Galibier. Normally I would have thrown it away, but this time I put it in my pocket. Some bastard attacked as soon as we left the town, and I had absolutely nothing in my legs and was instantly dropped. I panicked and reached for the tablet in my pocket hoping for some miracle; but nothing happened. I wanted to stop. I wanted to get off the bike and kiss the road and sit down and weep my tears of defeat, but I remembered Stephen's words, spoken to me before the start: 'Whatever happens, finish. If you are eliminated there is no shame – but don't abandon.' So I pedalled on.

I started feeling better after the Galibier. Was it the caffeine? I don't know. I just know I was going better. I caught the French rider Bruno Cornillet in the valley before the day's second climb, 'Croix de Fer'. At the start of the race Cornillet had worn the white jersey of the best Tour
debutant.
Now, like me, he was on his last legs. Although I had never spoken a word to him in my life, it turned out he knew my name. It was 'Paul this, and Paul that'. All because he wanted me to ride with him, he didn't want to be left on his own. I knew how lousy it was to be left alone and so I decided to stay with him. There was a small third-category climb just before Croix de Fer. I was going much better than him and began to pull away. He was desperate and started begging me to stay, saying that there was a long valley up ahead and that it would be better if we stayed together. I knew there was no such valley and that he was lying, but I understood why, so I waited. On Croix de Fer he was crawling, totally wasted. Every time I turned the pedals I pulled away from him. A spectator at the side of the road shouted that we were twenty-five minutes behind the leaders, Hinault and LeMond. I realised it would be touch and go for the time limit.

I looked at Bruno, he had raced a good race for sixteen days
but was now reduced to this – a crawling, begging shadow. I was surprised
he didn't abandon and let me get on with it. My look said I had to go, and
he understood. 'Allez Paul,' he said and I left him. I rode as hard as I could
till the finish at Alpe D'Huez. I had a fierce urge to piss on the descent
of the Croix, but I knew that every second was now precious if I was to beat
the time limit so I pissed off the bike at sixty kilometres an hour. I arrived
at the Alpe just three minutes inside the time limit. Cornillet arrived fourteen
minutes behind me. He was eliminated.

Tuesday, 22 July
Rest day: L'AIpe D'Huez

I feel so pleased I have made it this far. It feels wonderful still to be part of the race. Rode for an hour this morning to stop the legs getting stiff. The afternoon was spent hand-washing my gear for I have no more clean shorts or jerseys. Had a good chat with Martin. He told me he was knackered at the bottom of the Alpe yesterday when this large German
fraulein
came to his rescue. She grabbed him and started pushing him up the mountain. She had huge breasts, which swung freely as she ran. But she was crouched over Martin and her left breast kept hitting him in the face. 'Schnell, schnell!' she cried, and Martin kept encouraging her. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Only five more stages to go. I must hang on.

Wednesday, 23 July
Stage 19: Villard de Lans to St Etienne (179.5 kilometres)
Stage winner: Julian Gorospe (Spain)
Race leader: Greg LeMond

Thank God, Hinault controlled things today. He went to the front of the bunch
and no one dared attack. The rest day hasn't done me much good. I felt desperately
tired. Was left behind when the pressure went on with thirty kilometres to
go, but finished in a big group.

Thursday, 24 July
Stage 20: St Etienne to St Etienne (58 kilometres TT)
Stage winner: Bernard Hinault
Race leader: Greg LeMond

I paced myself well over the thirty-five kilometres, hurting but not flogging
myself. Today was almost a second rest day. Only three more stages. If I get
over tomorrow's mountain stage to the Puy de Dome I should make it to Paris.

Friday, 25 July
Stage 21: St Etienne to Le Puy de Dome (190 kilometres)
Stage winner: Eric Maechler (Switzerland)
Race leader: Greg LeMond