Rough Ride (13 page)

'I hope you are going to stay with us next year.'

He was offering me a contract. I was surprised and delighted.

'Bah oui, j'espère (I hope so).'

'Good. Think about your salary and come back to me next week with a figure. If you wish, you can sign on for two years.'

I was thrilled. A new contract. Lots of good amateurs turn professional but half of them never last longer then the duration of their first contract. The first contract is an apprenticeship. The second one is a confirmation of qualification. I had been offered a second contract: I was a qualified pro.

The day after the finish of the Dauphine, I left for the Tour of Luxembourg. I didn't want to go. The Dauphine had been very hard and had taken a lot out of me, but the team was committed to riding both in Luxembourg and at another stage race in Brittany so I had no choice. I don't know how I ever made it through the first stage. It was a short-circuit race in the city centre and there was lashing rain which turned the oily roads into a skating rink. I was knackered and spent the entire evening at the back of the bunch, counting down the laps to the finish. On nights like that racing a bike was not sport, but just a job. An obligation to earn an honest crust. To survive, you must put the race and the suffering out of your mind. You must think of good times. It rained every single day in Luxembourg, so I was thinking of good times for almost a week. I was climbing really strongly and finished the race in good form about fifteenth and best of our team.

I had ten days off after Luxembourg. The problem of my salary was bothering me. Thevenet had asked me how much I wanted. This was awkward. I would have preferred him to make me an offer. I am not a good businessman and don't like asking for money and had no idea of how much I was worth. One thing was very clear to me. This job was far too hard to be worth only the £700 a month I was then being paid. At a meeting with Thevenet at the team headquarters in Grenoble I asked for £1,000 a month. He scratched his head, and said I was asking for too much. He offered me £900. I accepted, but decided to sign for just one year. This was a bit of a gamble. I was sacrificing the security of a two-year contract. But if I rode really well, I would be free to negotiate a higher wage and the gamble would be worth it.

Things were going well. With my contract and Tour ticket in the bag, I returned to competition for the Midi Libre stage race. Seven riders were assured of places in the team for the Tour. Along with me there were Vallet, Claveyrolat, Colotti, Vermote, Esnault and Mas. The remaining two places were to be fought out between Dede, Simon, Rault, Pedersen and Bibolet. The Midi Libre was the final selection race for the two places. The atmosphere in the team was not good. The battle for the placings strained relationships between the five. Only a blind man could fail to notice the back-stabbing as some of the team tried to score points with Thevenet at the expense of others. I was a little disgusted at this, but then I suppose it was easy for me to talk. Perhaps if I was fighting for my place I would be the same?

For the second time in a month I was selected at random for dope control. Had I a junkie's face? I don't know: it just seemed a bit of a coincidence. It was after the third stage, and I was a little bit worried as I had taken a vitamin C and caffeine tablet before the start. But the doses would have been quickly sweated through my body and Clavet assured me I had nothing to worry about. With two stages to go, Patrice Esnault took over the race lead. I was quite pleased with myself, as I had bust a gut in the breakaway to ensure that Esnault took the leader's jersey. The next day was a time trial and he managed to hang on to his slim advantage over the Spaniard Julien Gorospe. Just one day to defend the jersey: things could not have been better. The last stage was split into two parts: 100 kilometres in the morning and 90 in the afternoon. Because it was a split stage and the last day, we knew there would be no random dope controls on either the morning or the afternoon stage. Esnault, as race leader, would be controlled. So would the winners of both the stages. But the significant thing was that there was no random control. The job of protecting the lead was not Esnault's responsibility; it was his team's. With no random control they, we, could charge up to protect his lead, knowing we wouldn't be asked to pee.

I felt most uncomfortable on learning all this. I wanted to do everything I could so that Esnault would win, but I drew the line at charging up for him. If I wasn't prepared to do it for myself then I wasn't going to do it for someone else. What disturbed me most was the attitude of some of my team-mates. Some certainly disapproved, but a few were almost rejoicing about the fact that they had a green light to be merry the next day. And to make matters worse, one in particular put pressure on me to toe the line. He said it was part of the job. That Esnault had made the supreme effort of defending his lead in the time trial and that it was the duty of his team to defend for him on the last day. I felt he was putting a gun to my head. I refused. Others refused also, but we were a minority. I felt a bit guilty, but most of all I felt angry at being placed in such a dilemma. Why on earth were there no controls? Did the organisers not realise the pressure they were putting on riders like myself? Esnault hung on and won the Midi Libre. It was the first stage race the team had ever won, but the repercussions of the last day left a bitter taste in my mouth.

My non-eligibility for the French road-race championships meant I had ten days off before the Tour. I spent them resting on the shore of the lake at Laffrey, seven kilometres above Vizille, with Ann. She had just graduated from university with a teaching degree, and had come to live with me until the end of the season. Three weeks later I would once again be at the lake shore of Laffrey, but this time as a Tour de France rider, looking at the sunbathers as I cycled by. Now I treasured every minute.

Wednesday, 1 July
Prologue: West Berlin (6.1 kilometres TT)
Stage winner: Jelle Nijdam (Netherlands)
Race leader: Jelle Nijdam

Today I rode faster than twenty-one other pros in the six-kilometre prologue
time trial. There were 185 riders who rode faster than me – so I can't
say I'm exactly delighted with my first day on the race. Still, it feels wonderful
to be part of it all. It's so big and colourful and exciting. A man from Irish
radio interviewed me today. The Tour is getting big coverage back home this
year, so I must try to keep my face up there. We haven't trained well the
last two days. Most of the time has been spent trying to find quiet roads,
but inevitably we end up staring at the wall or trying to ride through Checkpoint
Charlie. Dede seems happy enough, though. He found this park with women sunbathing
almost nude. Today was Colotti's birthday and we ate this huge cake to celebrate.
I must have put on weight, for the food here in Novotel is brilliant.

Thursday, 2 July
Stage 1: West Berlin to West Berlin (105.5 kilometres)
Stage 2: West Berlin to West Berlin (40.5 kilometres Team Time Trial)
Stage 1 winner: Nico Verhoeven (Netherlands)
Stage 2 winner: Carrera (team)
Race leader: Eric Maechler (Switzerland)

It's always a bit worrying when you discover you are not going as well as you thought. Today I discovered it. It was in the afternoon team time-trial stage. I started it with the conviction that I'd show the lads just why I was one of the best
domestiques
in France, but things didn't quite work out. I spent the last twenty kilometres swinging off the back with Clavet.

The morning stage was chaotic. Everyone was extremely nervous
and the stage was incredibly fast. We covered the 105 kilometres at an average
speed of forty-eight kilometres an hour. Inevitably there was a huge crash
that completely blocked the road. Two riders got tangled up together and fell.
Normally everyone else would have avoided them, but because we were riding
so hard most people had their heads down. Again, normally we would have been
alerted by the noise of metal scraping off the ground, but the television
helicopter was down so low over our heads that we couldn't hear a thing. At
least forty hit the deck and an Italian was carted off to hospital. One down.
Jean-Claude got off to a great start and is wearing the red jersey of leader
in the sprints competition. I suppose we will have to help him to defend it,
as it's good publicity. He is also the French TV mascot for the race. Every
day he is interviewed after the race on live TV and asked how his day went.
That's more publicity. He is doing well for himself.

Friday, 3 July
Transfer from West Berlin to Karlsruhe (West Germany)

Today we flew over the Wall and back to the West. Whenever we make these transfers
by plane I am reminded of the Munich air disaster that wiped out the Manchester
United football team. What would have happened if our jet carrying 200 of
the world's best cyclists had crashed? Well, obviously, the cancellation of
the Tour. But not everyone would be sorry. The riders not selected for the
Tour would be jumping up and down with relief. The world-ranked 201 would
be thrilled, as he would suddenly become the world's number one. And 200 bottles
of champagne would simultaneously pop in the homes of until then ambitious
but frustrated amateurs. It's a morbid thought, but the consequences never
cease to fascinate me.

Saturday, 4 July
Stage 3: Karlsruhe to Stuttgart (219 kilometres)
Stage winner: Acasio da Silva (Portugal)
Race leader: Eric Maechler (Switzerland)

The holiday is over. What a stage! Oh, my God, what a stage! It was so unbelievably
hot and so incredibly hard. Tonight I feel as if we are in the third week
of the race, not the third day. It was up and down for 219 kilometres and
at the finish there were bodies everywhere. One big 22-man group got away
in the last hour. We had no one in it but we were all too knackered to chase.
Mottet, one of the favourites for the race, was up there but his rivals did
nothing to chase. They couldn't: at the end it was a case of every man for
himself, just to finish. It was action all day from the gun. There was always
someone on the attack and someone else ready to chase – until the end,
that is. The pace was so fast that we could not go back for bottles from the
cars, and near the end I had to give Kelly a drink, as he hadn't a drop in
his
bidon.
I don't understand why he didn't command his
domestiques
to fetch him one. I'm sure he could, with someone like me in his team. My
leaders may not be the best in the world but they are seldom thirsty. Funnily
enough I was actually riding better than most of my team-mates. They all suffered
from the heat. So did I. During the stage I thought of a great idea for Treets.
You know, the chocolates that melt in your mouth, not in your hand. The idea
was to have a Tour rider carrying a Treet in his jersey pocket and to take
it out during the boiling hot stage, and it not be melted. Am I going mad?

Sunday, 5 July
Stage 4: Stuttgart to Pforzheim (79 kilometres)
Stage 5: Pforzheim to Strasbourg (112.5 kilometres)
Stage 4: winner: Hermon Frison (Belgium)
Stage 5: Marc Sergeant (Belgium)
Race leader: Eric Maechler

Another split stage. In the morning an 80-kilometre sprint to Pforzheim and
in the afternoon a 112-kilometre run to Strasbourg. We didn't need a frontier
to tell us we had crossed into France. We could judge from the surface of
the road and from the reaction of the crowds. In Germany we had great crowds.
They cheered us with air horns and shouting, just like you'd find at a football
match. In France it was the traditional polite applause and accordion music
as we cycled towards Strasbourg. I left home exactly a week ago and we have
only just entered France. The really hot weather continues and there are already
a lot of tired bodies in the peloton. Nine have quit the race after just five
stages, and if we continue at this pace there won't be a hundred riders in
Paris.

Monday, 6 July
Stage 6: Strasbourg to Epinal (169 kilometres)
Stage winner: Christophe Lavainne (France)
Race leader: Eric Maechler

The first mountain stage with the first-category Col de Kreuzweg and the second-category Col du Donon. I lost contact late on the Kreuzweg but managed to get back on before Donon, where I held on. But it was too far to the finish and we eased up, enabling most of those dropped to regain contact. It was the first real ceasefire of the race, so no one was complaining. The last fifty kilometres were very hard and fast and I was lucky to avoid the huge crash twenty kilometres from the finish.

We are staying in Hotel Ibis. We hate these hotels: the rooms
are so small that there is never any room to open the suitcase. The team doctors
came tonight and put me on a glucose drip. I felt so tired that I wasn't refusing.
I hope there was only glucose in the bottle, but I am not sure and too tired
to ask. When the drip was finished they gave me a sleeping tablet. I don't
like taking them, but they tell me a good night's sleep is essential to recovery
and I need to recover.

Tuesday, 7 July
Stage 7: Epinal to Troyes (211 kilometres)
Stage winner: Guido Bontempi (Italy)
Race leader: Eric Maechler

I am rooming with Vallet tonight. This year we are changing almost every night,
so that we are never with the same bloke two nights in a row. I don't like
rooming with Vallet. I feel I must always put on a show for him. I insisted
that he have the big bed because I know he expects to be offered it. I refuse
to complain when he leaves the light in the room on until after eleven at
night and I feel almost obliged to get up and leave the room when I feel like
farting. I am nearly sure, now, that he has agreed to take over from Thevenet
at the end of the year. Braillon was in our room tonight and they were talking
business. I pretended not to listen.

Wednesday, 8 July
Stage 8: Troyes to Epinay-sous-Senart (205.5 kilometres)
Stage winner: Jean-Paul Van Poppel (Netherlands)
Race leader: Eric Maechler

A relatively easy day. A relatively easy day is one with a slow start, a really
fast bit in the middle, a short lull and the last sixty kilometres covered
in an hour. We had to drive to Orléans for tomorrow's start after the
stage, which was a bit tiring. Orleans is Esnault's home town, and he has
a crowd of supporters in the hotel tonight. He is supposed to be our leader
here, but I am riding better than him myself. I wouldn't mind if he gave a
hand with the chores. But a leader is always a leader, even when he is not
riding as well as a
domestique.
Today I bust a gut to get him a bottle,
and when I brought it to him he didn't want it. It is the last one he will
get.

Thursday, 9 July
Stage 9: Orleans to Renaze (260 kilometres)
Stage winner: Adri Van der Poel (Netherlands)
Race leader: Eric Maechler

Colotti is still holding on to his sprint leader's jersey. Today I led him
out on three occasions, and tonight we are rooming together and he gave me
a jersey as a souvenir. Highlight of the day was the crash, twelve kilometres
from the finish. We had been riding on good, wide roads all day, but for some
inexplicable reason the organisers brought us on a criss-cross of small, narrow
roads for the last thirty kilometres, so crashes were inevitable. This one
was different, because there was almost a fight after it. The Colombians are
responsible for most of the crashes in the bunch. The majority have very poor
bike control, and now every time there is a crash someone cries, 'Bloody Colombians!'
I'm not sure today's crash was their fault, but it happened at a very bad
time, when most of us were knackered and roasted by the sun. A Belgian threw
his
bidon
at a Colombian, hitting him on the back of the head. He was
immediately set upon by two other Colombians, and things got a bit out of
control.

Friday, 10 July
Stage 10: Saumur to Futuroscope (87.5 kilometres TT)
Stage winner: Stephen Roche (Ireland)
Race leader: Charly Mottet (France)

What a long time trial: eighty-eight kilometres to be ridden alone. Lucho Herrera
was off a minute behind me, and he caught me after twenty-six kilometres.
I rode hard, but not flat out as the memories of Nantes were still fresh in
my mind. Stephen won, and I think I lost about sixteen minutes, which is phenomenal.
I think if my life had depended on it I could have ridden six minutes faster,
but no more. I feel a bit small tonight. The hotel is showing pornographic
videos, and you can walk into any of the rooms and it will be on. I reckon
there will be a few tired bodies tomorrow.

Saturday, 11 July
Stage 11: Poitiers to Chaumeil (255 kilometres)
Stage winner: Martial Gayant (France)
Race leader: Martial Gayant

Today was probably the hardest stage of the race so far. It was 255 kilometres,
but up and down all day on tiny roads with the tar melting off them from the
hot sun. My feet are killing me. They expand in the heat, and the pressure
of the buckle of the toe-strap left me limping after the stage. Colotti nearly
cracked mentally today, and I had to nurse him through. Physically, I didn't
feel too bad; but for anyone who went all out in yesterday's time trial it
must have been hell.

Sunday, 12 July
Stage 12: Brive-la-Gaillarde to Bordeaux (228 kilometres)
Stage winner: Davis Phinney (USA)
Race leader: Martial Gayant

We lost Kelly today. We had ridden hard for the opening fifty kilometres, when the pace dropped. I was dying for a piss, and stopped as soon as I recognised the ceasefire. The team cars had just started to pass me, when suddenly they all braked and I heard the word 'chute' ('crash') from the race radio. As soon as the word was spoken the team mechanics jumped from the cars with a pair of wheels and ran to the pile of tangled bodies up the road. I didn't panic, as crashes happened every day; so I finished my widdle and casually set off in pursuit. As I passed Thevenet, he told me not to hang around, as there had been an attack. The race radio was announcing the names of those who had crashed. Kelly was riding at the back and surrounded by three team-mates when I made contact. His face was screwed up in pain, and he was riding with one hand off the bars. The doctors' car drove up alongside and sprayed his shoulder with pain-killer but it didn't seem to be having much effect. The bunch slowed and we made contact, but he never stirred from the back and it was obvious to me that he could not continue in his present state. I approached him and gave him a gentle pat on the back as a gesture of solidarity, and then one by one the team leaders dropped back to pay their respects. He was distanced as soon as the road started to rise, and he abandoned in tears shortly after. I felt really disappointed for him. He was having a lousy Tour, and that morning he had made a rare appearance at the coffee table for a joke and a chat. It wasn't the same without him.

Signed a new one-year contract for £900 with Braillon
at the hotel tonight.

Monday, 13 July
Stage 13: Bayonne to Pau (219 kilometres)
Stage winner: Erik Breukink (Netherlands)
Race leader: Charly Mottet

I was in good form riding out of Bayonne. I like the mountain stages and I have always a little hope in the back of my mind of one day winning one. I started badly on the first climb, the first-category Col de Burdincurutcheta, but soon found my climbing legs and went through the struggling bodies like a warm knife through butter. I was with the top group going over the top of the second-category Bargargui and felt this was going to be my day. Clavet, Mas and I were the only three from the team still up there, and I felt wonderful as we started the descent. Then it all went wrong. Someone attacked on the descent, and we went down it at a fierce pace. The tar had melted on some of the corners, making them treacherously slippy, and I knew there would soon be trouble with overheating rims. The rims overheat from constant braking and there are two possible consequences: either the glue that sticks the tyre to the rim melts and the tyre rolls off the rim, or the heat of the rim makes the tyre explode. Three-quarters of the way down I started to feel my tyres swaying a bit on the rims, but I could hear tyres exploding all over the place. I was descending behind a Carrera when suddenly, as we entered a hairpin, his front tyre exploded off the rim and he crashed.