by Paul Kimmage
There was a wild, roaring, cheer. Serious, moody faces suddenly cracked open with huge smiles. Chaubet, Forest and Biondi started jumping up and down, dancing with joy, and within minutes jokes and wisecracks were flying. I was absolutely delighted. We showered off the embrocation and spent the morning under the warm bedclothes, while outside, sheets of cold rain dashed against the windows.
Tuesday, 6 June
Stage 17: Sondrio to Meda (137 kilometres)
Stage winner: Phil Anderson (Australia)
Race leader: Laurent Fignon
Our good fortune continues. With all roads to St. Caterina Valfurva blocked, the start of today's stage was moved forward along the route to the town of Sondrio, which shortened our day's work to a not too stressful 137 kilometres. The other positive to report was the surprise arrival by bike of the Irish 'tifosi' in the shape of George O'Rourke. George, or Big George as he is known in Dublin cycling circles, is one of the great enthusiasts of the sport. He started racing in the time of my father and although he has probably been shelled out of more bunches than any other rider alive, I don't think I have ever met a cheerier bloke. He joins us for a coffee before the start and entertains us with tales of his ride across the Alps. 'Jaysus George, it must have been tough in these conditions,' I suggest. 'It was. I was absolutely miserable,' he smiles.
Wednesday, 7 June
Stage 18: Mendrisio to Monte Generoso (10.7 kilometres TT)
Stage winner: Luis Herrara
Race leader: Laurent Fignon
A ten-kilometre mountain time trial. I rode strongly in the test without killing myself and finished forty-fourth, which is as well as I have ever ridden in a test as a pro. I finished one place in front of world champion Maurizio Fondriest – another story for the rocking chair.
Thursday, 8 June
Stage 19: Meda to Tortona (198 kilometres)
Stage winner: Jesper Skibby (Denmark)
Race leader: Laurent Fignon
A relatively easy day except for the last fifty kilometres, which were very hard. I am still riding well, which is surprising for the last week of the race. Just two more hard mountain stages to go, and then the final day's time trial. I must hang in there. I must not crack.
Friday, 9 June
Stage 20: Voghera to La Spezia (220 kilometres)
Stage winner: Laurent Fignon
Race leader: Laurent Fignon
We lost Chaubet today. He was dropped after the first climb and abandoned shortly after. It is maddening to suffer what he has suffered, to get so close and not make it. If tomorrow was an easy stage I'm sure he would have kept going, but it will be very hard. I too felt the strain today; my good form of the last two days deserted me, and I struggled near the end of the stage. I feel very tired tonight, but there is just tomorrow to get through and then I'm home.
Saturday 10 June
Stage 21: La Spezia to Prato (216 kilometres)
Stage winner: Gianni Bugno (Italy)
Race leader: Laurent Fignon
I made it but it was close. I got the hunger knock after the first climb and had it not been for two System U riders, Thierry Marie and my old RMO team-mate Jean-Louis Peillon, who gave me some food, I don't know what I'd have done. Tonight I am content. There is just one more stage, a fifty-kilometre time trial to go. For the first time in three weeks, I know I will finish.
Sunday, 11 June
Stage 22: Prato to Florence (53.8 kilometres TT)
Stage winner: Lech Piasecki
Race winner: Laurent Fignon
I had thought about that moment every day for twenty-one days: the moment, 300 metres before the line, when you look up and see the final finishing banner, Arrivo. I knew what I was going to do, had it all planned out. On crossing the line I took both hands off the bars and blew two kisses at the banner and then waved a clenched fist in triumph. The adventure was over, and I had survived. My inner satisfaction was enormous. The nightmare of abandoning the Tour in 1987 was now buried and I could hold my head high. I was, once again, a Giant of the Road.
21
CARNON PLAGE
A beach. A warm, sunny beach looking out on a blue Mediterranean sea. Wind, a cooling, glorious puff blowing in off the waves. Sand – hot, golden sand, scorching the naked feet.
Far from the maddening tifosi. A million miles from piddling on my fingers, from sticking needles in my bum, from being deafened by car klaxons and sweating, lies Carnon Plage. A twenty-kilometre drive from Montpellier, it was just the place for a pro cyclist who had recently ridden a hard Giro D'Italia. One week after returning from the Giro, Ann and I spent four of the most relaxing days of our lives there. We breakfasted late most mornings – coffee with croissants on the sunny terrace of the apartment. After breakfast I would take the bike and ride for two hours along the coastline, taking advantage of my wife's absence to admire the vast assortment of pretty girls tanning their beautiful bodies. I returned for a shower and a light lunch, and then it was down to the beach for the afternoon. It felt great to sit there and do nothing. I would sleep and read and stare and think.
I thought quite a lot.
In the evenings we dined out, strolled around the port admiring the sailing craft and sipped beers on the terrace of a cafe. For the first time in my career I could honestly say that everything was rosy. It had been a good Giro. Stephen had finished ninth, Carlsen had won a stage, Fagor were best team and I had finished 84th out of 198 starters. My future was secure. I was assured of employment for as long as Stephen could remain competitive. And I had been told I was riding the Tour. Yes, everything really was rosy. But on our third evening at the bar, I decided I didn't want it any more. I decided to retire at the end of the season.
From the first day I threw my leg over a bike I have always tried to be honest with myself, a quality I inherited from my father. It was true I had ridden a good solid Giro, but in my own eyes I had failed. I was incapable of staying with Roche in the mountains and wasn't strong enough to drive for him on the flat. The days when I was capable of good things were always followed by bad ones. I was sure of a job with Stephen, but did I really merit it? If we weren't friends, would he still want me in his team? I didn't think so.
I wasn't good enough: the Giro had spelled it out for me. I had given the race my best shot, had looked after myself with vitamin and mineral supplements from the start to finish. And for what? To be average! There was no way I was prepared to stick needles in my arse for the rest of my career just to survive, to be average. Not now that there was a way out – journalism.
The Tour of Italy pieces had produced a great reaction back in Ireland. The sports editor of the Sunday Tribune, Stephen Ryan, told me I could start with them whenever I wanted to. But the most satisfying thing was that my journalistic options were not confined to the Tribune. A rival paper was also interested in acquiring my services. I was thrilled. The future didn't look quite so daunting. So, in a quiet seafront bar, and after three days of examining the options, I decided to quit. I would ride the Tour, finish out the season with Fagor and then hang up my wheels.
A week before the start of Le Grand Boucle, Patrick organised two kermesse races for us in Belgium. I hadn't planned to tell them yet of my decision to retire at the end of the year, but I ended up telling them anyway. They had been negotiating with Fagor for a new contract for months and things were not working out. The deal was supposed to have been signed at the start of the Giro, then at the end of the Giro and then at the start of the Tour. But each time Fagor found a new excuse for delaying the signing of the contract. We all knew what they were playing at. They wanted to see how Stephen performed in the Tour before signing him up for another year. On the weekend of the Belgian kermesses Patrick had received news of a possible move for Stephen and seven of his team-mates to the Colombian team, Postobon. Patrick told me of the deal, and assured me that I was one of the seven Stephen would take with him. I was delighted that Stephen still wanted me in his team, but felt compelled to tell th
em of my decision. Their initial reaction was to advise me against doing anything hasty, but as soon as I explained about my opportunity to go into journalism, both agreed I would be foolish to turn it down. After I had told them, I felt a huge weight roll off my shoulders. I was no longer part of Stephen's plans for next year. I had taken the dive and there was no turning back.
The races in Belgium were a disaster. My legs were still heavy from the sun on Carnon Plage and my mind was totally switched off. I returned to Grenoble and did some hard rides in the mountains to prepare myself for the Tour. One of these brought me to the slopes of the Galibier. It was a real trip down memory lane, for I had not cycled its gradient since abandoning the Tour two years earlier. Riding it alone was a strange sensation, a bit like walking into an empty football stadium. I rode up the mountain locked in a trance, reliving the pedal strokes of my last visit. I saw my name on the road. It was written in fading white paint alongside the names of Roche and Earley. And as I examined other faded names I was reminded of a graveyard, the faded letters sticking out like tombstones. Would I notice my name in three weeks' time? Would I make it this far?
22
THE LAST CRUSADE
Saturday, 1 July 1989
Prologue: Luxembourg (7.8 kilometres TT)
Stage winner: Erik Breulink (Netherlands)
Race leader: Erik Breulink
It feels good to be back in the race. The Tour is changing, becoming more modern. When I first rode in 1986, it was still the era of Monsieur Levitan's reign as race director. The public address system churned out never-ending accordion music, giving the event a uniquely French flavour. That's all gone now: the race has been modernised, it's all Bon Jovi and Jean-Michel Jarre now. Paul McCartney is the flavour of the month. They played 'My Brave Face' at least ten times this morning. I hate that song.
It's going to be a very difficult three weeks, and I'm not just talking about the race. We haven't started yet, but already the ambience is at rock bottom. There are many reasons. Fagor still have not agreed Stephen's contract stipulations for next year. They were nearing verbal agreement and were originally going to sign a month ago, but it's still at status quo. None of the other riders have signed either, and some are starting to get anxious about next year.
The second problem is the appointment of Pierre Bazzo as number one directeur sportif for the race. One of Stephen's demands for signing for another year was that Patrick be given control of the team for the Tour. Fagor initially agreed, but backed down three days before the race. Patrick is here, but must play second fiddle to Bazzo – and it's killing him. It's killing me too: I don't respect or have any confidence in Bazzo as directeur sportif and he knows it.
Patrick is taking it badly. He was not allowed to follow Stephen in this morning's prologue time trial and it's the first time in nine years he hasn't followed his friend in a time trial. We watched it together in my room and he was so upset that tears started rolling down his face. Stephen didn't ride a good prologue. The mechanics gave him a front wheel with a bald tyre and a slow puncture, and forgot to bring his aerodynamic hat to the start – he was furious. When he returned to the hotel, he had a fierce row with Bazzo that nearly ended in blows. I have never seen him so mad.
My own prologue was pretty dismal. I was never going well and a dose of Tour nerves before the start didn't help either. The big news of the day was Pedro Delgado missing his start time by two minutes and forty seconds. I rang home tonight and talked to my brother Christopher. He wasn't very complimentary about my prologue performance: 'Delgado nearly beat you.' The sarcastic little swine.
Sunday, 2 July
Stage 1: Luxembourg to Luxembourg (135.5 kilometres)
Stage 2: Luxembourg to Luxembourg (46 kilometres Team Time Trial)
Stage 1 winner: Acasio da Silva (Portugal)
Stage 2 winner: Super U (team)
Race leader: Acasio da Silva
Fame at last. Today was a split stage – 130-kilometre road stage in the morning, team time trial in the afternoon. After the time trial, I was invited to appear on French television station Antenne 2's chat show, broadcast daily at the finish of each stage. The show usually concentrates on the stars, but this year they have introduced a daily slot where they interview the lesser lights in the race. My conversion to journalism was my raison d'être, and I used the time allotted to me to talk about my former team-mate Andre, and tried to blow the myth that it was a glamorous life. I was just warming up when they cut me short. Bible-thumping is not in mode with these people. The attitude here is: 'Don't rock the boat, for God's sake don't rock the boat. Talk about the Fignons and the LeMonds with awe and wonder, and say no more. It's what the people expect to hear.'
I rang Ann tonight. She didn't see me on TV – typical. Television apart, it was not a good day. I am riding very poorly. Maybe I took too much time off after the Giro, I don't know. I do know that I'm struggling at the moment. I rode badly in the morning's stage, so badly that I had to take a caffeine tablet for the team trial in the afternoon. We did twenty kilometres of a warm-up before it started, and I tried to shove it up as I was going along. But it was awkward because Bazzo was in the car behind and I didn't want him to notice. He'd have a field day if he saw me with my finger up my arse and I wasn't leaving myself open to his jibes. I stopped and pretended I was having a piss, and did it at the side of the road. It felt bloody degrading. I knew it wasn't going to make much difference but it was just a little insurance. It was doping, no mistake about it, but it was only pigeon shit to what some of the others were doing. It bothered me, but this was my last Tour and I didn't want to go out of it after just two days.
I rode better than in the team trials in the Giro, but I still wasn't great. I don't feel very proud of myself tonight.
Monday, 3 July
Stage 3: Luxembourg to Spa-Francorchamps (241 kilometres)
Stage winner: Raul Alcala (Mexico)
Race leader: Acasio da Silva
The first long stage, 240 kilometres. We had a really hard headwind most of the day, which slowed us down a lot. It was a blessing in disguise, as I rode badly again. Stephen is having problems too: all this haggling and fighting is upsetting him. Team morale continues to slump. Bazzo addresses me now as le journaliste in a mocking tone which really winds me up. Some of the riders call me le journaliste too, but from them it's almost a compliment. My conversation with Bazzo is limited to 'Bonjour' and 'Bonsoir', but I'm not sure I can even keep this up. We had no disc wheels for yesterday's team time trial. They were supposed to have been delivered at Fagor headquarters the week before the Tour but they have 'gone missing'. The team's supply of jerseys and shorts has gone missing too. It's total chaos.
Tomorrow we ride over the cobbles to Wasquehal, entering France for the first time. I hate cobbles.
Tuesday, 4 July
Stage 4: Liège to Wasquehal (255 kilometres)
Stage winner: Jelle Nijdam (Netherlands)
Race leader: Acasio da Silva
Today was awful. Tonight, my body is just so sore from those horrible stones. Bouncing along them, my balls up around my ears, sore hands, sore feet.
The stage finished two hundred yards from where we lived as amateurs, at Wasquehal. When I think about it I realise what a long way I've come – and I'm still not happy.
Wednesday, 5 July
Transfer: Lille to Dinard
The morning was a right cock-up. The organisers had chartered a plane to fly us to Dinard, but there was a problem with it and we had to wait most of the morning until a replacement was found. We did two hours this evening to loosen out our legs a bit and I was able to wash and do some work on my article.
Tonight I hit the jackpot. Phillipe Brunei from L'Equipe phoned to ask me if he could come for an interview. He arrived just as we were finishing dinner, and the other lads couldn't believe he had come to talk to me. The French lads would give both balls for an interview with L'Equipe. I could sense their frustration as I left the table t
o talk to him.
I was quite impressed with Brunei. He was intelligent and obviously loves his job. We talked about my origins and my relationship with Stephen and Sean. I edited my comments on Kelly and Roche to a strict minimum and tried again to strike a blow for Chappuis. We talked late into the evening. He told me of his love for journalism and I enthused. My ranting over Chappuis had impressed him. He said I wasn't ruthless enough to be a pro cyclist. I took it as a compliment.
Thursday, 6 July
Stage 5: Dinard to Rennes (73 kilometres TT)
Stage winner: Greg LeMond (USA)
Race leader: Greg LeMond
Time trial day – the first of the race. Patrick insisted on following Stephen for the time trial, and Bazzo backed down and followed one of the others. Greg LeMond won, and I can't quite believe it. Three weeks ago I was dropping him on climbs of the Giro. I am happy for him. He has had a hard time of it since he won the Tour in 1986, but today bounced back in style – the real mark of a champion.
