Rough Ride (23 page)

Thursday, 1 June
Stage 12: Mantua to Mira (148 kilometres)
Stage winner: Mario Cipollini (Italy)
Race leader: Erik Breukink

There was another crash today, much more serious than yesterday's. It happened 100 metres from the line at over sixty kilometres an hour and at least six riders went down. I'm not a bit surprised as they are crazy bastards here. Pulling and pushing, elbowing and shoving: my experiences at Cosenza had taught me that sprinting it out against the Italians was only for the very brave or the stupid. It was pretty horrific and the Dane Rolf Sorensen came off worse. As I passed him, he lay against the barriers, blood gushing from his head. It took the quick intervention of a race official to stop him choking on his tongue, and he was immediately rushed to hospital. Seeing him lying there makes you wonder about the risks we take. I asked Stephen about it and he agrees, so it's not just me. But then you forget it, you have to.
C'est la vie.

Tomorrow we enter the Dolomites, where the race will be decided.
It's another summit finish, to the three summits of Laverado – which
is said to be incredibly steep.

Friday, 2 June
Stage 13: Padua to Tre Cime de Lavaredo (207 kilometres)
Stage winner: Luis Herrara (Colombia)
Race leader: Erik Breukink

The rain started about half-way through the 207-kilometre stage, turning heavier as we neared the final mountain. The Laverado was as steep as its reputation, and we all suffered terribly. Near the top the rain turned to sleet, then snow, and we were frozen getting off our bikes. I was ushered into the kitchen of a hotel opposite the finishing line and was given a basin of hot water and some hot tea. I had almost finished washing myself down when Greg LeMond walked in. I passed him at the bottom of the climb and he was riding really badly. He was shivering, and didn't bother to remove his shoes or socks before placing both feet in the basin of water. His words echoed the thoughts of many.

'God, that was awful.'

Stephen lost time to Breukink and is a bit disappointed tonight.
He is talking about going out tomorrow and throwing down the gauntlet. An
all-out attack that will win or lose him the race. Tomorrow is the race's
big mountain rendezvous. It is only 130 kilometres, but we must climb five
mountains.

Saturday, 3 June
Stage 14: Misurina to Corvara (131 kilometres)
Stage winner: Flavio Giupponi (Italy)
Race leader: Laurent Fignon (France)

When I think of the hundreds of thousands of kilometres I have ridden since my Da, Christy, gave me my first racing bicycle, the 130 between Misurina and Corvara are those I will remember longest. I remember every single kilometre, every single metre. It was an incredible day.

It was overcast but dry on the morning of the stage, but we all knew the rain was coming. I asked Silvano for a caffeine suppository, just as an insurance in case of emergency. As we lined up, the first drops of rain started falling. Most of the lads immediately turned around and rushed back to their team cars for extra clothing. I pulled on a pair of woollen leg-warmers but couldn't find my gloves; I had left them at the hotel. Before leaving the car, I took the tin foil from the caffeine suppository, and shoved it up. There were just five minutes to the start and I hoped it might take effect immediately. I needed a lift, boy did I need a lift.

Sunday Tribune,
11 June 1989

How do I explain today? A day quite unlike any other that I have known in the sixteen years I have been racing. Looking back it all seems so unreal. The 130 kilometres stage from Misurina to Corvara was one of the shortest of the race, but with five mountains to be climbed it promised to be one of the hardest. It was.

As we approach the Marmolada, the third and hardest of the climbs, I am part of a forty-man group already ten minutes behind the leading riders. It has rained since the start. I look towards the summit but it was hidden. Hidden in a mass of angry jet black clouds.

A huge crack of thunder warns us of the dangers to come, but on we climb. The cold rain turning to sleet and then three kilometres from the summit to snow. Hundreds of spectators leave the warmth of their cars to encourage us.

Two thousand metres above sea level I stop to take out the plastic jacket from my pocket. A group of
tifosi
(fans) surround me, one sheltering me from the falling snowflakes with his umbrella. Another offers me a sheet of newspaper which I place under my jersey. And then, I set off, their cheers warming me as I go to face my Calvary.

You see climbing a mountain in snow is not really a problem. With your heart tapping at 175 beats a minute the body generates enough heat to fend off the worst of weather. The trouble starts when you go down the other side.

There is no physical effort involved here, just the mental concentration of braking and turning. The heart rate drops and the body no longer produces heat and within minutes you are not sweating but shivering.

The snow was falling at such a rate that it started to clog up the teeth of the back wheel, making the chain jump. It was difficult to see and our group had now disintegrated as we descended one by one, every man for himself.

My body got colder and colder, the leg muscles hardening and the arms now vibrating. I had no gloves. They were the last thing I had packed in my suitcase before leaving for the race, but I had forgotten them at the hotel. My fingers started freezing to the handlebars and I was finding it more and more difficult to brake.

I passed my young French team-mate Francis Moreau. He was doubled over at the side of the road trying to warm his hands. He looked at me as I passed and his eyes told me he had had enough.

This frightened me. I screamed at the top of my voice in an effort to motivate myself, but it was getting harder and harder to brake and I pulled to a halt at the side of the road.

I shook my arms and fingers, blowing my icy breath on them for warmth. The cold had gone into my bladder, giving me the urge to urinate. I was almost surprised at the steam rising from the yellow liquid flowing from my body. I placed my fingers in the hot springs and warmed them.

I still don't understand why I didn't follow Moreau into the warmth of the team car. The conditions were inhuman. No
directeur sportif
in the world could criticise one of his riders abandoning on such a dreadful day.

But Roche was up ahead. What if he took the race lead? But no, it was not that, either. I suppose in a way it became a challenge, a survival of the fittest that appealed to the cannibal instincts in me. Absurd isn't it?

I was so happy to reach the bottom. The remaining two climbs of the day were not too hard and it was a relief to start climbing again to generate some heat. My mouth still quivered and I whined like a dog in pain until half-way up the climb, when I started to get warmer. The team car pulled alongside me. The mechanic taped two cloth feeding bags on my hands and this helped greatly on the last descents of the day.

I crossed the finish line thirty-three minutes after stage winner Flavio Giupponi. We drove to the hotel and once again there was no hot water. Well, I mean, after a day like that how could anyone expect hot water? I did not care. I just covered my filthy legs with a tracksuit bottom and climbed into bed. I turned to Stephen and said, 'Don't bother waking me for dinner, just wake me in the morning and put me on my bike.'

Tonight I am happy. Ten riders abandoned the stage. Twenty
others were outside the time limit but were excused because of deplorable
weather conditions. I survived. The cannibal.

Sunday, 4 June
Stage 15 (a): Corvara to Trento (131 kilometres)
Stage 15 (b): Trento to Trento (83.2 kilometres)
Stage 15 (a) winner: Jean-Paul Van Poppel (Netherlands)
Stage 15 (b) winner: Lech Piasecki
Race leader: Laurent Fignon

A split stage. The breakfast menu was a climb of Val Gardena pass, a long descent and some flat roads to Trento. It was snowing hard on Val Gardena and the sufferings of yesterday were repeated, but it wasn't quite as bad – we were prepared this time. I started the stage with so much clothing I looked like the Michelin man – but it still wasn't enough, I was still frozen on the descent. I didn't bother with caffeine today. Yesterday, my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest on the first climb, but after that, the effects wore off and I started to feel sick.

They should not have made us ride over Val Gardena. It would have been easy to divert us around the mountain, but yesterday's foul conditions have brought great publicity to the race and no changes were made. It's ironic really: Val Gardena is better known as a world cup downhill ski resort, but in weather like this the downhill would have been cancelled. We descended to Trento, the snow turning to sleet and then to rain. It wasn't a good day to be a pro cyclist.

The weather changed, and it was warm and sunny for the afternoon's circuit race around the town. I was knackered, riding down to the start, but an Irish voice in the crowd drew my attention. It was my wife's cousin. She is working in Milan, but it was Sunday, so she got the train across to see the race. I told her of the snow and of the dreadful conditions we had endured that morning but it didn't register with her. All she could see were the bright colours of the jerseys and the glitter of the shiny wheel spokes.

'It must be very exciting being part of it all,' she said.

'No,' I replied, 'not a bit.'

I don't think she believed me.

Monday, 5 June
Stage 16: Trento to S. Caterina Valfurva (205 kilometres)
CANCELLED
(Bad weather)

Oh happy day. We had woken to another fierce downpour. It was supposed to be another mountain stage, taking in the notorious Gavia climb. The mood was very sombre at breakfast time. No one in the hotel wanted to ride bikes that day. We all knew what was waiting for us. I knew there was no way I could survive another day of snow and shivering. All I knew was that I would ride as far as possible within reason. We changed into our racing kit and gathered in the
soigneurs'
room to have embrocation and protection creams applied to legs and body. Patrick had been called to a manager's meeting and returned just as we were leaving the room. We looked to him, hoping but not expecting, and there was total silence as he spoke.

'Messieurs, due to a landslide on the Gavia pass, I have the pleasure of informing you that the stage has been cancelled. Today is a rest day, you can return to bed.'

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