Rough Ride (9 page)

The race finished next day. Clavet was leading a competition for the first rider under the 'kilometre to go' flag. Sponsored by Fiat, the winner would receive a car, a Uno. To assure victory he had to make sure he won the last sprint. I had ridden well for him throughout the race, helping him wherever I could. With ten kilometres to go on the last stage he asked me to lead him out for the sprint. Castaing, Barteau, Le Bigaut, Mas and Vallet had all abandoned, leaving just four riders from the team still in the race. I was taken aback when he asked me because bunch sprinting was not my forte, but I agreed without hesitation. My job was to bring him to the front with a kilometre to go and then open the sprint for him. It was hard trying to get to the front and I felt sure I was going to crash as I tried to squeeze my way through the tightly packed bodies, but I hit the front at just the right time and on his prompting, 'Allez!' I opened the sprint. I was so pleased at having done everything right that I nearly forgot the idea was not for
me
to win, but Claveyrolat. He was following me but having difficulty in passing. Luckily, I remembered just in time and pulled across. Thierry won the prize and was lavish in his praise for my efforts. It had been a hard nine days but I had come through it well. Thevenet was pleased with my contribution, and for the first time I started to think about the possibility of riding the Tour de France.

A week later we rode the Grand Prix de Plumelec in Brittany. Clavet, Dede and I were provided with a team car. We drove the 1,000 kilometres to Plumelec on Saturday, rode the 200-kilometre race on Sunday and then hopped straight back into the car for the long drive home, arriving at half-past four in the morning. Clavet and I both rode well; he was sixth, I was eighth and morale was high on the long return to base. This was the hardest part about being a pro – the travelling. The hours spent in cars and airports. But the Plumelec trip was great fun, for Dede was in great form and he kept us entertained with his never-ending stories of the crashes he has had in his cars. He had written off twenty cars in different accidents but each time he returned to drive as madly as ever. He is fearless and his philosophy of death is, 'The day, the date, it's all written down.'

I was given two weeks off after Plumelec so I did some light training and spent my spare time wandering around the shops in Grenoble. The football centre was starting to get me down. There was no privacy and the young footballers were a bunch of ill-mannered, undisciplined louts. Ribeiro seemed to get on quite well with them, which puzzled me and turned me against him even more.

It was at this time that we learnt that Patrick Clerc had been sacked. A few years earlier Patrick had been one of the classiest
domestiques
in the peloton. But a year before joining RMO he had had a poor season with the Spanish team Fagor, and they had not extended his contract. Thevenet contacted him about joining RMO, but on certain conditions. Before signing his one-year contract he was made to write a letter of resignation. In this way the sponsors craftily worked their way around a French Federation rule according to which the minimum length of a contract was a year. Because Patrick had not performed for the first half of the season, his letter of resignation was produced and he was fired. He was quite bitter when he rode his last race, the Midi Libre stage race, with us. I couldn't help getting the impression that in some way he resented us, as if we were responsible for what had happened.

It was during the Midi Libre that I learnt I had been selected for the Tour. I was really pleased, for I had been hoping ever since the Dauphine. Now it was official. Back in Grenoble I planned some big training spins that took in some of the Tour's biggest climbs: Lauteret, Galibier, Granon and Izoard. I took notes on the gradient, surface and gear requirement for each mountain, convinced this could be a help three weeks later. I set my heart on winning one of these mountain stages, for in my mind I was still a climber.

A week before the Tour we rode a four-day stage race in Brittany. We were told to take it easy, and to use it as training, but I was feeling good. On the first stage I managed to get into a break of seven riders and we sprinted out the stage win between us. I led into the last corner with the finish 200 metres slightly uphill. As I cornered, my right pedal hit the ground, lifting the back wheel and as it landed the rear tyre rolled off and I slid into the gutter. I escaped with a few scrapes, but I was disgusted, for I had felt sure of at least finishing third. The stage was marked by Bernard Hinault abandoning the race. He sat at the back of the bunch from the start and frowned whenever anyone came near him. The 'Blaireau' was a weird fellow: he frightened me. I was always afraid of crashing in front of him and bringing him down. Sometimes he would attack and the bunch would string out in a long line behind him. Then he would sit up and start laughing, mocking us. He had a certain presence, a sort of godlike aura. He was a great champion, but I didn't like him.

There were just five days before the start of the Tour after the Armorique. As the Tour was starting in Paris and we had to be at the hotel two days before the start, Stephen Roche invited me to stay with him for the three days between the two races. I had planned to take it easy, but it was never easy to train with Stephen and I can remember feeling very uncomfortable at his side on our training rides. He had had a lousy year, with his knee giving him all sorts of problems, and was unsure about riding the Tour until the last minute when he said 'Yes'. As the countdown to the Tour started, I began to feel more and more nervous. There would be three Irishmen in the Tour: Martin Earley riding for Fagor, Stephen for Carrera and myself riding for RMO. There should have been four, but a crash in the Tour of Switzerland had ruled out Sean Kelly. As we drove into Paris I felt my rendezvous with destiny was arriving. I had dreamt of this as a kid. Now it was here.

Friday, 4 July 1986
Prologue: Boulogne Billancourt (4.6 kilometres TT)
Stage winner: Thierry Marie (France)
Race leader: Thierry Marie

Today was special. The crowds, the atmosphere, the size of the race all hit me for the first time. I rode a lousy prologue – I was far too nervous. Nearly fell off the ramp as I was cycling down it, and I couldn't feel my legs. I'm rooming with Barteau, which is a bit of a pain because nobody on the team wants to room with him. Oh well, I suppose somebody had to draw the short straw. He is a bit of a mouth and is still living off his 1984 Tour, when he held the
maillot jaune
for thirteen stages. We were given five new jerseys, five new pairs of shorts and five new pairs of gloves. The waiter asked me if I could get him a pair of gloves as a souvenir. These fellows have no idea.

Saturday, 5 July
Stage 1: Nanterre to Sceaux (85 kilometres)
Stage 2: Meudon to St-Quentin-en-Yvelines (55 kilometres Team Time Trial)
Stage 1 winner: Pol Verschure (Belgium)
Stage 2 winner: Systeme U
Race leader: Thierry Marie (France)

Today was a split stage. In the morning we had an 88-kilometre road stage around the streets of Paris, and in the afternoon a 55-kilometre team time trial. The bunch is huge, 210 starters, and I found it hard to stay at the front. There were a lot of crashes but I avoided them all. I should have worn a crash hat, but it's no good for the image. The team time trial was hard. I rode strongly and never missed a turn. Barteau was dropped near the end, was outside the time limit and has been eliminated. Tonight there was a big row between Thevenet and Barteau in the hotel. Barteau was angry that the team didn't wait for him when he ran into difficulty. Thevenet replied that he must have ridden the last ten kilometres at two kilometres an hour to get eliminated. Barteau told the press that Thevenet was a bad
directeur sportif.
Thevenet replied that he might not be the world's greatest
directeur sportif,
but it was a fact that he couldn't find anyone in the team who wanted to share a room with Barteau. No one said anything at the dinner table about Barteau's elimination but secretly we were all glad. He has gone home now, and I guess that means I will be getting a new room-mate. 'It's an ill wind . . .'

Sunday, 6 July
Stage 3: Levallois-Perret to Liévin (214 kilometres)
Stage winner: Davis Phinney (USA)
Race leader: Thierry Marie

We left Paris this morning, going north to the industrial mining town of Liévin near Lille. Before the start it was bucketing down. We, the English speakers Yates, Lauritzen, Earley, were sheltering inside a tent drinking coffee. The mood was sombre as we contemplated six hours in the rain. Paul Sherwen, a veteran of seven Tours but now working for Channel 4, came over to our table and sat down. He looked at our faces and knew exactly what we were thinking. 'Never mind lads, only four more Sundays to go.' At first I laughed but then started thinking about it – and Christ, he was right: there were four more Sundays to go, and for the first time the horrific length of the race hit me. Punctured near the finish but was going well and had no trouble getting back on. The rain stopped almost as soon as we left Paris, but my gear was still filthy. Had to scrub it over the bathroom sink. It's desperately hard trying to get the stains out of these white jerseys. God, I'm starting to sound like an old one in an ad for washing powder. Am rooming with Jean-Louis Gauthier. He doesn't say much, but he showed me a great way of wringing out the wet jersey. You roll it up in a bathroom towel and wring it hard. It comes out nearly dry. Only three more Sundays.

Monday, 7 July
Stage 4: Liévin to Evreux (243 kilometres)
Stage winner: Pello Ruiz-Cabestany (Spain)
Race leader: Dominique Gaigne (France)

Our man Regis Simon made a great effort today. He broke away alone for over 100 kilometres and was caught just fifteen kilometres from the line. The finish was so incredibly hard, everyone was flat out. Tried to do some blocking for Regis and nearly got into a fight with some of Stephen's Carrera team, but Stephen told me I was in the wrong so I backed down. I noticed that the Belgian rider Eddy Schepers never leaves his side. He protects him from the wind, and when it's not windy he watches him like a faithful watchdog surveys its master, waiting for the next command. I wish I were Schepers.

Tuesday, 8 July
Stage 5: Evreux to Villers-sur-Mer (124.5 kilometres)
Stage winner: Johan Van de Velde (Netherlands)
Race leader: Johan Van de Velde

A strange thing happened tonight. There was a knock on the door just before dinner and I answered it. It was someone wanting to see Jean-Louis so I let him in. There was something about him: I knew I had seen him before somewhere. It came to me just as Jean-Louis introduced us: 'Raymond Martin'. In 1980 this man had been third best climber and won a stage in this very race. Then, he and Jean-Louis had been team-mates. Now Martin was working for a sock manufacturer. He asked Jean-Louis about his plans for the future when he retired at the end of the year. Jean-Louis had no idea what he was going to do, he just hoped something interesting would turn up. And then it dawned on me that one day I too would have to return to normal life. My childhood fantasy of earning enough money on which to live happily ever after went out of the window as Martin spoke.

Jean-Louis Gauthier. He is an extraordinary fellow, so honest. He says this will be his last Tour. In 1980 he won a stage, in 1983 he held the yellow jersey and yet he still has regrets. He regrets that he never cycled down the Champs Elysées in the service of the winner of the Tour de France.

The first night I don't think we exchanged more than two
words, just 'Goodnight', and then 'Good morning'. I didn't know him too well
before the race. I just knew that he was our best
domestique,
that
he was the oldest rider and respected by everyone on the team. Everyone except
Bernard Vallet. He didn't like Vallet and I found this hard to understand.
He must have liked me for we have roomed together for three days now. I know
if he disliked me I'd have been put somewhere else. The second night we talked
a bit more and then a bit more and now I feel totally at ease with him. He
is very helpful. When Martin left, I asked him about his decision to stop
at the end of the season and if he would leave the sport content. He replied
that he was unhappy with his career. In 1983 he had had a great year and received
lots of good offers to move to other teams. But he was a loyal person and
he stuck with his old sponsor. He realised now that this was a mistake. He
said that in the last few years he had lost the will to win, had become too
comfortable in the role of
domestique
and had been too satisfied helping
others. I suppose it happens. If you work as a
domestique
long enough
you end up losing the urge to win for yourself. I made a mental note to avoid
this happening to me.

Wednesday, 9 July
Stage 6: Villers-sur-Mer to Cherbourg (200 kilometres)
Stage winner: Guido Bontempi (Italy)
Race leader: Johan Van de Velde

Today was incredible. From the drop of the flag we went like hell. At times
I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth right down the back of the bunch.
You know you are at the back because you hear the engines of over a hundred
cars and motorbikes following the peloton. It's very irritating because you
get the impression that they are all looking at you. I was more than happy
to arrive in the coastal town, still in the bunch. Had tea with my cousin
Theresa Byrne and her husband Mick this evening at the hotel. Nice to get
a bit of support.

Thursday, 10 July
Stage 7: Cherbourg to St-Hilaire-du-Harcouet (201 kilometres)
Stage winner: Ludo Peeters (Belgium)
Race leader: Jorgen Pedersen (Denmark)

Ninth! Ninth on a stage of the Tour de France. Today I justified my existence.
This was what it's all for. This was the thrill of professional cycling. To
be in the front of the race in a twelve-man break. To have Messieurs Levitan
and Goddet behind you in their red race directors' car. To have the helicopter
buzzing over your head and the television motorbike zooming in to project
your image across the world. I imagined my mother and father doing somersaults
in front of the TV back in Dublin, as Phil Ligett the Channel 4 commentator
shouted, 'Paul Kimmage is magnificent, this has never happened in the Tour
de France before! Can he do it? Can the Dubliner win the stage?' As I pedalled
my way to St-Hilaire I could hear him, and it made me pedal harder. My God,
it was wonderful. I was suffering terribly in the front, but I was giving
it my all. With 500 metres to go I was there, sprinting for a stage win in
the Tour de France. I believed, I believed. My legs were so desperately tired,
but I believed in the miracle that would propel me across the line in front
of the others. But I made a mess of it. Got into a lovely position second
from the front, but was caught on the hop as the others swept past and boxed
me in. The crafty Belgian Ludo Peeters won the sprint. I was ninth. I was
worth a place in the top five, but I had messed it up. I am now the best-placed
rider in the team. Thevenet came into the room tonight and said he was very
pleased with me. I blew a good chance today, but I'm sure there will be others.

Friday, 11 July
Stage 8: St-Hilaire-du-Harcouet to Nantes (204 kilometres)
Stage winner: Eddy Plankaert (Belgium)
Race leader: Jorgen Pedersen

Felt tired all day. Must have been the efforts of yesterday. Wasn't able to
do much about helping the team. Felt a bit guilty and talked to Gauthier about
it. He said there was no need to feel guilty if I was tired and unable to
help. Liked him even more after that. He's becoming my big brother on this
race.

Saturday, 12 July
Stage 9: Nantes to Nantes (61.5 kilometres TT)
Stage winner: Bernard Hinault (France)
Race leader: Jorgen Pedersen

Today I had a rendezvous with reality. I had hoped for much and came away with
so little. Thevenet had warned me, but I hadn't listened: 'Don't ride too
hard, save your strength for the stages to come.' Wasn't he forgetting that
I was the best-placed rider in the team? Damn it, I had worked hard for the
team for over a week: today was my chance to do something for myself. A good
ride would have pushed me into the top thirty. I set out to give it my all.
I did. I have never ridden so hard in a time trial. When it was over I almost
collapsed with exhaustion. I cycled back to the hotel, but could hardly get
the pedals round. I was sore all over. My buttocks ached from the effort of
using the big time-trial gear. On arriving at the hotel I marched straight
to my bed and threw myself on it. The top riders were finishing. Bernard Hinault
had the best time. He had beaten me by eight minutes. Eight minutes in sixty-one
kilometres, and here I was, exhausted on the hotel bed; and there he was,
fresh as a fucking daisy, chatting out at me from the television screen. That's
when I realised the world had separated us. I had been taking the usual multi-vitamins
since the start of the race. I had refused all injections, but as I watched
Hinault I realised that it wasn't possible to continue this way. I was on
my hands and knees after nine stages: how could I possibly complete the fourteen
that remained? Tonight I told Thevenet I was knackered. He asked me if I was
looking after myself. He seemed surprised that I had not taken any injections.
He brought me to Emile's room and suggested a B
₁₂
injection. Emile
looked at me and smiled. He was very kind, I had expected an 'I told you so',
but none came, and I was grateful for this. I dropped my shorts and abandoned
my virginity without a second thought. I fought off guilt waves flowing from
my brain. 'This wasn't doping, it was just getting even with the others.'
However, I was a bit suspicious that the others were putting stronger stuff
than B
₁₂
in their syringes. But B
₁₂
was as far as I
was prepared to go, for the moment. I asked Jean-Louis about the use of hormones,
for I knew that cortisone and testosterone were being widely used. He warned
me off them immediately and without hesitation. 'That stuff is shit, it's
dangerous, messes up the system. Stay away from it.'

Sunday, 13 July
Stage 10: Nantes to Futuroscope (184 kilometres)
Stage winner: Angel-Jose Sarrapio (Spain)
Race leader: Jorgen Pedersen

I felt really bad at the start, was sure I was going to get dropped. But as
the stage went on I started coming round a bit and it was an easy enough day
until the last sixty kilometres. LeMond was in trouble today. He had a bout
of diarrhoea. He rode by me with thirty kilometres to go, surrounded by his
domestiques
bringing him to the front. God, the smell was terrible.
It was rolling down his legs. I know if it was me I would have stopped. I
mean, it's only a bike race. But then again I'm not capable of winning it.
He is and I suppose that's the difference. Stephen rode a great time trial
yesterday and is now third. Don't know how he does it, for a few days earlier
he assured me he was having trouble with his left knee. He said he was riding
on one leg. I wish I had his bad leg.

Monday, 14 July
Stage 11: Poitiers to Bordeaux (258.5 kilometres)
Stage winner: Rudy Dhaenens (Belgium)
Race leader: Jorgen Pedersen

Another long stage, 260 kilometres. They wear you out, these long flat stages,
hour after hour in the saddle. Tomorrow we enter the mountains. I prefer the
mountains. Jean-Louis's wife and child came to the hotel tonight. She's extremely
nice and I made a special effort to be friendly, despite being totally exhausted.

Tuesday, 15 July
Stage 12: Bayonne to Pau (217.5 kilometres)
Stage winner: Pedro Delgado (Spain)
Race leader: Bernard Hinault

War. Today was war. We lost two men. Bruno Huger and Jean-Louis Gauthier both abandoned. Jean-Louis's quitting was a big blow. We started the stage at Bayonne and from the drop of the flag it was war. Attack followed attack on the roller-coaster, leg-breaking Basque roads. A large group went clear, there was a fierce pursuit and then it settled for a while. Just after it settled I talked to Jean-Louis and asked him how he felt. He looked shaken and he told me he was shagged and having a really bad day. Soon after that, we attacked the first big mountain (col) of the Tour and I never saw him again. After the stage I cycled back to the hotel with Bernard Vallet. I expressed my concern for Gauthier and it was Vallet who told me the news. Gauthier had been dropped on the first col and was chasing alone, twenty minutes behind, when he punctured. He could have taken a spare wheel from the broom wagon but decided to pack it in.