by Paul Kimmage
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.
13
TOUR '87
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.
'Fuck. I'm going to crash.' I swung out the bars and tried to avoid him, but there was nowhere for me to go. I hit him and flipped just off the edge of the road. Five seconds of the world turning upside-down, of total lack of control, and I come to a halt. Oh, it's always a great feeling to open your eyes after a crash. My knee is stinging a bit but I'm OK. I try to get up, but I'm trapped under my bike and I burn my hand on the hot front rim. The tyre has rolled off and I will need a change. Behind, there was chaos as, one by one, riders started piling into the back of us. The Belgian Henrick De Vos didn't have time to brake: he went straight off the cliff edge, landing sixty feet below us. Team cars screeched to a halt behind, the panicking race doctors slid down the side to rescue poor De Vos – who I felt sure was dead. Thevenet and Coval both came to my rescue. Thevenet reached me first and he screamed at the mechanic, who had run further down the road, to come back and change the wheel. But the front rim was so hot that he burned his hand as he tried to get it out.