Shut Up, Legs!

by Jens Voigt

  Sometimes, even often, we would butt heads. I would be like, “Bobby, be spontaneous! Go out there and have fun. Just get out there and smash the competition. Don’t think about it all the time!” I would have the same conversations with Boardman. I would tell him, “Chris, stop thinking about how to be most efficient. Just go out there and race!” Sometimes guys like Chris and Bobby overthought things and ended up making mistakes because they asked too many questions. Boardman, for example, would attack in the final. But he would attack too soon, say five or six kilometers from the finish. I would say to him, “Chris, you’re the world hour record holder! You can do four kilometers back-to-back in four minutes and sixteen seconds. No three teams together can do that! So just wait until the last three kilometers. If you get five seconds, they’ll never catch you! Why attack from so far out?”

  Yet despite our differences on the bike, Bobby and I hit it off from the moment we met. I’ll never forget our first meeting. It came before we were even teammates, back in my first year as a pro with GAN. I was racing in the Paris-Nice race, my first big race, really. And I was pretty nervous. Bobby was on the rival French team, Cofidis. He was already a confirmed rider. He already had some big results, and he came up to me that day and said, “Calm down! You’re making everybody nervous the way you’re fighting for position all the time.”

  And I was like, “Hey, I just have a shit one-year contract. I have to prove that I’m good. I don’t have two years to prove myself like all the other neo-pros.”

  And he was like, “Just chill, man. You’re a good rider. Save your energy for when it counts.”

  Despite what could best be described as an awkward introduction, we had a lot in common. We’re basically the same age, and once he came to the team, it became obvious that we had a lot of similar interests. I don’t know if there was ever this key quintessential moment that made us best friends forever, but we are! We’re so different, but we always complemented each other and challenged each other. Bobby always used to give me shit about stretching, or more appropriately, the fact that I didn’t stretch. And I would just say, “Oh man, you and your stretching. You just make me nervous.” I would be there playing Game Boy and he would be reading books on stretching or how to become a better public speaker, or something equally useful. He would have all this equipment for stretching or working his core muscles. I would say, “Bobby, half your suitcase is just for stretching. Man, just lie on your back and chill out.” But he was never into that!

  But as with Boardman, we could talk endlessly. We would compare his stories about growing up in America to mine about growing up in East Germany. And as an American living in Europe, he was fascinated by history. I remember racing in the Tour of Germany once; we raced past this castle, and I said, “Hey, Bobby, see that castle? That’s where Martin Luther was once a prisoner. And, oh yeah, by the way, Martin Luther translated the Bible from Latin to German, and by doing so pretty much established the modern German language.”

  And Bobby was like, “Oh man, how cool is that!” And later, after the race, he asked me a million questions about it, and I told him everything I knew about Luther’s 95 Theses and how he got excommunicated and all that.

  Bobby was also curious about what life was really like in East Germany, about the education system, and just generally how things worked. And I was always asking him about American history. I was curious about what really happened to the American Indians or about the civil rights movement. Were Indians really still living on reservations today? What was the situation with blacks and whites today in America? Or how did you play this game of baseball? This was before races like the Tour of California or the Tour of Colorado existed and gave me a chance to see America with my own eyes. I learned a lot about life in America from Bobby.

  And, of course, we would talk about cycling. I didn’t have the energy or patience to study and analyze the sport like he did, but I still learned from him. Bobby is the one who taught me how to use an SRM system. He was the first person who taught me to alternate training between really hard and really easy. Until I met Bobby, I had always mixed up intervals during a training ride. And in-between intervals I would still be cruising around at 35 kph (22 mph). Bobby was the first to break it down, to do intervals at 100 percent but also rest and recuperate at 100 percent. That was something we did a lot more when I joined the CSC team, but Bobby was already on to it.

  So I learned from him and, yes, we really complemented each other. But, mostly, I think we just clicked because, despite the fact that he grew up in America and I grew up in East Germany, we had similar values. Loyalty is important to both of us, being loyal to the team and your teammates. We both have families, and we’re both trying to raise our kids in what we think is the right way. We are both curious people who like to broaden our horizons. We both like to see, talk about, and read about new things.

  And it was during the two years we spent on Crédit Agricole that we started a little tradition that we continue up to this day. Bobby has lived in Nice for years, and so any year we’re both in Nice for the finish of Paris-Nice, I spend the final night with him and his wife, Angela, and their kids, for a Mexican night where we make burritos and margaritas. We started doing this more than 15 years ago, but it’s such a great tradition between us that we won’t stop it!

  Thor Hushovd was another key teammate in my Crédit Agricole years. He was younger and came on a little later. Now with Thor, things were a little different, because he came on as a neo-pro, and I was one of his mentors. Chris Boardman once told me that cycling goes in circles. “When you first come onto a team, you’re young and others have to help you out,” he said. “Then there’s a period where you’re on top. You’re selfish. You want the team behind you. You want the special team. You want to win! But then at the end of the circle, it’s up to you to help others, because it’s time to give back and help the next kid fulfill his circle.” And that’s the way it was immediately with Thor. I wanted to help him out right away. I could tell he had what it took to become a good rider and all he needed was a helping hand and somebody to tell him how things work.

  I think the first race we did was Paris-Bourges, a sort of warm-up for Paris-Tours, the race where I signed my first contract with the team. He was just a stagiaire, an apprentice, at the time. All of a sudden, the weather changed, and it started raining. He wasn’t ready for that and didn’t have any rain gear. So I went back to the team car and got him a rain jacket and some arm warmers and gloves. He was so happy that an experienced pro would actually help him out, but for me, it was just one of those moments when I could start giving back.

  You could see immediately that he was a good, strong rider and just needed a little help and advice. I mean, after all, he was world time trial champion as an amateur and just bubbling with talent.

  But what impressed me from the start with Thor was that, despite how young he was, he had a real plan. When he was 18, he already owned a Porsche and a nightclub. He was always clever with money.

  He was sort of the picture-book Viking. He was big and strong and possessed such acute mental focus. That was one of his nicknames, “The Viking,” and he lived up to it. He really was “The God of Thunder and Lightning”! He performed really well in the rain and descended like nobody else, maybe the best I’ve ever seen. Stuart O’Grady was probably as fast in the descent because he was just fearless, but Thor would take these corners so fast that it would take your breath away. And he would be like, “Oh, that was easy!”

  We used to have this running gag where he would blow past me on a descent and then turn around and wave to me: “Come on, Jens! Hurry up!” But there was no way I could follow him on a descent. All I could do was wait until we started climbing the next mountain. And then I could ride along next to him and go, “Hey, you little fat sprinter! Who’s suffering now, ha-ha!”

  We became such good friends on the team that I asked him to be my best man, along with Jens Wichmann, an old friend from sports school, whe
n Stephanie and I finally got married in 2003. And what a champion! He had lots of results all the time. He was a great world champion because, well, he just kept winning, which doesn’t happen often. More times than not, it’s very hard for world champions to win many races, because they’re so marked with the rainbow jersey on their back. They just stand out. But Thor won two stages in the Tour de France and wore the yellow jersey that year. Talk about results! To me, he’s one of the all-time greats. He was as strong as a horse, clever, fearless on the descents, and a very fast sprinter.

  It’s just a shame that he wasn’t himself the last two years of his career. He caught this virus, and it took forever to find out what it was and what to do about it. It was very hard for him to regain his old form after that. Thor and I talked about it during our last years together in the peloton. He’d say, “Jens, it’s so frustrating for me! I want to attack. I know when to go. But my body shuts me down!” On another occasion he’d come to me and say, “Jens, I just don’t know how you do it. I can’t imagine racing for another seven years.” Thor is seven years younger than me, but he started his professional career at a lot younger age than I did, and he immediately became a lot more successful than I ever was.

  I remember that he finished strong and with some really great stage finishes in one of his last races, the Arctic Race of Norway. Also I remember him becoming the first Norwegian rider to wear the yellow jersey in the Tour de France, as well as winning a classic like the 2009 Omloop Het Nieuwsblad, and 10 stages in the Tour de France. What I love about Thor is that we still chat and keep in contact, sending Christmas greetings to each other. He has not only been a champ on the bike but he is a great character off the bike, too, and a true friend for life.

  Finishing up on the Hautacam climb after one of my better days in the Pyrenees—it was a great team ride where we helped set up our teammate Carlos Sastre for victory in the 2008 Tour de France. (James Startt)

  MOVING TO CSC

  “Here on this team, I don’t want to just make you better bike riders. I strive to make you better human beings.”

  Jens as seen by Francis Bur (soigneur for Voigt at GAN and Crédit Agricole, currently works for Team IAM):

  Jens for me goes down as one of the four or five greatest champions I ever had the chance to work with. And over the years, I had the pleasure to work with plenty. There was Gilbert Duclos Lassalle (two-time winner of Paris-Roubaix), who was just amazing for his longevity. There was Greg LeMond, who was such a classy champion. Chris Boardman was just amazingly professional, not to mention very forward thinking with his very scientific approach. And then there’s Jens, who was probably the most generous champion I ever met. What a big heart! When he came on the team, I spoke some German, but he insisted on speaking French because he wanted to integrate; he really wanted to be part of the team. He did everything 110 percent. You can’t not love him! He gives everything he has every day on a bike. He never calculated anything on a bike or off!

  That’s why he was such a good team captain. He could do the work all day and still finish in the top 20. He could lead by example.

  But Jens never impressed me more than in his last race with Crédit Agricole in 2003. Nothing summed up his spirit better. We were at the Paris-Bourges classic, a late-season classic. What a day! But who would ever have guessed? At the start of the race, at the team meeting, he said, “Look, guys, it’s been a long season, and this is my last race with the team. I don’t have the legs to do much today, but I will do what I can to help you. I’ll do my best early in the race and cover any breaks.” Now, from all my years working in cycling, I know that when a rider has signed a contract with another team and is leaving at the end of the season, his motivation is never high. The last race is more of a formality.

  Anyway, attacks started early, and for the first 25 kilometers, Jens did what he said he would do. He followed every move until he just couldn’t go with any more accelerations.

  And just after that, a breakaway finally got away without him or anybody from the team. Boy, was he pissed! He’d covered every move for the better part of an hour, and when a move finally got away, there wasn’t one Crédit Agricole rider who could cover it. To make matters worse, most of the guys just plain dropped out that day. But not Jens. He wanted to be a professional until the end and respect the team colors until the final race was finished.

  But in what can only be described as the irony of sports, Jens not only finished the race, but he got in a late-race counterattack, bridged up to the break, and won. He won the last race he ever rode for the team! That just doesn’t happen. But it happened with Jens. Everybody else was in the showers. He should have been in the showers, but instead he was on the victory podium. The others came to the race to perform, and they were in the showers. Jens didn’t come to the race trying to get a result, and he won! It’s the most beautiful farewell anybody can give to a team.

  After six years with Roger Legeay, I decided to move on and accept an offer with the Danish CSC team in 2004. And almost immediately, I started another amazing six-year experience.

  So many things that we take for granted now among the professional ranks were initiatives that found their start with CSC, one of the sport’s truly revolutionary teams.

  Bjarne Riis, a former Tour de France winner and general manager, was a pioneer in many ways because he looked at so many things besides riding bikes to build a great cycling team. He initiated survival training camps in the winter to build bonds with teammates. He was a maniac when it came to diet, and we were one of the first teams to have our own movable kitchen in a truck at all the big races. He was also a big advocate of cross-training and was one of the first to have his cyclists do core training in the gym. A lot of things that we take for granted today in professional cycling were first implemented by Bjarne.

  Bjarne just took everything to another level, it seemed. I remember one year, he wanted to use Shimano for sponsorship and Shimano agreed, but they wanted to provide a whole package, including pedals and wheels. But Bjarne said, “No, your wheels aren’t good enough for my team. We just want the group set.” Shimano refused, so Bjarne said, “Okay, then I will buy the parts I want for the team.” Then he went and bought the exact parts—what he considered the best parts—for the team’s use. He didn’t want to be forced into using inferior equipment just to please a sponsor. He wanted to use only the equipment that he thought was best for his team. He was one of the first managers to push for more independence when it came to equipment.

  Bjarne also really tried to teach each rider to take more responsibility for himself and the team. He always surprised me and impressed me with his ability to take criticism. People on the team would sometimes be critical of a decision that he was making. Sometimes, they would say something like, “You know, Bjarne, that’s a shit idea!”

  But Bjarne never got mad; he never said, “Well, I’m the boss and that’s the way it is.” Instead, he always engaged in the dialogue. “Hmm, do you think so? What is it that’s wrong? What do you think?”

  That was a first for me. Until then, the team managers were always the boss, and you did what they said. Period.

  But Bjarne was different. He questioned things and was willing to take risks. Perhaps the best example was in his survival camps or “team-building camps,” as we called them, because they would build team spirit. I mean, first of all, he was taking a huge risk. After all, he had just spent five or six million euros on the salaries of some of the world’s best cyclists, and then he was taking them out in the dark in Denmark in the middle of winter somewhere. Who knows what might happen? But he thought it was worth the risk, because those camps really served to bond us together. Let me tell you, you never forgot which person shared his last chocolate bar with you at four o’clock in the morning when you were guarding the fire on night watch. You remember those talks you had with the guys who were on watch duty with you. You remember that last little bit of chocolate.

  Every December, we would ve
nture off on these camps. We never knew exactly how long they would last or exactly where they would be. That was all part of it. Bjarne didn’t like routine. And he liked to keep us on our toes. The first one was only 36 hours, but with no sleep and constant challenges.

  At one camp, I remember, in the middle of the night we had to jump into this lake. It was pitch black out, and we didn’t know how far we had to jump. The instructor just said, “Okay, boys, you can’t see the water, but it’s down there!” All we could see was a little fluorescent buoy. We had to jump down, swim to the buoy, and then swim down to the bottom of the lake and back up. We didn’t really know how far the jump was. We just had to trust that there was water where they said there was water and that the landing was safe.

  Another time, there were 10 of us at the bottom of this dry dam. And there was just a rope with a pulley. We had to pull each guy up, and then when there were about five guys already on the top, it was up to them to simply pull the others up one by one. There were always these sorts of activities, nonstop.

  One time, I remember, we had three sailboats. And then when we were about a kilometer-and-a-half from shore, the military guy just said, “Okay, everybody in the water!” So, no questions asked, we just jumped into the water, and we were swimming around the boats a kilometer-and-a-half away from shore. Then they divided us into groups or teams of ten and threw each group a paddleboard with a couple of sets of flippers, and we had to get everyone back to shore. Now some guys, like our team director, Alain Gallopin, weren’t the best swimmers. So we had to figure out what to do to get everyone back safely. I remember we put Alain on the board and made him our skipper. It was up to him to steer and give directions, and then we worked together to get back to shore. The weaker swimmers would hang onto the surfboard and paddle with their feet, and the better swimmers were on the outside with the flippers. Now the water was something like 500 meters deep there, but that’s how we got ourselves back to shore.