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Boy Racer

Page 30

by Mark Cavendish


  We both lunge over the line and I've no idea who's won. But then silence ends, broken not by the screaming tifosi but Haussler's cry. An anguished cry. Not the cry of a man who's just won Milan–San Remo.

  The best ten seconds of my life. The last ten.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The opportunity to write this book arose mainly thanks to my four stage wins in the 2008 Tour de France. That opportunity therefore owes as much to the countless individuals who have supported my career as did those four, life-altering achievements.

  Mum, Dad, brother Andy, uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents and Melissa's entire family; all have witnessed, encouraged and celebrated my transformation from cheeky, chubby teenager to Tour de France stage winner. All deserve my heartfelt appreciation. The same applies to my many mates on the Isle of Man and elsewhere, inside and outside of cycling – too numerous to list here, but who know who they are, and who will always be my anchor in reality, whatever riches, success, disappointment and failure I go on to enjoy or endure.

  In different periods, British Cycling and my current team, Columbia-Highroad, have been my two 'families' in cycling. Rod Ellingworth has been the bridge between those phases in my life – a coach and a constant source of advice, sympathy, friendship and ... necessary bollockings. At Columbia, Bob Stapleton, Brian Holm, Rolf Aldag and Allan Peiper, in particular, all showed faith in me when there were other, more obvious candidates for their confidence. The extraordinary, selfless performances of my teammates, some mentioned here, some not, have been a mere continuation of that trust. Lads, I love every second we spend racing together.

  I thank my manager Fran Millar, my literary agent David Luxton and everyone at Ebury Press for their help in taking this book off the drawing board and into publication. I would also like to show my gratitude to Daniel Friebe for the same reason, and for his commitment at every stage of the project.

  Last and most, not least, of all, I thank and have dedicated this book to my fiancée Melissa. Lissie, you were there when I was a sixteen-year-old scally with no money and sometimes even less charm, and you're still there for me now that I'm a lot older but unfortunately, on occasions, no less of an arsehole. I won't make it up to you with this book or this dedication; I can only hope that I might by loving you and thanking you for being the best thing in my life.

 

 

 


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