The Tour de France

by Paul Hansford

  Miguel Indurain, winner: 1991, 1992, 1993, 1994, 1995

  Despite becoming the first man to win five successive Tours, of all the members of the ‘Five Win Club’, Miguel Indurain is the most undervalued. This is due in large part to the belief that he was a one-trick pony, an astounding physical specimen who gained so much of an advantage in the time trials that he was uncatchable for the rest of the race. His critics noted that with a 28-bpm resting heart rate and massive 7-litre-capacity lungs, all Indurain had to do was wait for the time trial: kick-start the heart, suck in the air, and the Tour was his. Although on the surface this did look the case, the reality was very different; Indurain had to work extremely hard to reach the top of the sport, progressing through early failures and life as a domestique before finally grabbing his chance to showcase his abilities.

  Few could have predicted the Basque rider would win multiple stage races from his first handful of Tours. As a domestique in the service of compatriot Pedro Delgado, he abandoned in his first two efforts and finished ninety-seventh in his third in 1987. In reality, Indurain was following a plan set out by charismatic sports director José Miguel Echávarri, who was giving his rider an education in Grand Tour riding, even urging him to pull the pin in the early races so as not to burn out. After shedding 6 kilos to make himself more effective in the steep stuff, Indurain slowly started winning races, including the prestigious Paris–Nice, while also steadily improving his Tour placing. In 1990 he cracked the top ten and even won a stage in the mountains in Luz Ardiden.

  The following year saw Indurain become leader of the Spanish Banesto team and embark on his historic domination of the race. There’s no denying that his astonishing ability in the time trial lay the groundwork for every one of his victories: he won eight out of the ten full-length time trials he raced during his five-year streak, and they were the only stages he triumphed in. He simply blew away the opposition in the TT, never more comprehensively than during the 1992 time trial in Luxembourg that saw him win by a mind-blowing three minutes over his nearest rival. Rather than have me try to explain how imperious Miguel Indurain was as a time trialist, jump on YouTube and look up ‘Indurain passes Armstrong’. In the clip, Indurain overtakes Lance Armstrong — world champion at the time — like he isn’t even there, almost blowing the Texan’s helmet off as he flashes past him. While it’s an example of how obviously rubbish Armstrong was without EPO in his bloodstream, it also highlights just how much stronger Indurain was in the TT than anyone else.

  But to say the Spaniard won on time trialling alone would be doing him a disservice. He more than held his own in the mountains every year, and when the Tour went really steep in 1994 (possibly to counteract his dominance), he still emerged triumphant despite winning only one stage in the race. He also had nerves of steel, usually having to defend yellow in the final week as the chasing pack tried to desperately claw back the time they lost in the time trials.

  Where Indurain falls short compared to the other legends is in personality. He was a bland, vanilla man who was enigmatic with the press, which made them criticise his achievements even more. Fans outside of Spain didn’t warm to him much either, most viewing his performances in the same way sports fans viewed Pete Sampras’s era of domination in tennis: boredom in the face of sporting excellence. This was in stark contrast to his reputation within cycling, where he was one of the most liked champions of all time, mostly because he never tried to humiliate another rider or diss them in the press.

  Maybe where Indurain also suffers in comparison is when looking at his competition. Greg LeMond was a multiple Tour winner but, after cracking on the Tourmalet in 1991, it was clear his star was on the wane. Claudio Chiappucci, Tony Rominger and Gianni Bugno all won races elsewhere (and in the case of Rominger and Bugno, other Grand Tours) but could never sustain a challenge for an entire Tour de France, while future winners Marco Pantani and Lance Armstrong were just embarking on their chequered careers. Through no fault of his own, Indurain didn’t have a Bartali or Poulidor to lend any kind of romance or drama to his victories.

  Whichever side of the fence you sit on with regards to Indurain, there’s no doubt he deserves his place at the table of legends, his five consecutive wins something that not even the great Eddy Merckx achieved. Although at the time Indurain was criticised for being too cautious and having no sense of the dramatic, with hindsight it’s possible to see he left a legacy — one of performing brilliantly in the time trials and defending the lead in the mountains — that future winners, including Lance Armstrong and Bradley Wiggins, followed in their pursuit of Tour glory.

  The heartbreaks

  Never has a sporting event been more tailor-made for heartbreak than the Tour de France. Your sympathy might go out to the footballer who skies a penalty in a shoot-out or the rugby player who misses a winning kick in a final, but what of the cyclist who loses a 3000-km race because of one punctured tyre or a slip on a melting road? Or because of a punch in the kidney from a spectator, the blow robbing them of any form and fitness they might have left? Or due to being held up behind a crash in the first week and losing so much time they fall out of contention before the race has even begun? Let’s just say the cycling gods don’t have much sympathy for losers on the Tour.

  Just as the stories of famous victories have entered Tour de France legend, so too have the tales of the defeated, records of men who raced bravely but ultimately saw their dreams shattered. As time softens the blow, many racers take pride in their fables of failed heroics, acknowledging that victory is sometimes out of the competitors’ control. The race has nurtured some admirable losers who, especially in the case of Raymond Poulidor, have become adored more for their dignity in failure than they ever would have for their victories.

  Some riders have suffered misfortune only to return and taste victory — Luis Ocaña won in 1973 after a race-ending fall as leader in 1971, and Joop Zoetemelk finally won the Tour in 1980 after coming second six times — but for others, cycling immortality was always on a horizon they could never quite ride to.

  Léon Scieur, 1919

  For the unfortunate Belgian, a case of cold digits cost him a chance of winning the Tour in 1919. On the stage between Le Havre and Cherbourg he had multiple punctures, forcing him to begin fixing his own tyres after running out of spares. It was cold and wet, and as he struggled with his freezing fingers to thread the needle needed to sew up his tyre, a woman offered help. Just as she was about to take the needle and thread, a race official popped out of nowhere to inform him he would be penalised ‘if Madame threads the needle’, reminding him of the rules that stated riders were to take no help when making repairs. Wary of a penalty, Scieur finally managed to make the repair himself — but the time it took him was nearly the same amount he ended up losing the Tour by. (Surprisingly the chief official survived without taking a needle to the eye that day.)

  René Vietto, 1934

  In 1934 René Vietto was a twenty-year-old former hotel liftboy drafted to help French favourite Antonin Magne make a run at a second Tour win. But, after winning three stages in the mountains, Vietto was challenging his teammate for the yellow jersey — and when Magne crashed coming down the Col de Puymorens, it looked like the race lead would change hands. However, Vietto’s allegiance to his team leader was strong and he stopped to give Magne his front wheel, delaying the youngster for five minutes as he awaited a replacement. The next day on the road to Luchon, Magne crashed again — but rather than make up for lost time, Vietto turned around and rode half a kilometre back downhill to look for his stricken comrade. Again, he gave Magne his wheel, although this time not so happily — the image of Vietto weeping by the side of the road is immortalised in a famous photograph. Although he finished fifth and became a hero for his actions (Magne won the Tour), he admitted feeling bitter about the situation, calling it ‘a hold up’.

  Crashes and injury, as
well as the Second World War, blighted Vietto’s career, and 1934 was the closest he came to winning the Tour. He wore the yellow jersey for twenty-six days in total, the longest time for a non-Tour winner.

  Fiorenzo Magni, 1950

  Italian Fiorenzo Magni was another rider forced to give up a chance to win the Tour because of the actions of his team leader. The 1950 Tour was an acrimonious affair in which the Italians and French fought like … erm, Italians and French, and it all kicked off at the top of the Col d’Aspin when Gino Bartali nudged into Frenchman Jean Robic and crashed into a photographer. A fight broke out in the crowd. The Italian was given a few whacks, and a spectator with a knife was said to be very close to Bartali at one point. (It was later revealed that the knife-wielding assailant was merely cutting up a sausage for his baguette when he ran over to see what was happening.) After overnight negotiations, Bartali used his sway to pull both Italian teams out of the race, despite Magni leading and stating that he wanted to continue. Whether Bartali’s strange decision came more from being threatened by the crowd or his young compatriot is not known, but it was typical of Magni that he didn’t make a fuss and accepted the outcome; he once broke his collarbone in a race and still finished second by tying tape around his handlebars and steering with his teeth.

  Raymond Poulidor

  Nicknamed ‘The Eternal Second’, it was once said of Frenchman Raymond Poulidor that if he didn’t have bad luck, he wouldn’t have any at all. Despite riding in fourteen Tours and finishing in the top three on eight occasions, ‘Pou Pou’ never made it to the top step of the podium. Whether it was a cruel mechanical error, a tactical brain freeze or just a lack of killer instinct, Poulidor couldn’t find it in himself to get over the hump. His bête noir was Jacques Anquetil, a physical and psychological superior who seemingly had to just turn up to beat Poulidor. Although their Tour rivalry lasted only four years and Anquetil beat him into second only once, it divided a country and lives on as one of the race’s most enduring. Despite Anquetil’s success, it was Poulidor who won the hearts of the public, something ‘Maitre Jacques’ could never quite understand. The way Poulidor stoically dealt with the bad hands he was dealt struck a chord with the French, and no-one expressed their disappointment over their losses with more dignity and grace. His autobiography was titled Glory Without the Yellow Jersey, speaking to the fact that although he won more than half a dozen stages over a storied Tour career, he never once led the general classification to wear the yellow jersey.

  Michael Rasmussen, 2005

  Not many riders got the better of Lance Armstrong when the Tour was on the line, but in 2005 Dane Michael Rasmussen was in yellow going into the final time trial and had eyes on at least finishing on the podium. That was, until he got on his bike. As far as disastrous rides in the Tour de France are concerned, Rasmussen’s is right up there. More nervous than Justin Bieber being told he has to sing live, he crashed after just 4 km, had to change his wheel and bike on two occasions and then topped it off by mistaking a roadside ditch for a part of the course. He plummeted from third to seventh on the GC, having to console himself with winning the King of the Mountains jersey instead. Two years later, while also leading the race, Rasmussen was thrown off the Tour and had his contract terminated by Rabobank after it was revealed he’d lied about his whereabouts after missing a mandatory drug test. In early 2013, the Dane admitted to doping from 1998 to 2010 and is now cooperating with anti-doping authorities.

  The end of the legends

  Even the great champions of the Tour suffered the inevitable humiliation of defeat, as old age or loss of form finally caught up with them. As part of their downfall, many past champions had to deal with the twin heartbreak of finally realising they’re mortal and witnessing someone else take their place: Italian Gino Bartali was powerless to stop compatriot Fausto Coppi from beating him in the 1949 Tour; Eddy Merckx could do nothing about Bernard Thévenet’s attack on the way to Pra Loup in 1975; Bernard Hinault was forced to finally cede power to Greg LeMond on the slopes of L’Alpe d’Huez in 1986; and then LeMond saw his crown pass to Miguel Indurain when the American fell apart on the Col du Tourmalet the following year. It’s the cycling circle of life, and knowing it’s going to happen doesn’t make it any easier to bear.

  Death at the Tour de France

  ‘Heartbreak’ in sport is relative, and the failure to win a bike race pales in comparison to the loss of a life. Tragedy has struck the Tour on several occasions, with spectators, tour officials and journalists all being killed during the race. As for the riders who take so many risks every day, four men have died in the pursuit of glory.

  Adolphe Hélière was the first rider to die during the Tour, and the only rider not to do so on his bike. The Frenchman was taking a dip in the sea on a rest day in Nice in 1910 when he drowned, either from a stroke or a jellyfish sting.

  Spaniard Francisco Cepeda was the first rider to die while racing. On 14 July 1935 during a descent of the Col du Galibier, his tyre separated from his wheel and he plummeted over the edge of a cliff. He fell into a coma after being rescued and died three days later in hospital.

  Tragedy did not hit the Tour again for another thirty-two years, but when it did it sent shockwaves through the riding fraternity. Englishman Tom Simpson was a former world champion and one of the favourites for the General Classification heading into the 1967 Tour. On 13 July the race hit Mont Ventoux, a mountain that had forewarned of its dangers with an apocalyptic stage in 1955; the heat that fateful day in 1967 was just as oppressive. Simpson was in a pursuing group on the final climb, but suddenly began to fall back, riding from side to side in a telltale sign of trouble. He crashed, but with help from some spectators he was quickly back on his bike. Making it only a few metres, he fell off again, this time for good. Medical staff tried to revive him for over an hour, but all was lost. His heart had stopped and he was helicoptered off the mountain. Investigations later found both alcohol and drugs in his system. Drugs were also discovered in his jersey pocket, and the official verdict was ‘heart collapse due to overwork and drugs’. It was a stark reminder of the role doping played in professional cycling and the tragic outcome that can come from taking drugs. A monument to Simpson now sits on the Ventoux, inscribed with the words: ‘There’s no mountain too high. Your daughters Jane and Joanne.’

  The most recent death took place in 1995 on the Col de Portet-d’Aspet. Italian Fabio Casartelli was an Olympic gold medallist looking to make an impression in his second Tour, but he lost control on a fast descent and crashed head-first into a concrete block on the side of the road. His injuries were severe (he hadn’t been wearing a helmet) and his heart stopped several times on the flight to the hospital in Tarbes. He was pronounced dead soon after arrival. Casartelli’s death affected the peloton deeply, with riders donating the prize money from the next day’s stage to his family, and teammate and friend Lance Armstrong paying an emotional tribute as he won the stage into Limoges a couple of days later. The Casartelli monument is situated on the slope where the Italian lost his life, and the riders paid tribute to him as they rode past it exactly ten years to the day of the crash. Although experts have said a helmet would not have saved him, Casartelli’s death led to a movement to make headgear compulsory for Tour riders.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tour de France Hall of Fame:

  The heroes and the history makers

  The Tour’s heroes and history makers are the men who helped define the sport. From L’Auto’s Lefèvre and Steines, who built the race behind the scenes, and multiple winners such as Gino Bartali, Louison Bobet and Greg LeMond, to history makers like Cadel Evans and Bradley Wiggins, each person has made an indelible mark on the Tour.

  Géo Lefèvre & Alphonse Steines

  Henri Desgrange is known as the ‘Father of the Tour’, but without the efforts of Géo Lefèvre and Alphonse Steines he wouldn’t have bee
n much of a parent. Lefèvre, a young cycling journalist employed by Desgrange at L’Auto, was the man who came up with the idea of the Tour de France race in an office brainstorming session. In a classic case of the boss stealing the best ideas from his employees and making them his own, Géo’s Tour soon became Desgrange’s Tour, and the birth of the race was announced on the pages of L’Auto on 19 January 1903. Unsure of how the event would be received, Desgrange stayed away from the first Tour, preferring to send Lefèvre out to cover the daily comings and goings; while the boss opined about the romance of the race in L’Auto’s editorials from Paris, it was Lefèvre’s words that described the first Tour’s events, contributing greatly to the massive increase in sales that the paper enjoyed during the race.

  Alphonse Steines was also a journalist at L’Auto, and he can lay claim to being the original ‘king of the mountains’. In 1905 he persuaded Desgrange to introduce a mountain stage over Ballon d’Alsace, although the boss thought it would be pushing the riders too far (not out of concern for their welfare, but more that the spectacle of his race would suffer if there were images of the peloton walking their bikes up the steep paths). He said as much in the pages of L’Auto, and René Pottier took it as a personal affront and rode to the top faster than the official car containing Desgrange. (Pottier pulled out with tendonitis later that stage, but let’s gloss over that fact …)

  Not content with a few ‘hills’, Steines pushed further to include the Pyrenees in the 1910 Tour, not at all put off by the fact there weren’t actually any roads to ride over. Desgrange knew this and sent his eager journo out to the Tourmalet to report on the worthiness of holding a stage there. Braving deep snow along the mountain passes and even having to be saved after walking off in the middle of the night, Steines sent back a now famous telegram that read: ‘No trouble crossing the Tourmalet. Roads satisfactory. No problem for cyclists.’ (Why Health and Safety officers never followed up on this remains a mystery.) Desgrange needed little more encouragement and announced the race was now to include the Pyrenees, with a final climb over the daunting Col d’Aubisque.