by Eric Reed
stage race, which developed into a world- famous competition in the early
1980s. The Coors Classic devolved from the “Red Zinger” two- day amateur
race, which was founded in 1975 by Celestial Seasonings herbal tea company
head Mo Siegel, named after the company’s most popular herbal blend, and
featured racing in the Boulder, Colorado, area. Organizers convinced Colo-
rado beer giant Coors to sponsor the competition, renamed the race in 1979,
and used the brewery’s seed money to expand the race into one of the world’s
most well- known cycling contests. The Coors Classic grew to a week and a
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half of racing and offered prize money totaling $50,000, on par with second-
tier stage races in Europe.
The legendary 1981 edition pitted rising American professional star Greg
LeMond, who became in 1986 the fi rst American to win the Tour de France,
against the vaunted Soviet national cycling team. The press narrative of the
1981 Coors Classic fi t cleanly into the broader context of Cold War sport-
ing competition. American journalists portrayed the Soviet team, comprised
of racers who, technically, were amateurs but who nevertheless trained and
competed year- round while on the state payroll, as an invincible, experienced
juggernaut that had “never lost a race.”60 The Soviets had never before com-
peted in America and arrived in Colorado still basking in the glory of the road racing gold medal won by team captain Sergei Sukhoruchenkov in the 1980
Moscow Summer Games. LeMond, a twenty- year- old who turned profes-
sional in 1979 due to the American boycott of the Moscow Olympics, trained
in France and had demonstrated enormous potential on the European racing
circuit. LeMond’s spectacular climbing talent ensured his victory in the race’s penultimate stage, the “Morgul- Bismarck” circuit race outside Boulder. Despite Soviet efforts to collude and physically block LeMond’s explosive uphill
breakaway by forming a wall of swerving bicycles across the road, LeMond
surged out of the main group and overtook Soviet rider and Olympic team-
pursuit gold medalist Yuri Kashirin for the race lead, which he maintained
until the end of the Classic. Sports Illustrated characterized LeMond’s up-set win as a victory of “Goldilocks” over the Soviet “Bears” and praised the
Coors Classic as “the closest thing the U.S. has to the Tour de France.”61
Despite the event’s popularity and fame, the withdrawal of Coors Brewing
Company from sponsorship led to the race’s demise in 1988.62
Nevertheless, American professional road racing continued to grow, es-
pecially on the East Coast, in the 1980s. The establishment of the Tour of
America, Tour de Trump, and Tour DuPont competitions in the 1980s illus-
trates the rising popularity of stage racing and the growing corporate interest in sponsorship of the sport. Although none of these races survived past the
mid- 1990s, their histories highlight the signifi cant infl uence of the Tour de France on the commercial strategies, tone, style, competitive structure, and
spectator culture of American cycling. Tour de France organizers, including
directors Félix Lévitan and Jean-Marie Leblanc, had direct roles in organizing
the American “Tours.” They believed that growth of professional road racing
in the United States would facilitate the ongoing globalization of the French
Tour. These direct interactions facilitated ever- expanding exchanges of ath-
letes, organizational expertise, sponsorship money, and fans between Europe
and the United States that continue to the present day.
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The Tour of America was the most direct foray of the French into Ameri-
can stage race organization. In 1982, Félix Lévitan and several American busi-
ness partners developed the idea of staging a Tour de France- like multistage
race in the world’s largest, wealthiest media market, the northeastern corri-
dor of the United States. At a November 1982 press conference in the Ameri-
can capital, Lévitan, accompanied by reigning Tour de France and 1980 world
champion Bernard Hinault, announced that the three-day, four- stage “Tour
of America” would race through Virginia and fi nish in Washington, D.C. The
competition would coincide with the capital’s annual spring Cherry Blossom
Festival. Racers would fi nish on the National Mall next to the Washington
Monument. Lévitan would serve as the new event’s codirector. The $100,000
purse made the new event one of the world’s richest. Hinault promised to
race in the Tour of America and to serve as an ambassador of professional
cycling. “As the number one in this sport, I want to make it number one in
this country also,” declared the French champion to the American press.63
The Tour de France inspired the Tour of America’s organization, logistics,
and business plan. American press coverage during the months before the
race pointed to the growing exchanges of athletes, sponsorship money, and
administrative expertise between the new and old worlds. Organizers deemed
Hinault’s presence in the Tour of America’s peloton to be crucial to the new
event’s popular success. Also crucial was the inclusion of top European cy-
cling teams and sponsors, which would add commercial and sporting clout to
the new Tour. After consulting with the American comanager Rob Ingraham
in Paris, Lévitan promised to lure eight top European teams to the race.64
Lévitan also signed agreements with French television and the American CBS
network to broadcast several hours of live coverage of the event on both sides
of the Atlantic. TV coverage would culminate with a real- time, nationwide
broadcast of the race’s fi nish on the National Mall. The Tour de France co-
director brought some of the French race’s sponsors to America for the new
race. Most visible was Peugeot, which provided the offi cial race cars that preceded the peloton, sirens and bullhorns screaming, into Washington, D.C.
The American press paid signifi cant attention to Jonathan Boyer, the only
American star scheduled to participate in the race. A United Press Interna-
tional story published widely in the United States during the week before the
Tour of America’s launch conveyed to readers a detailed analysis of Boyer’s
professional biography. Boyer’s career trajectory became the model followed
by most Americans who aspired to ride in the Tour de France and to make a
living as a professional cyclist. Although he grew up in Utah and California,
Boyer spent ten years living in France serving mainly as a domestique (support rider) for European professional teams while learning the ropes of pro-
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fessional riding. To earn his keep, the American rode in up to 180 races a year, which took a toll in injuries and exhaustion. Nevertheless, Boyer met with
good success on the European circuit, placed near the top in several second-
tier races, and earned an invitation from Bernard Hinault’s team to compete
in the 1981 Tour de France. Now recognized as the top American road racer
in the world, Boyer returned to the United States to lead an all- American
professional team in the Tour of Amer
ica. Boyer made it clear that although it
was “great to see the United States getting interested in bike racing,” the lure of prize money drew him and other professionals to compete in the Tour of
America.65
Local hosts’ expectations for the cultural and commercial impact of the
American Tour mirrored those of European host communities. Fredericks-
burg, Virginia, the launching site for the race’s fi nal stage, would “become,
for the moment, a bike- racing mecca.” CBS would tape scenes of the stage’s
start, which would transpire on Sunday, April 10, in front of Fredericksburg’s
downtown Visitors Center, for rebroadcast during CBS Sports Sunday. The expected rewards for hosting the race were “incalculable” since “scenes of
Fredericksburg [would] be broadcast to millions of Americans and Euro-
peans, providing the city with spillover benefi ts for tourism.” To coincide
with the Tour of America’s arrival, the city planned a “carnival of weekend
activity,” dubbed “Let’s Get Physical Weekend,” perhaps in a nod to Olivia
Newton- John’s 1981 pop hit. “Let’s Get Physical Weekend” would feature clog-
ging, karate, and an Olympics- style competition between town merchants
and the city council, as well as bands and food vendors. The race would start
at noon, so that spectators could spill out of the pews onto the streets of Fredericksburg to watch.66
Fredericksburg’s newspaper, the Free Lance- Star, published a tongue-
in- cheek fan guide meant to educate local spectators about stage racing and
how to act like a proper French spectator. “You’re part of an ‘elite’ group of
some 220 million Americans who have never seen a ‘domestique’ blocking
wind and foe alike in the name of fame and glory,” quipped journalist Steve
Giegerich. The reporter explained the purposes of domestiques and team captains, how the winner of the Tour of America would be determined, and some
of the race route’s highlights. Giegerich urged spectators to cheer with the
“proper liquid refreshment in hand”:
And that liquid refreshment must never, never . . . be a can of beer. For this is an occasion that demands the presence of a wine with a full bouquet. White
wine is preferred and you’ll get high marks if the label ends with the letters
eaux.
t h e t o u r ’ s g l o b a l i z i n g a g e n d a
157
The article explained to Fredericksburg readers the proper language and
etiquette to be employed while spectating. Fans must never “emit an impas-
sioned plea urging one’s favorite rider to get his you- know- what in gear.”
Rather, since most of the riders in the race would be French, bystanders must
“urge the cyclists to vitement (go faster),” “bid them bon chance (good luck),”
and “wish them a fond adieu” when they have passed. Giegerich stipulated that “it is considered very, very tacky to poke sticks or any foreign objects into the bicycle spokes” of the contestants. Finally, Giegerich encouraged his
readers to “enjoy the color and pageantry of the races [and] remember your
brief French lesson.”67
In the end, the Tour of America failed to meet the hopes of organizers,
fans, or competitors. Doubts about whether Bernard Hinault would partici-
pate in the race threatened to deprive the event of necessary “star power”
and clouded the run- up to the event’s launch. Although Lévitan and Hinault
promised repeatedly that the French Tour champion would compete, the
classic, one- day Paris – Roubaix race was scheduled for the same day as the
Tour of America’s fi nal stage. Hinault’s sponsors insisted that he return to
Europe to participate in the Paris – Roubaix, which robbed the fl edgling Tour
of America of its most famous participant and predicted winner.68 Instead,
unknown Dutch professional Bert Oosterbosch won the race, while Jonathan
Boyer (twenty- fourth place) and the American teams fi nished far back in the
standings. The event did not draw enough popular interest. Torrential rains
fell as the riders rolled through the fi nal stage. An estimated 200,000 roadside spectators watched the three- day event, which was far fewer than the millions
of spectators organizers had hoped to attract. Only 5,000 fans turned out
to watch the contest in Fredericksburg, despite the excitement of “Let’s Get
Physical Weekend.”69
Later American road races fared better than the Tour of America. U.S.
cycling’s next great foray into stage racing was the brainchild of basketball
commentator Billy Packer. Packer, scribbling on a napkin at an Indianapolis
restaurant one evening in 1987, plotted out the broad strokes of a competition
he initially dubbed the “Tour de New Jersey,” a road race from Manhattan
to Atlantic City. The basketball commentator’s enthusiasm for the concept
was noticed by billionaire real estate tycoon Donald Trump, who granted
Packer an audience. Packer’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Trump prom-
ised to sponsor the event. Both men agreed that the new competition needed
a more compelling name, one that would be recognized immediately around
the world. Thus was born the Tour de Trump, a ten- day, 837- mile stage race
down America’s Eastern Seaboard.70
Organizers staged the inaugural Tour de Trump in May 1989. Like the
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c h a p t e r s i x
Tour of America, the Tour de Trump relied on growing exchanges of exper-
tise, athletic talent, and corporate and media sponsorship between Europe
and North America. Like its predecessor races, the Tour de Trump strove to
mimic the Tour de France’s athletic structure and cultural “feel.” Sports Illustrated magazine declared the competition’s fi rst edition a “smashing success.”
The race’s relatively rich sponsorship and prize money — $750,000 from
Trump to stage the event, and a total purse of $250,000 — was rich enough
to entice two European professional teams to withdraw from the Tour of
Spain, one of road racing’s three most important “Grand Tours,” to race in
America. The Tour de Trump also drew the top American professionals, in-
cluding 1986 Tour de France winner Greg LeMond, which added to public
interest in the race. The European racers and fans who participated in and
followed the Tour de Trump “loved it” and declared that the event “had the
feeling of a European road race.” Rural Americans were drawn to the event
as it passed through the Appalachians and Pennsylvania Dutch country, es-
pecially “wide- eyed schoolchildren” carrying hand- painted welcome signs,
“elderly couples . . . toting American fl ags [waiting for the race] at the end of their driveways,” and “farmers caught in the traffi c” caused by the Tour de
Trump’s passage. The cycling community spoke optimistically of the Tour de
Trump as “a future Tour de France” because of popular excitement, lucrative
sponsorship deals, and the large purse.71
Despite such impressions, the fi rst Tour de Trump experienced signifi cant
problems. The race’s fi nal stage ended in controversy. An offi cial motorcycle ushering leader Eric Vanderaerden around the time- trial course in Atlantic City led the racer onto the wrong street. The Belgian professional lost
so much time returning to course that he was overtaken in the standings by
Dag Otto Lauritzen, a former Norwegian paratrooper.72 Despite the seeming
popularity of the race in rural America, urban spectators seemed uninter-
ested in the Tour de Trump. The fi nal stage’s race route, which wound past
Trump- owned properties in Atlantic City, including the Trump Plaza Ca-
sino and the Trump Castle, drew only 10,000 spectators, many of whom were
“winos.” Furthermore, despite the race’s rich purse, the Tour de Trump was
still categorized as a “Pro- Am” (professional- amateur) race, which limited
its appeal to top racing teams, since only fully professional races would be
sanctioned by the UCI, international professional cycling’s governing body.
Of the nineteen teams entered in the inaugural event, eleven were amateur or
semiprofessional, including a squad sponsored by Sauna Diana, Amsterdam’s
largest brothel.73
Donald Trump ended his fi nancial support of the race in 1990, but a new
corporate backer, DuPont, stepped in with $2 million per year in new spon-
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159
sorship money. Race organizers changed the name of the race in honor of its
most important sponsor. Like the corporate sponsors of the Tour de France,
DuPont’s interest in the American stage race stemmed from the conglom-
erate’s desire to use new, untried publicity tools to expand its name recog-
nition. A DuPont marketing executive, Jack Conmy, called the company’s
decision a “dollars- and- cents marketing decision” and characterized its in-
vestment in the Tour DuPont as a “bargain.” The company claimed that the
American press clippings featuring DuPont’s image associated with the Tour
weighed 29 pounds, and that for its sponsorship investment, the international
conglomerate amassed global media exposure valued at nearly $70 million,
almost all of which ($66 million) was categorized by DuPont as foreign pub-
licity. “In 40 years in [media relations], I have never seen such concentrated, sustained and positive media coverage,” raved DuPont’s adman.74
Despite DuPont’s initial enthusiasm, the Tour DuPont’s chronic weak-
nesses hamstrung the event’s growth. The race’s “pro- am” status meant that
professional cyclists who participated in the Tour DuPont could not gain