B
B. Lafferty
Guest
The Sunday Times July 02, 2006
Cycling: Cycle of ambition
PAUL KIMMAGE
In 1986 I rode the Tour de France as a wide-eyed 24-year-old. Is
there anybody like me in this year's peloton?
::nobreak::For a long time now I've had this love/hate
relationship with the Tour de France. I love the event but I hate the people
who have destroyed it. And every summer a recurring battle rages in my head
.. . .
"I'm really looking forward to The Open." "You should go back to
the Tour." "I went to the Tour last year." "Yeah, you stayed for three days
and wrote a story about drugs. Why not cover the race from start to finish?"
"Three weeks?" "Yeah." "That's a lot of drugs stories." "You don't have to
write exclusively about drugs; you've competed in this race three times. Why
not write a diary about how it feels to go back?" "Because I'd rather write
a diary about The Open." "You never played in The Open." "No, but I'm
working on my handicap." "Think about it." "No."
But, four weeks ago, a funny thing happened. I had been planning
this bike ride in the Alps with my brothers and some friends for months. We
caught a flight to Geneva, hired a mini-bus and drove south to Grenoble
towards Gap. Grenoble used to be home during my time as a professional racer
and as we drove through the suburbs and up the Côte de Laffrey, my mind
started flooding with memories of what seems another life.
"You know," I announced, "when I rode the Tour I was still with
the leaders when we came up here in 1987."
"You know," I said, "when I rode the Tour the stage was a little
bit different to the one we're going to ride tomorrow."
"You know," I said, "when I rode the Tour the race was 400
kilometres longer and we had only one rest day."
"You know," I said, "when I rode the Tour we were given just
five pairs of shorts and five jerseys to get us through the three weeks and
I had to hand-wash my kit after every second stage."
It didn't take long before a white flag was raised. "Listen
mate, no offence," my friend Harry announced. "But I think we'll have to
restrict you to the number of times you can say 'When I rode the Tour'
tomorrow."
"Fair enough," I conceded. "How does a hundred sound?" Next
morning everybody was buzzing as we pedalled out of Gap on a truly glorious
day. Three hours later, sweating and exhausted, we crested the summit of the
Col d'Izoard (2,360m), one of the Tour's most fabled climbs, and it was time
for a break. Harry was once an amateur international but had never
experienced anything like the Col d'Izoard.
"Christ," he said, "that was brutal." And then he put his arm on
my shoulder: "Listen, you can say 'When I rode the Tour' as much as you like
from now on. Respect." The rest of the group nodded in approval: "Yeah,
respect mate."
I laughed and tried to brush it off but suddenly there was a
lump in my throat and I felt deeply moved. It was the nicest thing anybody
had ever said about my life as a professional cyclist; I had always been
dismissed as a journeyman who was never any good.
Suddenly, I was reminded that there is much more to the Tour
than the race for the yellow jersey. And, at that moment, I knew I had to
return................
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/newspaper/0,,176-2252601,00.html
Cycling: Cycle of ambition
PAUL KIMMAGE
In 1986 I rode the Tour de France as a wide-eyed 24-year-old. Is
there anybody like me in this year's peloton?
::nobreak::For a long time now I've had this love/hate
relationship with the Tour de France. I love the event but I hate the people
who have destroyed it. And every summer a recurring battle rages in my head
.. . .
"I'm really looking forward to The Open." "You should go back to
the Tour." "I went to the Tour last year." "Yeah, you stayed for three days
and wrote a story about drugs. Why not cover the race from start to finish?"
"Three weeks?" "Yeah." "That's a lot of drugs stories." "You don't have to
write exclusively about drugs; you've competed in this race three times. Why
not write a diary about how it feels to go back?" "Because I'd rather write
a diary about The Open." "You never played in The Open." "No, but I'm
working on my handicap." "Think about it." "No."
But, four weeks ago, a funny thing happened. I had been planning
this bike ride in the Alps with my brothers and some friends for months. We
caught a flight to Geneva, hired a mini-bus and drove south to Grenoble
towards Gap. Grenoble used to be home during my time as a professional racer
and as we drove through the suburbs and up the Côte de Laffrey, my mind
started flooding with memories of what seems another life.
"You know," I announced, "when I rode the Tour I was still with
the leaders when we came up here in 1987."
"You know," I said, "when I rode the Tour the stage was a little
bit different to the one we're going to ride tomorrow."
"You know," I said, "when I rode the Tour the race was 400
kilometres longer and we had only one rest day."
"You know," I said, "when I rode the Tour we were given just
five pairs of shorts and five jerseys to get us through the three weeks and
I had to hand-wash my kit after every second stage."
It didn't take long before a white flag was raised. "Listen
mate, no offence," my friend Harry announced. "But I think we'll have to
restrict you to the number of times you can say 'When I rode the Tour'
tomorrow."
"Fair enough," I conceded. "How does a hundred sound?" Next
morning everybody was buzzing as we pedalled out of Gap on a truly glorious
day. Three hours later, sweating and exhausted, we crested the summit of the
Col d'Izoard (2,360m), one of the Tour's most fabled climbs, and it was time
for a break. Harry was once an amateur international but had never
experienced anything like the Col d'Izoard.
"Christ," he said, "that was brutal." And then he put his arm on
my shoulder: "Listen, you can say 'When I rode the Tour' as much as you like
from now on. Respect." The rest of the group nodded in approval: "Yeah,
respect mate."
I laughed and tried to brush it off but suddenly there was a
lump in my throat and I felt deeply moved. It was the nicest thing anybody
had ever said about my life as a professional cyclist; I had always been
dismissed as a journeyman who was never any good.
Suddenly, I was reminded that there is much more to the Tour
than the race for the yellow jersey. And, at that moment, I knew I had to
return................
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/newspaper/0,,176-2252601,00.html