Old cross dogs never die.

Last night finally felt like an echte crosser again
US National Championships, Plymouth MA  1983.

Hoi Flahutes..

Last night did my first bike race in over a month, the NBX cyclocross 'under the lights' series.  Great training series that represents (to me anyway) the soul of New England cyclocross.   The bikes and gear may be more professional now, but the atmosphere is identical to what I recall back in the early 80's:  Informal, friendly, enthusiastic.  And above all, fun.  

The photos on this post are from back in the day, taken at Plymouth and Wompatuck cyclocrosses back in '83.  I was already into my 4th season of cross back then, a seasoned veteran at 23!

Plymouth is not only the rock upon which the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was built, it's also provided a cornerstone for what's spawned what's now a vibrant New England cross culture.

My teammate Jeff Mullaley leading Paul Curley
US Cross Nationals 1983.  Paul still goes as fast.

For example, last night, for an hour before the NBX training race, ex-pro and still-rapid Mark McCormack gave a cross clinic to a dozen or so  veldrijden rewbies.   I couldn't help but compare this scene to that memoriesof similar training clinic sessions back in Mark's hometown of Plymouth Mass. way back in the early '80's, where his mentor Bill Sykes and our region''s first cross star Paul Curley would lead a dozen or so of us through activities like 'cross madisons',  (Yes, 2 man teams with handslings.. try it sometime, it's fun) and one lap timed TT's on the then newly-created Plymouth High School course - a technically challenging circuit that would host the US cross nationals later that year, and again a few years later while covered in ice on a polar post-Thanksgiving weekend.

The circle turns.  Mark unselfishly giving back to a sport he, and his neighbors have done a lot to help popularize around here.

Gathering for the start of US National Cross championships, 1983.  Note how few real cross bikes...
most guys just put cross tires on a road bike and got on with it.   Mine was an old Raleigh Profesional 753!  

While Mark imparted wisdom money can't buy, several volunteers marked out a serpentine, fast course around a the park with small orange flags.  A ritual common in Belgie,  but here the evening baseball game around which the course wound left no doubt that you were in the heart of New England.   Cyclocross, yankee style.

Wompatuck had a run up that made you
feel like Sir Edmund Hillary on Everest.

NBX is a good training course.  Almost all riding, fast grass, dirt paths and some roots.   Just two dismounts over double barriers.   A tricky off-camber hill traverse followed by a tricky fall away reverse banking turn.   And a verdomme  180 left onto some rising gravel that I never seem to get right.   Not super technical maybe, but really great for training.   Fast too.  Especially when you hit the dark far end of the course and you're riding semi-blind, and hoping your course memory is correct.

The only thing missing to make it perfect would be one steep run up.   Seems that I remember a lot of ridiculously steep run ups back in the neandrathal days.  The one they had in Wompactuck 'back then' was so long and steep you literally had to pull yourself up with your arms toward the end of the race.

But I digress.  After a one lap recon-pace lap strung it out a bit, the field turned up the watts for one hour of intensity.

Sprinting across the grass at the 1983 National Cyclocross Championships in Plymouth.

I had a good 1st half hour, dicing it up with many of the fast guys staying close. I ended up with my buddy Joe Savic and some others having a pretty fun dice.    I was relieved to discover that I could push it to the limit and stay there without  blowing like I've done almost every cross I've tried since way back in the 80's.   Finally, it was big ring, out of saddle, sprinting up the hills and attacking out of every corner,  pulse pegged just under my 170bpm threshold.   The zen of going flat out and sustaining it, just concentrating on the next obstacle, pushing.   No pain, and no urge to let up.   The thrill of actually being able to pass a few guys, not just getting passed..   Last year in every cross was survival drowning mode.  This was more like it.

Plymouth, 1983.  

Faded a bit though -  in the end it felt about 10 min too long (an hour is a long cross!)  but no worries.   About as much fun as you can have on two wheels.  A good time.  Even won a pint glass at the NBX post race raffle!   (After a month of getting down to fighting weight, I gladly left the beer for someone  else.)

That's not to say no beer ever.  For it was on to the now obligatory post-race pub stop, chow and bench racing session with Joe, Keith Kelly, and a few others.  Lots of working stiffs my age do much the same, out with the boyz, one night a week after bowling or softball leagues.  Those activities are a little too sedate for me, I'm not ready to slow down that much.  Blasting around a park on the limit...then bier and laughs at the Mews which is no wielercafe, but pretty good for over here.  Now that's the perfect time.

I drove home in the rain, satisfied with my first hard effort test after a month of primarily old school road training.  Since the ''Tokeneke Massacre' it's been back to basics for this old-school boy.... setting the dials back to zero.   Back to a formula that worked back in the '80's when the photos on this post were taken:   Longer rides.  Lots of clothing.  Lots of climbing.  Less food intake.  And unstructured fartlek in place of structured intervals.   You often read now where training experts now know that long slow rides in a low gear are a waste of valuable training time, that they just make you slow, and do little to improve your power.   Well, I'm no physiologist, but I don't believe it.  LSD always worked for me.   Think I'll stick with this program, more sustainable.

Now it's on to the Providence CX festival in October.   Can't wait.  Seems the older this old dog gets, the more I love cyclocross.    Get yours out and get dirty this fall!

Images for today: Longbows and rainbows.

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;  For he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother...And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, 
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."   
  William Shakespeare, Henry V

For a post-world's hangover Monday, a few images remembering the last time a pro road rainbow jersey was worn by one of the Queen's subjects.

Somewhere, Tom Simpson is looking down smiling, you can be pretty sure of that.  I'd like to think so anyway.  Simpson always believed that an all-British squadron could take on and defeat the best of the continentals on the road at their own game.  He died valiantly trying to prove it back in 1967.   And it's taken 40 plus years for another GB team to demonstrate it.

40 plus years of dawn patrols: Hoards of anonymous riders suffering in time trials on quiet English lanes, a traditional cycling culture, hoping to cultivate and discover another Simpson.

40 plus years of chats during tea stops on winter club runs, in cold northern towns:  Building up new hopes, lamenting the nearlys and if-onlys, questioning why pro road cycling glory somehow never seemed to be come back home to England.

Well, yesterday a band of brothers that would have done Henry V proud, finally proved it.  Appropriately, they did it the hard way, against all odds.  Like Agincourt, all over again.  St. Cripins day along a Scandinavian coastline.

For a good chunk of the race this Irishman thought that yet another display of English pride and stubbornness - this one expressed on two wheels -  would go unrewarded.  Riding on the front of the whole race?  Surely they'll fold in the finale when the fireworks really start?   Madness.

Tail wags for Wiggo.

Well, say what you want about mad dogs and Englishmen. Against all odds, it bloody well worked.  Thanks to a few English bulldogs of war with names like Wiggins, Millar, Hunt, and Froome.  


"Never, in the field of world cycling conflict, has so much been owed by one man, to just a few." 


But oh how especially owed to Bradley Wiggins.   Man of the match, according to Flahute here.   On the front almost the entire last lap, single handedly hauling in Voeckler and Hoogerland.  His last lap was more than incredible.  It was magnificence.

And it was Britannia once again, ruling the waves:  Shooting down waves of attacks, in a sea of waving foreign flags.

Flandria Cafe's congratulations to Mark Cavendish, the GB team, but most of all to all of Britain's cycling-loving thousands who've so patiently waited such a long time for another World Road championship of their own.

Now it's on to conquer the Tour in 2012.
The historical metaphors in that one should provide an endless source of raw material!

Montreal Worlds flashback

The ProTour race in Montreal was a great time as ever this year.   Our gang of four Flahutes stayed at the Delta Hotel, dined the evening before at Les Pyrenees, and rode a few laps of the circuit early Sunday morning.

Last year I wrote a post recalling the 1976 Olympics on the Mont Royal circuit.   This year, as I soaked in the buzz of modern world class professional cycling, I couldn't help thinking back to the debut of this circuit on the international stage in 1974 - the year of was the setting for the final World Championship victory of Eddy Merckx.     Back to reality over the past week, the announcement of the 2015 World's in Richmond VA, and the current 24/7 online video coverage of the current race for regenboogtrui in picturesque Copenhagen keeps memories of that '74 race popping back into my mind.

The first world's road race in North America, 1974.  Flandria star Freddy Maertens is tucked in the center
in light blue, with Francesco Moser just behind him.  Two years later, those two would duke it out in Ostuni
for the title. 

The '74 worlds was held two years before I started racing as a junior, but no so long before that vivid tales of the heroics on Mont Royal weren't still spoken of in hushed, reverent tones by those few cycling pioneers who'd made the trek up to Quebec.  

Snippets of that race were brought up on training rides, at coffee stops on fall rides, or seated on pavement during summer criteriums waiting for your race to start.   And the telling was usually accompanied by a disbelieving shake of the head when Merckx' final attack was mentioned.

Same circuit,  much different era.   I probably should say similar circuit, for although the hills were the same, the finish was in a different location than the current Avenue du Parc, on what looks like the Chemin de Cote Ste. Catherine.   Check out the italian LOGOS TV black and white coverage of the last lap...

There's a great blow by blow article about that '74 race here.  

Thevenet away all day.   Check out the camera car!
(Photo Ken Johnson/Wickipedia Commons)

Long story short, Bernard Thevenet was away for almost 100k, getting about two and a half minutes, but with two to go started to weaken.  

When climbing, Thevenet really 'put his back into it', as one might expect from a Burgundian farmboy.   He climbed with the strength of his upper body,  robust shoulder thrusts on every pedal stroke keeping a massive gear turning.   Cycling as shoveling grain.  It was a style that would finally dethrone Merckx on Pra Loup in the Tour de France a few months later...but not this day.  

(Merckx and Pou Pou - mano a mano.  Ken Johnson photo)

Behind the tricoleur, a select group with Merckx, the Italian Santambrogio and French duo Raymond Poulidor and Mariano Martinez pulled clear of the rest the last time up Mont Royal.  

Behind, emerging star Francesco Moser was all over the bike trying to make the final move.     Recall that somebody years ago told me that Moser had gone up Mont Royal in the big ring.    From the video, it looks like it.

After catching Thevenet, Merckx went for it just as they approached the top of Mont Royal on the very last lap.   Only Raymond Poulidor could hold him.    From there it was a two man race.     And a somewhat predictable outcome.  Merckx imperial.  Poulidor, second encore.

This year's Pro Tour race similarly saw the winning move come on the final lap, and after the last time up Mont Royal.   Two unmarked guys away, a little hesitation and that was all she wrote.  But there the comparison breaks down a bit.

Same turn, very different era.  (1974 photo DavMac-Flickr,  2011 photo: Doug Fitch/Shoeless Joe Photo)

While this year's race finished darn close to a bunch sprint, back in '74 the gaps were immense at the finish, and there were only 18 finishers.  (Check out the start list and the finish order here.)
But back in '74 the race was 262.5km, while this year's pro tour race was 205 km.

Fun to contemplate what that the extra 57k would have done to the race this year?   (My legs hurt just thinking about doing the 200k).

World's in the northeastern part of North America again.  Woo hoo!  On to Richmond!   Don't miss it flahutes.

Respecting Carlos.

"Do not go gentle in that goodnight"
                                                          - Dylan Thomas

Remember Carlos this way.   

Carlos Sastre last week announced his retirement.   Many cycling fans I've talked to locally in the past week barely noticed.  (Oh yeah?  Hey - who won in Montreal?)  One understated press conference in Madrid, a tip of the cap, and adios amigos.

A very recent Tour winner going so quietly into the night.  The news seemed a minor footnote in the world's cycling press.   Frankly, I've been expecting to see more follow on tributes than one quick news flash.  This just doesn't sit right with me.

It's been, dare I say, just another example of how this quiet man has been 'disrespected' - to use that newly created gauche American verb.    In fact, it seems to this biased observer that this was not just any old Champion, but a Tour de France winner (how many of those are there out there again, I forget?)  whose accomplishments, and story throughout his career received an almost appalling lack of attention in contrast to many others.   I never really understood that.   Carlos probably has too much class to express indignation.  But that's OK.  I will.

"Friends,  flahutes and cyclists:  I've come today not to 'bury' Carlos, but to praise him." 

Make no mistake about it, Carlos Sastre is a true champion on multidimensional levels:  Sporting,  Character and Philanthropic.   For that, I think he deserves more kudos than a lot of the pros who seem to regularly receive more ink the glossy cycling mags.

For this was a man who was the quintessential professional.   A pro's pro.  Perhaps not the most powerful or dominant rider of his generation, but one who prepared diligently, quietly, without fuss or fanfare and who attained the pinnacle of the sport, and remained a threat for almost a decade.   A natural climber who taught himself to Time Trial well enough to defend the maillot jaune in the final TT.

Sastre had a penchant for the 'traditional' - famously frustrating 'Riis' with his dogged insistence on old-school training in the film Overcoming below...

He was an attacker, an author of mountain exploits.  His Tour winning attack on Alpe d'Huez in 2008 defied the conventional wisdom that the man who wins on the Alpe won't also win the Tour.    On his day - which were usually the hardest days in the mountains in the final week of a major Tour - he could sprout wings and fly away, a climber in the tradition of so many in Spain.  Bahamontes, Jimenez, Fuente, Ocana, Delgado...

His final performance was trying to pull the same stunt on the Angliru this year in the Vuelta.    It may not have come off, but you've got to respect the audacity he exhibited in trying to 'break' the race wide open on the hardest day, on the hardest climb.

Sastre was Mr. Consistency for a decade in the three Grand Tours: 15 times in the top 10 out of 26 participations.   A pretty remarkable average.  

He was a humble, proud champion.  One for whom the lack of media attention as defending Tour champ rankled in 2009, swept under the tsunami of the Astana-drama fueled media frenzy.  

Victor & Carlos Sastre.  2008. 

Respect, and correctness were big with Sastre.  I especially like the story about how he matter-of-factly rode up to Lance near the end of that 09 Tour to calmly demand (and receive) an apology for not showing appropriate respect when the Texan publically said his 'comeback' was inspired by seeing that Sastre had won the Tour.   "I've always respected you... why can't you respect me?"   


But perhaps what I always liked most about Carlos Sastre was his beginnings,  his roots.  And his grounding in them.  Sastre's town of El Barraco west of Madrid had been the home to another Spanish champion: Angel Arroyo.   Arroyo was a Reynolds teammate of Pedro Delgado who 'won' the Vuelta in 1982 on the road - (only to be positive for a stimulant in a doping control and see his victory stripped awarded to Marino Lejaretta).   He was also 2nd in the 1983 Tour de France behind Laurent Fignon.

As cycling began to surge in popularity in Spain in the '80's, Carlos' father Victor was coach of the town's local cycling school - Peña Ciclista Angel Arroyo in El Barraco.  The school, now called the Fundacion Victor Sastre also produced the late Jose Maria Jimenez, and Pablo Lastras.    In a town of just 2,000 inhabitants.   Passion.  It goes a long way.

What it's all about. 

Every winter as a pro, Carlos would return home to train with the other pupils.    He could have gone to Mallorca and organized highly profitable 'Ride with Carlos camps' for affluent cicloturistas.  (I probably would have...)  But, no just a daily training and cross training soccer-match with his father the local boys.   Tranquillo.   Roots.  

Carlos also did a lot of charity work for children in need of help.  His Smilkers foundation doesn't sell wristbands, but does have a boutique that auctions and sells limited edition (very cool too!) Sastre signature equipment, with the proceeds going to help kids.   If you want something cool and unique, I might suggest your money couldn't be better spent anywhere else.    His efforts support a multitude of charities including kids with Aids, cancer and Down's syndrome.   No single Nike-LiveStrong machine behind this initiative.  Just a guy and his family doing more than most to give back to kids.   Like father, like son.

No Ferrari.  No supermodels.  No hair-boy style statements.  No bad mouthing anyone.  No tattoos.  No bragging.  No changing his residence to Monaco to avoid paying taxes.   And no lamentations about seeing his teammate fly by him on the Angliru to take away a final Vuelta exploit he probably coveted.  

No, only a departure full of thanks to two men that he credited for making his career:  Manolo Saiz, and Bjarne Riis.    Some of the more calculated might be surprised he'd publicly praise Saiz - a pariah of sorts post-Operation Puerto -  in fear of the implications and associations.   But not Carlos Sastre.  He gave credit and respect where felt it was due.   Consquences be damned.   I like that.

Carlos said at that final goodbye press conference that he didn't know what he'd be doing in the future, now that 6 hour days on the bike are not a daily requirement.

Well, I think I know.  I'll bet you a pint that he'll be working with, and for kids in need.  Apples, after all, don't fall far from the tree.

And in a sport that's had more than its share of rotten ones over the past decade, Carlos Sastre was one good Apple.

One that deserves more respect.

The big 51.

That time of year again.  Reached the big 51 today Flahutes.

It's been lucky number for those who've worn it in Le Tour, hope some of that luck rubs off on me as well.

As a birthday present to myself, I did three hours on the bike yesterday.  Four Sunday afternoon.

Just rollin' along letting the miles and the magic of aerobic training do it's magic on the capillaries.   Felt great, long zone 2 training rides are so nice.  The humidity is gone, and the air is crisper.  Autumn is knocking.  A great time of year to ride.

Say it ain't so Jo...

The Ronde without the Muur and the Bosberg in 2012?  

The pundits are weighing in on both sides on this one.   Last year's winner Nick Nuyens says 'we should give the new course a chance.   Merckx says it's the riders that will make the Ronde, but is sorry not to have have the Muur included.   They might have a point on the racing perspective - three times up the Oude Kwaremont- Paterberg combo will be super hard. (when I rode it, I thought the Paterberg was even tougher than the Koppenberg!)  

But clearly this shouldn't be all about making the course more selective, should it?   After all, most of the Rondes I've followed in the past few years have been exciting exploit-fests of the highest drama.   Sure, you could make it harder by looping over the Muur multiple times.   But that wouldn't be the Ronde either, would it?

I'm not the only supersupporter being disappointed by this development.  70% of the Belgian fans in Sporza's online poll have given the new course (here) the thumbs down.   It seems that a monument in a nation with a cycling culture that's all about tradition, has given tradition the heave-ho on their biggest icon.    Belgian fans are calling it online a 'kermesse around Oudenaarde",  and "no longer the Ronde."   Have to say I agree with them.


But the historian in me submits that maybe we've all been conditioned to thinking the current course is the Ronde, when in reality, it it's history, the Route has actually been altered quite a bit.  

The finish has been in Meerbeke for so long (since '73), most forget that the Ronde had changed venues, both start and finish, a lot.  Before '73 the finish was in Wetteren and Gentbrugge.   Starts have moved from Gent to St. Niklaas to Brugge.  The climbs have changed every year too.   The only constant was that the race was always a big counter-clockwise c-shaped ring around Flanders... a 'Tour', de Ronde.   Now it's a three smaller loops.   More like the Fleche Wallone than 'Flanders Mooiste'.  

Tom Simpson wins a Muur-less Ronde in 1961.

But Geraardsbergen's Muur - or its sidestreet the cobbled Kloosterstraat - had been used almost continuously since 1950, only missing 1956, and 1961-1965.   Briek Schotte, Fiorenzo Magni, Tom Simpson, Noel Fore, Rude Altig and Jo de Roo all won the Ronde in years it bypassed the Muur.   Those guys still won the Ronde, didn't they?  That said, it'll be 47 years since a Ronde was run that didn't go up the big hill in Geraardsbergen in the finale.

So like it or not, for a whole generation, de ronde = de muur.  It's a 'brand icon' of the Ronde.  And brand stewards shouldn't mess about with your brand's icons.  Just an opinion.

And how about the Bosberg?  How many recall that it only made its first appearance in the Ronde in 1975, and has been used ever year since.   But when Merckx won his big rainy solo in '69, it wasn't up the Bosberg.  Wasn't that still a Ronde?


The organizers have been on the defensive in the press, but they're saying the new course will make the Ronde more spectator friendly.   Maybe it will, but then again a Kermesse race is spectator friendly, but that's not the Ronde, is it?  

No, to me this smells a little like commercial interests having more than a little hand in this decision.   The big winner?   The city of Oudenaarde, home of the Centruum Ronde Van Vlaanderen museum.

Funny thing is, I was thinking of making the trip back next year again to do the Ronde Cyclotoerist event, maybe dragging a group to the Centruum RVV, the institution in on the power play that's proposed the new course.   (Wonder what will happen to the cyclo event, and route now?)

But now, with this development, and and after talking to a few of the guys, we're thinking maybe we'll pass...      

Rendezvous JRB: The Quebec Connection.

Jean Rene Bernaudeau is a guy who appreciates old school.

Hoi Flahutes!

Just got back Monday from the annual Flandria cafe raid north to the Quebec City and Montreal ProTour races.   Lots of raw material to write about.   Here's a little hors d'oeuvre.

One of my 'super-fan' traditions when watching Montreal is to wear one of the old retro team jerseys I've collected over the years.  It's a great icebreaker with in-the-know-super-afficoionados who appreciate the rare, the retro and the old-school.    It's also (in my own not so humble opinion) an understated, and appropriate way for an informed fan to make a 'style statement'.    As opposed to...say...antlers.

Why?    I just want to know.  Can somebody, please, just tell me why.  

I don't really understand the level of exhibitionism some go to at races nowadays.   And it seems to be escalating...particularly with many American fans at the Tour of California the last few years.  Football helmets with giant antlers, stupid random costumes, the whole pack of them running beside the race hooting and hollering (YEAHH!! WOOHOO!!!)  and almost taking out pros who are suffering and on the edge.   They turn a pro bike race into a Mardi Gras parade gone bad.   It a pro bike race people, a pro sport, not a freak show.

At the Canadian races in contrast there was, thank God, virtually none of that to be seen.   The largely Canadian crowd on the sides of the climbs in Quebec and Montreal was well behaved, and expressing their enthusiasm by wearing club kit, some by riding their bikes, and rooting for their favorites.    Several were there with dogs, and had them leashed and under control.   It called being civilized.   Yes, even at a sporting event.

Thing you've gotta love about Canada, number #33:  The world's best behaved bicycle racing fans.   No shoving, always polite, I even saw several shift to make room at the side of the road, letting shorter people in front to get a better view.  And they stay pretty compliant about standing off the road and where directed to by the course security.

Last year I wore a GAN Mercier jersey of PouPou vintage, which was good for a few impromptu conversations throughout the day.   A Montreal fan of a 'certain age' offered me ever escalating amounts of cash for it, on the spot.  Sorry, no deal, Maurice.  Pas possible.

Van Impe and Ocana's break to St. Lary Soulan,
Tour de France, 1976

This year it was a Gitane-Campagnolo jersey, circa 1975-1977.  This was Cyrille Guimard's team from 1976 on, the predecesor to what became the dominant Renault-sponsored Gitane squadron of 1978-1984.   I was given  the jersey in France back when I was young, ambitious, and hungry - at a time when it was pretty near impossible to obtain these things.   It's a jersey with a winning history.

It was the maillot worn by Lucien Van Impe on a hot day in the Pyrenees in 1976, when Guimard reportedly ordered him to attack to try and regain the Maillot Jaune he's just lost to Peugeot's ol' campaigner, Raymond Delisle.

Two days before, Delisle, liberated from his normal role of worker for Bernard Thevenet, authored a breakaway to Pyrenees 2000 that put him, somewhat unexpectely, in yellow.   On the stage to Pla d'Adet, Guimard wanted Van Impe to take off early and ditch the rejuvenated Delisle, and race favorite Joop Zoetemelk.    It was earlier than Van Impe wanted to go, on a multi-mountain stage with a summit finish.  But he went, and in that break, Van Impe had '73 winner Luis Ocana for company.

Ocana saw a chance for one final glorious day in the sun.  And remembering that Zoetemelk had never helped him in his titanic battles with Merckx over the years, also a chance to put the sword in to the hilt, and twist it hard.   And twist he did, helping the Belgian climbing star to victory in the stage that sealed his Tour victory.  For me the abiding memory of the day is of that aging Spanish matador, on his final day in a major arena, performed a faena worthy of two ears, a tail.   It was Death in the Afternoon.  I believe Papa Hemingway would have understood Ocana.  And approved of his final performance.

1977.  A new French champion arrives. 

Gitane-Campagnolo.  It was also the team jersey that saw the emergence of young Bernard Hinault, who wore it to a double in Fleche Wallone and Liege Bastogne Liege in 1977.   The colors he'd wear later that year to win the Dauphine Libere after surviving a crash into a ravine in the Alps.  And the colors he take to the first of several Grand Prix des Nations time trial victories.

And it was a jersey that, this Sunday, stopped me with an 'alors, now that's a maillot' from a smiling Jean Rene Bernaudeau while strolling the Press Area during the Montreal race.     We exchanged a few brief pleasantries in Francais, and a photo op.  Bernadeau who told me it was 'over thirty years old!' was kindly patient about the time it took to do so.

Although my attempts to converse longer were quickly given the brush off (probably because I used the "B" word as in 'Blaireau' when talking about whose jersey it was).   Despite that, I still have to give props to J.R. Bernadeau.  Of all the top European teams, he was the only major domo to personally make the plane ride to the two North American Pro Tour races.  Maybe it was because Europcar have Canadian David Vellieux on the team, and are scouting more talent?   Maybe it was becuase sponsor Louis Garneau is based in Quebec?   Or maybe he has nostalgia for the course on which he finished 7th in the 1976 Olympic games road race.  In any rate, it was great to see the former great this side of the pond.

For Bernaudeau, my relic jersey also has a little nostalgia, for he signed a pro contract for that same Guimard Gitane team in 1978.   And he quickly made his mark:  2nd in the French national road race championships in his rookie year, and a 5th place and best young rider Maillot Blanc in the Tour de France in 1979.

Bernaudeau's break with Hinault to Sondrio won Le Blaireau the '80 Giro.  
He would 'Break' from Hinault in '81, the teammates becoming bitter rivals.

His first major exploit was in the 1980 Giro d'Italia.   He went clear solo early on the Stelvio stage, much like Monfort did ahead of Schleck on the Izoard in the Tour this year in an early attack to later link up with the team leader.   Hinault bridged up to him through the snowbanks of the Stelvio, and the two striped Renault teammates rode a 2 up TT to an exploit that saw Bernard Hinault strip the Pink jersey off the back of Vladimiro Panizza, for his first Giro d'Italia victory.   They still remember it as a great Giro stage.  Bernaudeau winning the stage, Hinault winning the Giro.

It couldn't last though.  He inevitably left the next year to pursue team leader ambitions of his own, jumping over to lead the rival Peugeot team.  In doing so, he invoked the wrath of the Badger, going  mano-a-mano with old boss Hinault in the 1981 and 1982 Tours.   After more blood and tears, Hinault dominated both Tours.  Bernaudeau finished those Tours 6th and 13th.

His last day in the sun at the was in 1983.   In aHinault-less, wide open Tour, Bernaudeau broke clear on the decisive Alpe d'Huez stage, narrowly beaten by Peter Winnen.   But yellow that day would go to another Renault-Gitane rookie in a white jersey named Laurent Fignon.  At Le Tour's end, Bernaudeau was 6th yet again.

Three times in the top 6 at the Tour.  Hell, I'd take that anyday.  What a career.  Un vrai coureur, un vrai homme du Tour.

Bernaudeau didn't skip a beat.  After retiring in 1988, he went on to the Vendee U, under 23 amateur squad, which later grew into that region's top pro team since 1996 with sponsors Bonjour, Bouyges Telecom, BBOX, and now Europcar.

That team with Thomas Voeckler and Pierre Rolland has just led a French cycling resurrection of sorts at the Tour de France.   Okay, JRB may not have fulfilled all his ambitions as a rider - and mentioning old rival Le Blaireau to him may still be like touching the third rail - but hey, Jean Rene Bernaudeau is a guy who puts his love for the sport first.   And he deserves a lot of credit for what he's given to the sport, both as a rider, and as a team director.   I get the feeling he's put in more than he's taken out.l

Chapeau Jean Rene Bernaudeau, and on behalf of many fans of the sport, merci.

I've got a strong feeling your exploits are not over.

Wunderkind 2.0?

Didi Thurau against the watch, 1977.
Those Colnago shoes were the best,
I had a pair in '79 myself!

Bjorn Thurau.  

Noticed today in cycling news that Didi Thurau's son Bjorn (website here) has just signed a pro contract with Europcar  (here).

Well, if the kid is half as good as his Dad, it should be plenty good enough to be a great pro.

God knows, he looks just like him.  Apples don't fall far from the tree, do they?

You don't see much written about Dietrich "Didi" Thurau in the cycling press these days.  D'ya know his da?   Let the ol' Flahute put him in perspective for ya.

Tour '77.  Thurau, Merckx, Kuiper, VanImpe, Zoetemelk,
Thevenet and Laurent. 

 In December of '73 in an East German town of Rostock a little Jan Ullrich came into the world (later to be not so little, but that's another story).   A few shorts months later, in Montreal, a tall blond, dare I say almost stereotypical German athlete took an Amateur World Championship in the team pursuit on the track.  Back in '74, Gustav Killian's West German teams dominated international track cycling, and the team pursuit was the showcase event.  They were as dominant then as the Brits are now.   On that squad, a young Frankfurt kid named Didi Thruau burst on the scene, with smooth style, fluid power.  It seemed his possibilities were limitless.    Before Ullrich was out of diapers, and coming on the heels of Rudi Altig, a new, more powerful German cycling wunderkind was about to blitz world cycling.    (Blitz.  Is it PC to say that anymore?  That's OK, my dad was a WWII vet.)

Beating Merckx for a Tour Pyrenees stage?   Priceless.  

Thurau's explosion on the pro scene came in 1977.  As a member of Peter Post's TI Raleigh squad in the Tour de France, he beat Eddy Merckx in the Prologue to take a maillot jaune he'd hold for 15 days into the Alps about two weeks later.   I'll remember his defense in the (early that year) Pyrenees stage over the Tourmalet into Pau, when he fought back to the top climbers like Thevenet, VanImpe, Agostinho and Zoetemelk to win a bunch sprint of 14 that was the definitive selection that year.   He beat an on form Merckx, who wanted that stage.   At the time, to most following the Tour, it seemed a new Merckx was bursting onto the scene.

Although he lost a little time in the Alps to the likes of Thevenet, Kuiper and Zoetemelk, Didi finished the Tour in 5th place, one spot ahead of Merckx.   Most thought he'd be back to dominate.

His shirt says the Little Ice Cream Man.
Nothing little about this beast.

But then, the wheels came off the wagon a bit.   Back in the days before the internet, 24/7 cycling news, and video, you hung on the reports from VeloNews and other delayed print sources.  And those sources that winter were starting to cite European scuttlebutt that were suggesting perhaps Thurau wouldn't live up to that promise of the 'summer of '77'.   First they talked about him riding a full complement of six day races, scarfing up the Deutchmarks.  For some reason, I seem to remember one account at the time wrote that his problem was a pair of 'greedy, avaricious parents'.  The general gist was that Didi was chasing the dough, and racing too much for a guy with serious grand Tour ambitions.

Second, there was the big transfer, for bigger dough again, away from Peter Post's Raleigh juggernaut to the Belgian Ijsboerke -Gios team.    Many questioned why mess with a good thing just for money.

The chickens came to roost in the '78 Giro d'Italia.   Thurau won the prologue, but soon lost rosa to Rik Van Linden , eventual winner Johan DeMuncyk.   Thurau later retired, battered by Baronchelli, DeMuncyk and Moser in the Dolomites.

...narrow loss to Moser.

Worlds, 1977....

Later that season in Cristobal, Venezuela at the World Championship road race, Thurau came close to salvaging the season, but lost a tight sprint to a hyper-motivated Francesco Moser, who wasn't going to lose another 2-up sprint for a rainbow jersey like he did to Freddy Maertens on home soil in Ostuni just 12 months before.

'79 was looking better for Thurau.  He won Liege Bastogne Liege in a solo victory, and seemed ready for the Tour.   In the middle, he was part of the breakaway to Roubaix that ripped the maillot jaune off the back of a tearful Bernard Hinault, and put it on the shoulders of Joop Zoetemelk.   But although he won a stage and came 10th overall, this wasn't the phenom of '77.    Didi finished a strong 10th, 44 minutes down on winner Hinault.  

Liege Bastonge Liege, 1979.   Nobody else in the photo.

 At the World's in Valkenburg in the Netherlands that year, with a finish on the Cauberg climb that today is the finish of the Amstel Gold, Thurau was 2nd again, this time behind hometown favorite Jan Raas.   During the final sprint, Raas and Thurau switched across the road sharply, taking down Italian Giovanni Battaglin.

(Do yourself a favor.  Don't ever go to Marostica and mention the name Thurau to Battaglin.  Trust me on this one.)

WM 1979, Valkenberg.  Jan Raas 1st.  D. Thurau 2nd. 

But all was tulips in the Netherlands that day.  The score was Holland 1, Germany 0, and there was no way the protest of the Azzurri was going to deflate that Heineken fueled balloon.   The party was a warm up to the Euro cup winning soccer celebration of 1988.  An Oranje Trui crossing the line ahead of a duitser is always a reason for a celebration in Holland.

From there it was a series of teams (Puch, Hoonved) and hopes, but no more performances like that magical summer of '77.   All the while, he was racing the six days on the track, and salting away the dough.    On the road, in summer, Thurau became a road captain de-luxe for Beppe Saronni at Del Tongo in  '83, helping Saronni to his 2nd Giro d'Italia victory.

Saronni's shepherd in the 1983 Giro.

His career kinda jumped the shark in the 1985 Tour de France.  Didi was penalized for allegedly drafting Charly Mottet in the 75km Time Trial stage in the Vosges.  The next day he assaulted a Tour official before the start - some reports saying he grabbed him around the throat - and was summarily sent packing back to Frankfurt.

There, he started a successful real estate business, and is probably very proud of his son Bjorn's success.

For a guy raised by and around WWII European theatre Vets, and in the biased bubble that represented, I have to confess that I always thought Didi Thurau looked like the embodiment of certain less than flattering German sterotypes, the kind reinforced by the war movies.   He was hard to support compared to other, seemingly more flawed heroes.   The press you'd read about him was often less than flattering.   But evaluation confined to still photos and 'no video' can do that to you.   They prevent humanization.

I think Didi Thurau accomplishments deserve a better legacy.   The guy was a total pro.  How can you condemn a guy for trying to make hay while the sun shines?  And who hasn't wanted to throttle an official in a suit at some point in their life?

Here's hoping his son Bjorn gets a better shake from the media, and the public.