Fred Perry have done a wee interview with man of the moment, Bradders. Rather than the usual questions (is Lance really a crack head? Did your Mrs threaten to knock out Froome’s wife?), he is talking about himself, as a man off the bike, and what a nice man he seems to be.
Click here to read
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Tagged Bradley Wiggins, Interview, Paul Weller, Sargent and Co, Team Sky, The Moons
During my jolly hols I read, Jean Bobet’s ‘Tomorrow We Ride…’ and Stephen Roche’s ‘Born to Ride’ in that order.
Jean, often remembered as the brother of the great post war French cycle champion Lousion Bobet, was a great rider in his own right, winning the World Student Cycling Championships in 1949 and commendable positions in numerous major races for a decade following. A self-proclaimed lover of Ernest Hemingway’s work, Bobet eventually turned his back on racing and pursued his true dream and became a writer.
Stephen Roche, an Irish champion hailing from the 1980s, famously tucked the Tour, The Giro and World Championships under his belt in 1987 – a wondrous achievement he shared with legendary Eddy Mercyx.
Admittedly when it comes to major successes you could argue Bobet and Roche are in a different class and they did of course ride in different eras. But regardless of wins and regardless of time, some things will always ring true – the hell of Ventoux, the pressures of endorsement, the complex relationship between riders and the Directeur Sportif, the curse of injury and of course the joy of finding of true form on the bike.
Bobet’s tale captures the imagination, so seductive is his eloquent exploration of what is it was to be cyclist in the 1950s, we found ourselves dreaming with him, turning the pages desperate to know what happens next. He is both careful and considered as he dissects the relationships around him. Throughout the book he philosophises and reflects. This is much more than a book about cycling, it as an insight into what it is to love as a brother.
Roche’s offering is straight forward. With Roche we are presented with a quick thinking and hungry strategist. He talks us through his races with a meticulous attention to technical details, the gear ratios he opted for, the bike setup, the routines. He painstakingly recalls those crucial milliseconds of thought before his legendary attacks. Roche allows us a glimpse into the mind of a powerful and determined winner; he is at times boastful, but deservedly so. It is painful to read about his demise towards the end of his career, albeit the natural order of things, you do have empathy.
The honest truth is I admire Roche’s tenacity, but I don’t particularly warm to him. You can’t help but wonder how and why the relationships throughout his life crumble and fall like decayed dominos. Roche has all the trophies and all the medals, yet for me Bobet reveals himself to be a true winner, because in him we find a man that identifies with something more than a desire to be a champion, and when the races finish you need that.
I bought my books from Condor Cycles.
Georgie Wood
As with all good cycling holiday stories the conversation was soddened with ‘it was hell, ‘ I wore two pairs of socks over my gloves’, ‘I thought I might die, ‘I took a kamikaze exit down Ventoux because I needed to be warm/eat/dry/hug my mum’.
This particular tale was being relayed by the Grappa Club – called so because they drink grappa. Well if I am going to be pedantic, which I am, they ordered a grappa once; so poignant a moment was the realisation it was 18 euro a shot they aptly named themselves after it. The Grappa Club consists of four blokes who a) ride together when they can b) travel to the continent in a chaotic manner and ride together when they can, c) drank grappa once. One of the fellas lives in Wales, north Wales if I remeber rightly, one is Canadian with a name that confusingly sounds Japanese – I haven’t met these two. The other two I went riding in Hertfordshire with a few sundays ago. Strangely upon entry to the north London county you are greeted with a sign ‘Hertfordshire, county of opportunity’ – I didn’t happen upon a golden ticket, nor did I see anyone who looked like they had, it’s very nice all the same.
Anyway the real purpose of this story is the start and end point; Amici Delicatessen’ in East Finchley, so enjoyable was my experience I felt compelled to write about it. I beg you, don’t be fooled by the unassuming exterior of this family run Italian treasure trove. Me and my Colnago were momentarily transported to the foothills of the Dolomites the other Sunday. Vintage cycling jerseys hang from the ceiling, fresh pastries decorate the counter, the sound of milk being steamed, the smell of fresh espresso, ah heavenly. As I said we started here and we finished here, I won’t bore you with the ride we did in between, but fast forward 50 miles and we are back in the cafe. I ordered toasted pannetone alongside my cappucino, I had never tried toasted cake before, and the cynic inside of me thought perhaps it was going stale, hence it being toasted; well more fool me, it was a taste sensation, I don’t care if that cake was older than me, it was one of the damn finest bits of cake I have eaten. I also had some boquerones (I don’t know what these are called in English or Italian) served with fresh ciabatta, sun dried tomatoes and very tasty, juicy olives. I honestly can’t remember how much this little lot set me back, which is a sure sign it was reasonable.
I conclude that Hertfordshire makes for a pleasant ride, although I don’t think you should get your hopes up regarding opportunities. And that the Amici Delicatessen really is quite special – for one hour of my Sunday, I was lazing on a sunny plaza cooled by a Mediterranean breeze, weary from Alpine plights – and all of this in East Finchley, who’d of thought?
Georgie Wood
The shop will be closed for the month of october.
Rob’s off on his annual holiday and so the shop will be closed for the month of October.
“There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on
the feelings, as now in October.”
- Nathaniel Hawthorne
YR
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I went over a pothole and flew through the air in to the road. But i have my very own snowman in september so all is well.
YR
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Doping is almost as old as professional cycling itself. When Henri Desgrange had the brain wave of instituting a tour around France, he wanted to create an event which required ‘superhuman effort’. Those intrepid cyclists who entered early editions had to pay a 5 Franc entrance fee and were also told they must supply their own dope – which in those days included alcohol, cocaine and chlorofoam.
The Tour did not take a completely blind eye to cheating, in 1906 3 riders were expelled for taking a train. Compared to the skull dugdery of poisoning rivals, and throwing nails on the road surface, dope taking hardly seemed a priority. The early organisers were most keen to encourage the superhuman feats which helped sell papers. It is perhaps from this perspective that we can better understand why doping became such an intrinsic part of cycling’s culture.
Ex·cerpt from Cycling Doping Scandals / http://cyclinginfo.co.uk/blog/450/procycling/cycling-doping-scandals/ By Tejvan.
History repeats itself today a Certain Mr Armstrong admits to doping, highlighting the sometimes corrupt nature of a cycling event we hold so dear.
ON a lighter note, we have nothing to worry about, because we have this man:
“If I felt I had to take drugs, I would rather stop tomorrow, go and ride club 10-mile time trials, ride to the cafe on Sundays, and work in Tesco stacking shelves.” Bradley Wiggins Tour de France.
YR.
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