Rough Ride (22 page)

Sunday, 21 May 1989
Stage 1: Taormina to Catania (123 kilometres)
Stage winner: Jean-Paul Van Poppel (Netherlands)
Race leader: Jean-Paul Van Poppel

The Tour of Italy, second biggest stage race in the world. Three weeks of racing, 3,709 kilometres of cycling. I was nervous before the start. This is not just another bike race: it's history, legendary. And I'm here, doing it, participating in history. Starting out from Taormina this morning, I felt as if I was heading out on a great adventure. God knows what lies ahead. God knows how far I will go.

The first stage, a short one of 123 kilometres, was like all opening stages of big tours. Everyone was highly strung, and there were a lot of crashes. Everyone wanted to get to the front, to stay out of trouble, but also for another reason. The first stage is the only stage when any rider in the peloton can lead the Giro D'Italia. I was conscious of this as I took my place at the front. It's another tale for my grandchildren: 'the day Grandad led the Tour of Italy'. As a first stage it wasn't too bad, except for the finishing circuits, which were very fast. Some stupid Italian
gregario
(an Italian
domestique)
ran into me with three laps to go, and we both nearly fell. The bastard had the cheek to accuse me of swaying into him. He was short, dark, very ugly, and as I insisted on insulting him back we nearly came to blows. Typical Italian – they're gods in their own back garden.

A journalist came up to me after the finish. My face was blackened from street dust, and sweaty. My lungs were still heaving from the effort of the final sprint. And he looked at me and said, cool as a breeze, 'Oh, I suppose today was only a gallop?'

And I looked at him and thought seriously about telling him
to fuck off. But I remembered what Roche had said and decided to be diplomatic:
'Yes I suppose it was, really.'

Monday, 22 May
Stage 2: Catania to Etna (132 kilometres)
Stage winner: Acasio da Silva (Portugal)
Race leader: Acasio da Silva

Today the stage finished on the slopes of the famous volcano. It used to terrify
me as a child, this fiery mountain. I imagined it erupting and the lava rolling
across the seas to the doorstep of Kilmore Avenue. It was another short stage,
just 132 kilometres, but it was hard, with the climb to Etna at the finish.
I didn't drink enough during the stage and was dehydrated on the climb –
which was a pity, as I was going quite well. I lost three minutes to stage
winner Acacio da Silva and finished on my hands and knees, absolutely cooked.
There were others much worse than me: Greg LeMond was miles back and going
really badly. Before getting into the team car after the finish, I picked
up a piece of volcanic rock as a souvenir. I will take it home to Kilmore
Avenue and the childhood fantasy will come true.

Tuesday, 23 May
Stage 3: Villafranca to Messina (32.5 kilometres Team Time Trial)
Stage winner: Ariostea (team)
Race leader: Silvano Contini (Italy)

Team time-trial day, a bit of a disaster for me. Didn't recover from the efforts
of yesterday and spent most of the time sitting at the back. The lads rode
quite well and we finished tenth. We showered and changed at a hotel beside
the finish line which also housed the press room. The atmosphere of typewriters
clacking and journalists scratching their heads intrigued me. Will I be one
of them next year? As soon as we had changed, we left by car ferry for mainland
Italy. I had expected an improvement, but if anything it's poorer and even
more dirty.

Wednesday, 24 May
Stage 4: Scilla to Cosenza (204 kilometres)
Stage winner: Rolf Jarmann (Switzerland)
Race leader: Silvano Contini

A great day, fifteenth on the stage, I'm really delighted with myself. It was
up and down, up and down, all day – a really hard stage. I love it when
it's like that. I was particularly strong near the finish, and able to close
a lot of gaps for Stephen. I should have done better, really. I came out of
the final hairpin in race leader da Silva's slipstream and he had two riders
leading him out for the sprint. God, I couldn't believe it, I thought all
my Christmases had come at once, an armchair ride to the line – this
is it, I'm going to win. But then, 300 metres out, this six-foot Italian bastard
from the Jolly team elbowed his way in on top of me and pushed me off da Silva's
back wheel. I should have pushed him back, but we were doing sixty kilometres
an hour and I hadn't got the bottle at that speed. As soon as I lost the wheel
I got boxed in and started slipping back to fifteenth on the line. The Italian
with the big elbows crashed as we crossed it, and ripped all the skin off
his arse. Can't say I was sorry.

Thursday, 25 May
Stage 5: Cosenza to Potenza (275 kilometres)
Stage winner: Stefano Giuliani (Italy)
Race leader: Silvano Contini

My flirtation with journalism is getting out of hand. I am not sure I have
ever been this tired after a stage, and I can't even rest, as I'm typing out
the final pages of this week's diary to fax it home tomorrow. But I'm totally
knackered and it's a real strain. My eyes keep blurring and I have never made
as many mistakes with the typing. We were up at six, for the longest stage
of the race, 275 kilometres. But the race organiser, Vincente Torriani, got
his sums wrong and the correct stage distance was 290 kilometres. After the
stage we had an hour's drive to the hotel, where there was no hot water for
showering. I think I can be excused for feeling a little hard done by tonight.
We suffer like dogs, are treated like dogs – and all for few quid and
some glory. Am I mad? I am continuing to ride well, and I hope it lasts. Morale
in the team is great with Patrick as
directeur sportif.
I get on really
well with him, although he can be a ruthless bastard at times.

Friday, 26 May
Stage 6: Potenza to Campobasso (223 kilometres)
Stage winner: Stefan Joho (Switzerland)
Race leader: Silvano Contini

Some bastard Italian attacked from the gun today. The first five kilometres were up a mountain and the attack split the field to bits. Before I knew what was happening, the three cups of Colombian coffee, swallowed just before the off, were coming back up my throat. My muscles, sore and stiff from yesterday's marathon, took their time before responding and the climb was sheer hell. It was the ultimate in bad taste. This race is beginning to stink. Where was the Giro of legend, where riders laughed and joked for five hours and raced for two?

Managed to get my fax away. Gave it to English journalist John Wilcockson who will send it tonight from the press room. It's a big weight off my shoulders, which is a bit ridiculous. I mean, I shouldn't be bothered with the hassle, and yet I am. It would kill me if I didn't get it away, and I am beginning to wonder if this has become a new motivation for finishing the race. I mean, if I'm not racing, then I can't write, and it's got to the stage now where I actually love writing.

I didn't ride as well today and cracked a bit towards the end
on a long crosswind section which split the peloton. I'm not really surprised,
as the last two days were so demanding. I've been having regular vitamin injections
from Silvano. One, sometimes two, a night. My arse is beginning to feel like
a dartboard and I'm not happy about it. It bugs me to have to stick needles
in myself every night just to survive.

Saturday, 27 May
Stage 7: Isernia to Rome (208 kilometres)
Stage winner: Urs Freuler (Switzerland)
Race leader: Silvano Contini

It's a pathetic sport. Here we are, in probably the most beautiful city in
the world, and we don't have time to look around it. The stage finished outside
the Colosseum, but we were sprinting so hard that I never got the chance to
look left. On the way to the hotel we drove past the Vatican, but there wasn't
even time to visit the square. The hotel was another disappointment. It was
more like a factory than a hotel: too many teams there, not to mention the
coachloads of tourists. We waited over an hour before they served us dinner,
and when they did it wasn't worth waiting for. Tomorrow's a big day, the first
mountain stage of the race.

Sunday, 28 May
Stage 8: Rome to Gran Sasso d'ltalia (183 kilometres)
Stage winner: John Carlsen (Denmark)
Race leader: Erik Breukink (Netherlands)

Today we finished at the top of Gran Sasso d'Italia, Giant Stone of Italy.
It was another fast start, but I was going really well and never felt under
pressure. There was some fierce attacking on a long drag after sixty-five
kilometres and the bunch split into bits. For once, Stephen was badly placed,
but I bridged all the gaps with him in my slipstream and got the same pleasure
from it as if I had won the stage. I never left his side until the final climb
to the summit, where I lost the front group three kilometres from the top.
It was a great day for the team, with our Dane, John Carlsen, winning the
stage. Tonight, we had champagne and extra dessert as a reward, and spirits
are high. The team is pulling well together under Patrick and uniting behind
Stephen, who is still very much going for the win. I have been sharing a room
with him since the start and I love it. Living with a champion gives me such
great motivation: talking about his worries, dreaming his dreams, reliving
the race as if
I
were in front.

Monday, 29 May
Stage 9: L'Aquila to Gubbio (221 kilometres)
Stage winner: Bjarne Riis (Denmark)
Race leader: Acasio da Silva

Grovelling to Gubbio. It's what I did today, grovelled. It was a bad day, a really bad day. I must have pushed too hard into my reserves yesterday for I hadn't an ounce of strength today. I cracked on the first climb after just eighty kilometres and spent the day in a big group of stragglers chasing to beat the time limit. The climb was terrible, so unbelievably hot I thought my head was going to blow open. The tar was running down the road like water in places: the tyres stuck to it, and I had the impression I was riding through a bog. The heat cracked me, and for the first time in the race I considered abandoning. That I didn't is no comfort to me tonight. The line between hanging in there and getting off can sometimes be so thin. It scares me. I want so desperately to finish this race, but heat and gradient can melt the strongest of resolves. Today I was close to the edge.

We had a long drive to the hotel when it was over. I was in
a car with Robert Forest and Laurent Biondi. They had both ridden well and
were chirping away like two little sparrows. They both knew I had ridden badly,
and this no doubt added to their joy. In their shoes, I would undoubtedly
act in the same way, so I don't hold it against them. It's just so absurd
– grown men acting like children, delighted to have scored a few points
against a rival. But as I say, I would have been the same.

Tuesday, 30 May
Stage 10: Pesaro to Riccione (36.8 kilometres TT)
Stage winner: Lech Piasecki (Poland)
Race leader: Erik Breukink

What a lovely place. Our hotel is fifty metres from the most beautiful beach I have ever seen in my life (my current situation is no doubt distorting its true valuation), but we can't use it. Still, the view from our terrace is just wonderful. Bare breasts and G-strings – the sexual frustration is unbearable. The mechanics have a great time: as soon as their work is done, it's off on the town for the night. And then, each morning at breakfast, they take such delight in reliving their lustful exploits. In the hotel opposite us, two elderly women are sunbathing naked on the terrace of their room. I was too embarrassed to look, but Patrick called the whole crew into the room and they gawped in disbelief before shouting obscenities. All of this took place after the time trial, of course.

It was a hard test, thirty-six kilometres of rolling coastal road, but I enjoyed it. I rode it at 80 per cent and caught a Russian from the Alfa Lum team, who had been off three minutes in front of me. Never thought I'd see the day when I'd be catching Russians in time trials. I used the free time in the afternoon to do some washing and to type some of Sunday's article.

Stephen has moved up to second overall behind Dutchman Erik
Breukink. He is pleased with his performance but is getting a lot of pain
from his back and tonight his doctor flew down by private plane from Germany
to examine him. The doctor had just returned from Wimbledon, where he was
treating another of his patients, Boris Becker. Roche doesn't do things by
halves. Tonight was special. When we switched off the lights, we talked for
over an hour about how he could win the race. That's something new for me
– to be working out how to win a Giro – it's very exciting and
motivating. He proved today he can win the race. I must be at his side at
all times until the finish. I want to be his lieutenant.

Wednesday, 31 May
Stage 11: Riccione to Mantua (244 kilometres)
Stage winner: Urs Freuler
Race leader: Erik Breukink

The good weather deserted Riccione sometime during the night and when we awoke this morning, it was to blackened skies and pouring rain. We were soaked to the skin before we even left the outskirts of the town and the 240 kilometres were ridden under a constant deluge. My mood was at one with the skies. I hate racing in the rain, it makes life so uncomfortable. Spray from the wheels injects every kind of filth into your eyes and the cold wetness penetrates every pore in your skin. At Wimbledon, as soon as it rains they pull over the covers and everyone retires for tea. But the poor cyclist has always been the peasant of the sporting world: shove a fiver in his back pocket and he will do anything you ask him to.

I fell off today, which is unusual – I don't often crash.
It happened thirty kilometres from the finish, the speed was up and the lads
were jostling for a good position. One guy touched a wheel, so those behind
tried to brake, but the brake pads don't work as efficiently in the wet and
thirty of us ran up the guy's arse. I wasn't hurt, just a few cuts and bruises.
I suppose it was just one of those days.