bankings, but in Manchester it’s not quite as seamless, so you go a little higher in the straight and lower in the bankings to keep a nice even pace. The higher up you get, obviously you can’t do that transition because you’re stuck against the barrier; you can’t even it out. Physically, it’s much harder than riding lower down the track, and if the guy at the front doesn’t ride nice and fluidly in and out of the turns, the guy at the back will constantly run up on the wheel ahead; he’ll always be back-pedalling to slow down, then accelerating again.
At first I had them riding with a bottle in their back pockets, but the track manager came over and said, ‘You can’t have them drinking on the track.’ So I made them drop down and put their bottle on top of the drinks fridge. I wouldn’t let them stop, so every fifteen or twenty minutes I’d shout, ‘Drink,’ and they’d come down off the track, grab the bottles as they were going around, then put them back and go back up to the top. I stood there for three hours on the side of the track, shouting, ‘Closer, closer, get closer …’ They were in pieces by the time they finished. Cav got off and said, ‘I’m sorry, Rod, I’m never, never going to do this again. My balls are killing me.’
*
In year one a lot of my consequences were physical things, which over the years I learnt I had to be a bit careful with. StevePeters provided a few guidelines, but my idea was to punish the riders when they broke the rules, but also to make it hard work. I needed to build the programme’s reputation. I wanted them to feel, ‘Oh my God, this is so hard,’ because I wanted those lads to tell all the young kids below them that this was really difficult. My bottom line was always that if they were not prepared to work this hard, they were not going to make it. I wanted this principle to flow year after year, and the only way of doing it was through hard work.
I’m sure the lads tried to wind me up. And I don’t think they liked me. I really don’t think they liked me but I didn’t care. I was just doing what I knew I wanted and I was going to get what I wanted with this programme. My goal was to produce a crack squadron of bike riders, mentally drilled, trained like the SAS. In cycling terms, they could go in and kill anybody at any moment. I wanted a driven team. But over the year what also happened was that I developed into someone who was better able to lead them.
I was working out a lot of this stuff for myself, but crucially I never felt isolated. Dave Brailsford was always behind me, and Steve Peters was continually supportive. I would take problems to Steve on a regular basis. For example, I would get quite wound up sometimes when we were in a restaurant, sitting around the dinner table; on occasion they would behave in a way that I didn’t think was acceptable – just being lads. I’d have a go at them, and they’d make a bit of a snide remark at me: ‘Bloody hell, who are you?’ – that kind of attitude. I brought this to Steve one day, and he said to me, ‘Rod, you aren’t their father. This is parenting. Actually, if they are like that now at eighteen, you will never change them. Don’t try and change what youcan’t change. You’ve got to recognise what is changeable and what isn’t, where you can be an influence and where you can’t.’ He said I was at fault there – I was trying to make a point but I was over the top. I had to recognise that not everybody could be like I wanted them to be and that sometimes I would be wrong.
The most striking example of the timekeeping rule and the cleaning-the-bikes consequence came when we did the Triptyque des Monts et Châteaux, an under-23 race in Belgium. It was our first proper international stage race as a team – I went as manager, because John Herety fell ill – and we got our heads totally kicked in. Thomas Dekker of Holland, who would go on to be a pro with Rabobank and Garmin, won
At first I had them riding with a bottle in their back pockets, but the track manager came over and said, ‘You can’t have them drinking on the track.’ So I made them drop down and put their bottle on top of the drinks fridge. I wouldn’t let them stop, so every fifteen or twenty minutes I’d shout, ‘Drink,’ and they’d come down off the track, grab the bottles as they were going around, then put them back and go back up to the top. I stood there for three hours on the side of the track, shouting, ‘Closer, closer, get closer …’ They were in pieces by the time they finished. Cav got off and said, ‘I’m sorry, Rod, I’m never, never going to do this again. My balls are killing me.’
*
In year one a lot of my consequences were physical things, which over the years I learnt I had to be a bit careful with. StevePeters provided a few guidelines, but my idea was to punish the riders when they broke the rules, but also to make it hard work. I needed to build the programme’s reputation. I wanted them to feel, ‘Oh my God, this is so hard,’ because I wanted those lads to tell all the young kids below them that this was really difficult. My bottom line was always that if they were not prepared to work this hard, they were not going to make it. I wanted this principle to flow year after year, and the only way of doing it was through hard work.
I’m sure the lads tried to wind me up. And I don’t think they liked me. I really don’t think they liked me but I didn’t care. I was just doing what I knew I wanted and I was going to get what I wanted with this programme. My goal was to produce a crack squadron of bike riders, mentally drilled, trained like the SAS. In cycling terms, they could go in and kill anybody at any moment. I wanted a driven team. But over the year what also happened was that I developed into someone who was better able to lead them.
I was working out a lot of this stuff for myself, but crucially I never felt isolated. Dave Brailsford was always behind me, and Steve Peters was continually supportive. I would take problems to Steve on a regular basis. For example, I would get quite wound up sometimes when we were in a restaurant, sitting around the dinner table; on occasion they would behave in a way that I didn’t think was acceptable – just being lads. I’d have a go at them, and they’d make a bit of a snide remark at me: ‘Bloody hell, who are you?’ – that kind of attitude. I brought this to Steve one day, and he said to me, ‘Rod, you aren’t their father. This is parenting. Actually, if they are like that now at eighteen, you will never change them. Don’t try and change what youcan’t change. You’ve got to recognise what is changeable and what isn’t, where you can be an influence and where you can’t.’ He said I was at fault there – I was trying to make a point but I was over the top. I had to recognise that not everybody could be like I wanted them to be and that sometimes I would be wrong.
The most striking example of the timekeeping rule and the cleaning-the-bikes consequence came when we did the Triptyque des Monts et Châteaux, an under-23 race in Belgium. It was our first proper international stage race as a team – I went as manager, because John Herety fell ill – and we got our heads totally kicked in. Thomas Dekker of Holland, who would go on to be a pro with Rabobank and Garmin, won
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