we supposed to take orders from a man who chain-smoked, and ate like there was no tomorrow? I didn't like him; I found him false and insincere. He often made fun of my efforts to speak French, which I would have accepted if he spoke English – but he hadn't a word. It was a mystery to me how a guy like Vallaeys could be at the head of a professional cycling team.
Two days after Ghent I abandoned the Grand Prix Pino Cerami in Belgium. It was a vicious circle. I needed a stage race to build up strength for the classics. But as I had not ridden Paris-Nice I was unprepared for these savage one-day events and was unable to ride much further than half-way in most of them. In between races we stayed at a hotel in Moeskron, where they served the most gigantic juicy steaks, and we ate like kings; but we raced like juniors, and the result was that my condition deteriorated instead of improved. There was also the mental side of it. Not finishing races was a bad habit that was becoming addictive. When it snowed or rained or was freezing cold, as it often was for the classics, it was all too easy to abandon the bike for the warmth of the soigneurs' car. Once in the car the remorse would start. The self-analysis that led to deep depression. Finishing races instilled confidence and self-respect. Abandoning destroyed both.
Two days after Cerami we drove to Compiègne for Paris-Roubaix. The weather was atrocious, and I wondered if the race would be cancelled as it was snowing heavily as we went to bed. The La Vie Claire team were staying in the same hotel and during the night one of their new professionals, the American Thurlow Rogers, left his room and the hotel without saying a word. The next day the story was that he had cracked and was returning to the States. The hardened Europeans found this very amusing, but I understood how he felt and often considered doing the same. On this cold, wet morning it was easy to make such decisions. It was snowing in Compiègne when we rode out of the cobbled square and I knew there was no way I was going to make it to Roubaix. The tactic was simple: try to get the hell out of the bunch before crossing the first pave. I attacked several times in the first hundred kilometres without success and as we approached the first pave, the pace shot up as the big guns moved to the front, while the small fry like myself slipped to the back. I bumped into Kelly. He was on the way up and I was on the way down. For him the race was now starting; for me it was over. The enormous gap in our abilities became apparent to me.
There was a huge crash just before the first section, and I fell off without hurting myself. I met Dede at the bottom of the tangled mess. He had lumps out of him, so I waited and then we chased together. At the exit of the first pave we were seven minutes behind the leaders and we abandoned almost immediately. We climbed into the broom wagon and were brought to the showers, where I washed and changed in time to see 'King Kelly' win his second Paris-Roubaix.
It was obvious to me that I needed to take drastic action to climb out of the pit into which I had fallen. Thevenet was not pleased with my performances and after a long discussion I told him I wanted to leave Wasquehal and move to Grenoble. The head office of RMO was based in the Alpine town, and five of the team's cyclists lived in the region. The only problem would be a place to stay. RMO sponsored the Grenoble football team and also a training centre for its apprentices. Thevenet rang the centre and they agreed to lodge me until I could find an apartment. The thought of getting out of Wasquehal worked wonders on me. A week after Paris-Roubaix we rode Liège-Bastogne-Liège. In freezing cold rain Bruno Huger and I were the only two riders to finish from our team. Only sixty riders finished and Thevenet praised me for my courage – it was the first good word he had had for me in a month. Not that I blamed him, for I had abandoned seven races
Two days after Ghent I abandoned the Grand Prix Pino Cerami in Belgium. It was a vicious circle. I needed a stage race to build up strength for the classics. But as I had not ridden Paris-Nice I was unprepared for these savage one-day events and was unable to ride much further than half-way in most of them. In between races we stayed at a hotel in Moeskron, where they served the most gigantic juicy steaks, and we ate like kings; but we raced like juniors, and the result was that my condition deteriorated instead of improved. There was also the mental side of it. Not finishing races was a bad habit that was becoming addictive. When it snowed or rained or was freezing cold, as it often was for the classics, it was all too easy to abandon the bike for the warmth of the soigneurs' car. Once in the car the remorse would start. The self-analysis that led to deep depression. Finishing races instilled confidence and self-respect. Abandoning destroyed both.
Two days after Cerami we drove to Compiègne for Paris-Roubaix. The weather was atrocious, and I wondered if the race would be cancelled as it was snowing heavily as we went to bed. The La Vie Claire team were staying in the same hotel and during the night one of their new professionals, the American Thurlow Rogers, left his room and the hotel without saying a word. The next day the story was that he had cracked and was returning to the States. The hardened Europeans found this very amusing, but I understood how he felt and often considered doing the same. On this cold, wet morning it was easy to make such decisions. It was snowing in Compiègne when we rode out of the cobbled square and I knew there was no way I was going to make it to Roubaix. The tactic was simple: try to get the hell out of the bunch before crossing the first pave. I attacked several times in the first hundred kilometres without success and as we approached the first pave, the pace shot up as the big guns moved to the front, while the small fry like myself slipped to the back. I bumped into Kelly. He was on the way up and I was on the way down. For him the race was now starting; for me it was over. The enormous gap in our abilities became apparent to me.
There was a huge crash just before the first section, and I fell off without hurting myself. I met Dede at the bottom of the tangled mess. He had lumps out of him, so I waited and then we chased together. At the exit of the first pave we were seven minutes behind the leaders and we abandoned almost immediately. We climbed into the broom wagon and were brought to the showers, where I washed and changed in time to see 'King Kelly' win his second Paris-Roubaix.
It was obvious to me that I needed to take drastic action to climb out of the pit into which I had fallen. Thevenet was not pleased with my performances and after a long discussion I told him I wanted to leave Wasquehal and move to Grenoble. The head office of RMO was based in the Alpine town, and five of the team's cyclists lived in the region. The only problem would be a place to stay. RMO sponsored the Grenoble football team and also a training centre for its apprentices. Thevenet rang the centre and they agreed to lodge me until I could find an apartment. The thought of getting out of Wasquehal worked wonders on me. A week after Paris-Roubaix we rode Liège-Bastogne-Liège. In freezing cold rain Bruno Huger and I were the only two riders to finish from our team. Only sixty riders finished and Thevenet praised me for my courage – it was the first good word he had had for me in a month. Not that I blamed him, for I had abandoned seven races
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