Friday 13 February 2015

Golden Opportunities (1996 Tour de France - Week 1)

It's been a while since I have made an appearance but here is the first of three parts from Winning Magazine Issue 149 from September 1996 - the Tour de France edition.  Although nearly 20 years ago now, I can still remember the footage that I have on video (which has been uploaded to YouTube) and reading the article here, it feels as though the author was watching these exact highlights and was not on the road!  Considering the weather in the first week of that 1996 Tour de France was unseasonable for a summer of France, you will probably understand why ... 

Golden Opportunities

During the Tour's opening week, stage wins and a chance to wear the yellow jersey are on everybody's mind.  

by Jeremy Whittle

As the 83rd edition of the Tour de France got underway in the Netherlands, there was an overwhelming sense that the wet-and-rainy prologue in ‘s-Hertogenbosch was little more than a damp introduction to an inevitable sixth consecutive Tour de France victory by Spain's Miguel Indurain.

There were the usual round of challengers, of course. But for the past five years stars like Tony Rominger, Alex Zulle, Bjame Riis, and Evgeni Berzin had all seen their best efforts fall far short of stopping the Indurain express, and there was little reason to believe that this year's Tour would be any different.




Indurain's propensity for grabbing the yellow jersey in the first long time trial at the start of the Tour's second week and then holding on to it thereafter had become almost a tradition at the Tour, which made this opening week one of opportunity for those bent on getting a chance to wear the maillot jaune before it became part of the Spaniard's wardrobe.

Given that fact, many expected GAN's Chris Boardman to his jersey-winning prologue ride of 1994, but it was Switzerland's Zulle who snatched a surprise victory in the 9.4-kilometer Tour de France opening test. The ONCE rider's time of 10:53 was two seconds faster than Britain's Boardman, perhaps still a bit cautious after crashing out of last year's rainy prologue and breaking his ankle. The Swiss was followed by Berzin of Gewiss and the Mapei/GB pair of Abraham Olano and Rominger, but the day's biggest surprise was the relatively low-key performance of Indurain, whose 11:05 was only seventh fastest.

The wet, windy conditions had indeed encouraged cautious riding, but when the Tour's big hitters finally rolled down the start ramp, speeds well over 50 kph were soon being recorded. Zulle's ONCE team dominated the day, placing three riders in the top 10, while Indurain did not have a Banesto teammate in the top 50. "Sure, it's good psychologically," acknowledged Zulle. "But this is a specialist's test, and over three weeks it doesn't affect the outcome of the race."




Sprinters center stage 


With the prologue over and done with, it was time for the sprinters to take center stage, and Frederic Moncassin of GAN took a brilliant first career win in the Tour on the opening road stage based in ‘s-Hertogenbosch, while Italy's Mario Cipollini, who was unable to counter the Frenchman's finishing burst, found himself controversially penalized by the race judges for "irregular sprinting" apparently because Moncassin had to back off after finding himself sandwiched precariously between the aggressive Cipollini and the barriers.

"It's definitely the best win of my career," said Moncassin afterward. "The team's having a great year, and we've all worked very hard to be in top form for this opening week. I'd like to keep the green jersey, but if the chance comes to take more time bonuses and wear yellow, then go for it."




The opening stage was also marred by a series of bad crashes that left several major players, including Motorola's Frankie Andreu, Luc Leblanc of Polti and Refin's sprinter Djamolidine Abdujaparov, struggling behind the main field. Largely to blame were strong crosswinds, combined with the numerous roundabouts and traffic islands that abound in Holland.

The following day, Cipollini scored a thrilling win in Wasquehal and in doing so exacted revenge for his relegation in stage one's placings by the Tour commissaires. Always glad to live up to his larger-than-life image, the Italian star had also been fined for wearing red shorts (purportedly to match his green, white and red national championship jersey) instead of Saeco's black ones.

Unrepentant, the "Lion King's" thighs were once again adorned in red as he held his line to snatch victory in the Lille suburb. The Tour had finally entered France, but Cipollini's victory thwarted Moncassin's dream of taking the yellow jersey on home turf. The GAN sprinter finished fourth and ended the day within a scant second of Zulle's maillot jaune. “I was extremely disappointed over what happened yesterday." Cipollini said. “Today the record had to be set straight. The wind made it a hard day, but towards the end the conditions were good, and the team was able to do a great job."



French yellow jersey 


Moncassin triumphantly ended a day of cliff-hanging suspense for French fans during stage three by snatching the yellow jersey after a tense sprint in Nogent-sur-Oise won by Telekom's Erik Zabel.

During the stage, beset with strong winds and heavy showers, all eyes were on GAN as Moncassin once again tried to snatch the necessary time bonuses. But with the Saeco team working hard at the front for Cipollini, the 27-year-old Moncassin had his work cut out just to enter the final kilometers close to the head of the bunch. As the field entered the final thousand meters, with the Italian star perfectly placed, Moncassin finally wormed his way to Cipollini's back wheel. The Italian hit the front with Moncassin and Zabel glued to his slipstream and TVM's Jeroen Blijlevens and green jersey leader Jan Svorada battling to stay in contention.

Three hundred meters from the finish, Zabel jumped away to the right, opening daylight between himself and "Super Mario." The German, using a 53x11 gear, held on to beat a flagging Cipollini to the line, while Moncassin fought off Panaria's Svorada to take the vital eight-second bonus for third place and, most important of all, the maillot jaune from Zulle.



Fairy-tale victory




Lowly French squad, Aubervilliers '93, a much-criticized late inclusion among the teams for this year's Tour de France, scored a fairy-tale victory in stage four to Lac de Madine as 23-year-old speedster Cyril Saugrain outsprinted his four breakaway partners. “It’s my first Tour and my first pro win,” said the jubilant Saugrain.  “We’re a lot smaller than the other teams on the Tour, but since we found out that we were going to ride, everybody’s worked so hard. Today’s win represents the fruit of three years of hard work.”

While Saugrain joyfully celebrated his unexpected success, GAN’s Stephane Heulot, part of the same day-long break of five men, picked up enough time to take the yellow jersey from the shoulders of Moncassin.  “I joined the break only so that the team would have someone there if needed,” explained Heulot. “At the finish, I was thinking more of the jersey than the stage win.  I hope to stay in yellow for a few days, but I don’t have any illusions.”

Four and a half minutes later the main field arrived, and points jersey incumbent Svorada, fully aware that Moncassin now had green on his mind, jumped hard, lifting his front wheel off the ground and then crashing heavily to the road. Immediately behind him, Festina's Laurent Brochard and Mauro Bettin of Refin were also brought down, while Telekom's Riis narrowly averted disaster by sliding against the barriers.




Sprinting spoils


The sprinters were back at it in stage five, as TVM's Blijlevens put the frustration of two second places behind him by winning the stage after another hectic finish, this one in the Vosges town of Besancon. "My team worked hard in the first stages in Holland, but today I told them to leave me to it," said Blijlevens after the finish. While Blijlevens celebrated his victory, Svorada and Cipollini were already packing for home, and the Dutchman noted their absence. "Everybody expected me to win in Holland," he said. "But, of course, without Cipo and Svorada, today's finish was a little more open."

In the case of Cipollini, who had been voicing his Olympic aspirations, retreat from the Tour's stresses had been long planned, although he felt obliged to talk vaguely of fatigue and a slight fever. Svorada, on the other hand, had appeared a strong contender for the points competition but had to abandon due to deep muscle trauma from his heavy fall at Lac de Madine.

The stage had been plagued by strong headwinds and heavy showers, and crashes continued to take their toll. Zulle and Riis suffered mid-race falls, and moments later TV cameras at the back of the race caught Motorola's Lance Armstrong and Gilles Bouvard of Lotto arguing heatedly with arms raised, after the Texan stopped to help fallen team-mate Laurent Madouas. "It was nothing – I'm fine," said Armstrong coyly at the finish. "That guy was out of order, and it was about time somebody told him so."




Meanwhile, Gewiss' climber Ivan Gotti, fifth in last year's Tour, abandoned with a muscle tear in his right calf, which was bad news indeed for Gewiss leader Berzin, who had been looking forward to Gotti's help in the high mountains.
Seven kilometers from the line, with the bunch all together, it was time for the sprinters' teams to move forward, and Telekom, GAN, and Rabobank promptly obliged. After a futile attack by Rabobank's Slava Ekimov, Moncassin led things out with 500 meters remaining, but Blijlevens was far too strong for the Frenchman, and he came across the line, arms raised, to bring TVM its first major success of the year.


Stormy onslaught


Stage six, a day of violent Alpine storms, saw Rabobank's Michael Boogerd score a hard-earned win for the Dutch team, while Motorola's Armstrong abandoned after 45 km, apparently with bronchitis. It was the seventh successive day of rain on this year's Tour as thunderstorms, gale-force winds and even fallen trees blighted the race's tortuous route through the Jura mountains.



After 63 km, Rabobank's Leon Van Bon took flight with MG's Marco Saligari. The pair was quickly pursued by Refin's Abdujaparov and Andrea Ferrigato of Roslotto, and with the sodden peloton 3:20 behind the quartet, the lead group's hopes of staying clear were high. But as the kilometers ticked by, and in spite of a solo effort from Van Bon, the foursome was caught on the cote de Senoy, 39 km from Aix les Bains.

Lightning and thunder rolled menacingly over the heads of the peloton as the main field came back together in torrential rain. With two kilometers to go, Boogerd made his bid for glory. Melchor Mauri of ONCE gave chase, but 800 meters from the line the Spaniard overshot a tight righthand bend.  With Telekom’s Zabel leading the field up to his back wheel, the exultant Boogerd stayed clear of the pack by a mere second to finally bring the Dutch team the victory that they had been desperately pursuing since the Tour began.



Alpine drama unfolds

Now it was time to head into the mountains, and in one of the most dramatic day’s racing in the long history of the Tour de France, the Russian Berzin became the first rider from the former Eastern Bloc to wear the race leader’s yellow jersey, while, incredibly, Indurain cracked on the stage’s final climb to Les Arcs.

With torrential rainstorms sweeping across the Savoie region of the French Alps, Telekom’s Danish team leader Riis ignited the Tour as he attacked on the descent of the Col de la Madeleine. The extraordinary day of racing saw race leader Heulot abandon the Tour in tears at the top of the day’s second col as he succumbed to tendinitis in his right leg.  In addition, Rabobank’s Johan Bruyneel disappeared horrifyingly into a yawning mountain ravine, only to miraculously remount moments later.

"I'm happy to be alive," said Bruyneel. "The guy in front of me moved out to the right, and I had to brake hard, but there just wasn't enough time and I'd gone too far to avoid the parapet. Next thing I knew, I was flying — I didn't know where I was going to land, but the branches caught me."

But this amazing drama was only the prelude to the moment that shocked the entire Tour. Three and a half kilometers from the finish at the summit of Les Arcs, the ferocious pace set by ONCE's Aitor Garmendia at the head of a group containing most of the race favorites proved too much for the heretofore seemingly invincible Indurain.




As Polti's Leblanc caught lone breakaway Laurent Dufaux of Festina, a minute further up the climb, Indurain slipped inexorably towards the rear of a small group containing, among others, Gewiss' Berzin, Mapei's Rominger and Olano, Telekom's Riis, Fernando Escartin of Kelme, and Roslotto's Piotr Ugrumov.

At the same moment, Zulle, who had fallen no less than twice on the descent of the penultimate climb, the Comet de Roselend, began to struggle as shock set into his muscles. Indurain and Zulle, first and second, respectively, at last year's Tour, were left to battle alone against the climb, with Indurain frantically signaling for a drink as first Zulle and then even TVM's Bo Hamburger left him behind.

Ahead of them, Leblanc was already celebrating an excellent stage win, while Olano, Berzin, Rominger and Riis, seizing on an opportunity that has taken five years to come, set about distancing the great Spaniard. Two kilometres from the finish, Indurain appeared utterly exhausted, his mouth set in a taut grimace and his legs barely able to tap out a climbing rhythm.

Even with the realization that he was losing valuable time to his rivals, Banesto's leader typically showed few obvious signs of panic, but his team car was quick to drive alongside offering support and encouragement. For once, there was little that he or they could do, and the 31-year-old Navarran struggled painfully on in an attempt to limit his losses. "Miguel hasn't lost the Tour today," insisted his former teammate Pedro Delgado, winner of the 1988 Tour, afterwards as he stood in the press tent at Les Arcs. "But it's clear that his rivals are in a very strong position."


Olano, meanwhile, was driving the favorites' group, with Rominger sitting tightly on his back wheel jumping clear in the closing few hundred meters to take second place. Berzin came in nine seconds further back, alongside Riis and Escartin; but the blond 26-year-old Russian had done enough to take the first yellow jersey of his career on a day that will long live in the memory of those who saw it.

Friday 2 January 2015

Winning Bicycle Racing Illustrated - September 1990 (Edition No 80)


So I offered to find an article from the victory of Robert Millar in the 1990 Dauphine Libere stage race - I knew I saw it somewhere as my father bought me this edition of Winning back then so I have flicked through it a few times.  I have also decided to pick out a couple of the other articles from this Winning edition from September 1990, one of the late Michel Zanoli in his first professional season with the US Coors Light team, and another of the Japanese track racing sport of keirin, which is now in the Olympic Games.

Millar Comes Through
For the French team Z, victory in the Dauphine Libere was something extra special.
By Kenny Pryde
“Personally, I think that my win in the Tour of Catalonia was perhaps my best, but this is my most important. I'm in a French team and this is an important French race, so the win is good for everyone in Z."

Thus spoke Robert Millar after emerging from a scrum of radio, press and TV journalists. He was a happy man. "Yeah, I'm tres, tres content as they always seem to say after they've won," he joked. Runner-up to Charly Mottet last year, this time it was Millar, in his 11th year of professionalism, who accepted the winner's bouquet in the 42nd Dauphine Libere.

The "importance" he talked about no doubt had something to do with the fact that, since Z's inception, the team had won nothing of any real importance plenty of recognition but no big wins. The sensational signing of Greg LeMond had thus far yielded zip, Ronan Pensec was out of sorts and Eric Boyer's 1989 season had been anonymous to say the least.

Only Millar, a rider who has never coped well with pressure, had produced any results of merit — prime among them his superb Pyrenean stage win in the 1989 Tour and subsequent victory in the Tour of Britain.

In the first half of 1990, the Scot once again came to the rescue of Zannier's Z men. It was no coincidence that Roger Zannier himself was on hand to congratulate the Glaswegian and to bask, not unreasonably, in the glory that a sponsor merits.

This year the route of the eight-stage Dauphine was generally thought to be harder than in previous years, and although Laurent Fignon, Mottet and LeMond weren't there, the field lacked little in the way of attractive names.

Stephen Roche was present, looking to test himself in the high mountains of the Alps for the first time since 1987. Sean Kelly was on the start sheet, too, keen to get in some hard racing after recovering from a broken collarbone suffered at the Tour of Flanders. Andy Hampsten, seeking a less strenuous build-up to this year's Tour de France than the Giro d'Italia offered, brought along a strong 7-Eleven team, which suggested that he was after something more than hard training. And given the mountains which dominated the last two road stages, no one was counting out Luis Herrera or Fabio Parra.

On the home front, Frenchman Thierry Claveyrolat was unabashedly there to win, while Jean-Francois Bernard's ambitions were much less grand. Castorama's Luc Leblanc had come from a fine solo victory in the Grand Prix of Wallonie and was anxious to make up for last year's disastrous season. And, of course, Millar was also on the start line on the first stage at Aix-les-Bains.

The scene was set for a combative and, in view of the upcoming Tour de France, an enlightening race. Stage one revealed little importance save that it would be some time yet before "Jeff" Bernard would once again scale the dizzy heights of true stardom. The stage was a mainly flat one but had a third-category col in the last 20 km.

Claveyrolat was the rider first over the summit, and a small group escaped only to have their progress halted by a railroad crossing. A 20-second lead was wiped out and Rolf Golz (Buckler) won the sprint contested by 39 riders. All the favorites were in that group except Bernard, who finished with Eric Vanderaerden, 1:41 behind. So the pattern of the race was set.

Stages six and seven were casting a long shadow over the first five stages of the race, with Millar, Claveyrolat, Roche, Leblanc, Parra and Herrera content to let the mountains weed out the weaker riders one by one. Riders "found out" by the mountains in these opening stages were Steve Bauer, Brian Walton, Kelly, Bernard and Pensec, although there were no real surprises there.

Stages two and four did, however, provide one or two surprises. The most significant of these is that France seems to have discovered a new sprinter in Castorama's Frederic Moncassin, who won both stages that ended in bunch sprints. At one point Moncassin held both the points jersey and the hot spots jersey, although every time the road tilted skyward he started to come off the back. Few people imagined he would finish the race, so no one was surprised when he packed it in after 30 km of stage six. Nevertheless, Moncassin is a name to remember, an up-and-corner with the potential to deliver more than Bruno Wojtinek did when he, too, was being touted as the "sprinter France has been waiting for since Darrigade."

The other thing of note on the flat stage between Vals-les-bains and Avignon was the split in the field provoked by Francis Moreau and Laurent Biondi of Histor. Kelly explained what happened: "Just before the feed there had been a few attacks, and because there was a bit of a cross-wind everyone was a bit nervous. When the attack started, I was near the front, so I didn't have too much trouble getting into the front group."

To tell the truth, Kelly and Martin Earley also went to the front to ensure that those caught in the back group — including leader Golz — would never get back up again. To some it seemed like a bizarre tactic. Golz was never going to be a threat to the race favorites and, more importantly, all the Colombians were safely installed in the first peloton.

"I think they carried on riding hard because they were embarrassed," mused an American rider. "Attacking through the feed zone is a kind of taboo thing to do and once they had done that they were committed to it. I don't know what it did, though, except give the Histor riders sore legs."

The only significant g.c. rider affected by the move was Claude Criquielion, whose entire team barring one rider was in the back group. Others trapped were Laurent Madouas and Atle Kvalsvoll (Z), both of whom had been riding strongly in the hills and who had both figured in the break that got held up at the railroad crossing on the first stage.

Stage five, a 196-km trek from Avignon to Gap, displayed a new French star onthe same terrain which, four years before, had launched Bernard to stardom. This time it was Leblanc who soloed to victory and thereby donned the leader's jersey.

Leblanc became the third bearer of the gold and blue jersey, and the question on everyone's lips was whether the 23-year-old could seriously be expected to keep it to the finish. The Frenchman was cautious about his chances but clearly delighted, thanking everyone on the team who had given him the support and encouragement he needed to succeed in this bold, though unplanned enterprise.

Stage six, the 209-km leg from Gap to Allevard-les-Bains, included three first-category cols, two third-category cols and innumerable other climbs. This was surely the day that the final selection would be made and the day that everyone, including Leblanc, was fearing. If he could emerge from stage six still wearing the leader's jersey, he would almost certainly carry it to the finish.
As soon as the riders turned off the main street of Gap they were confronted with a sign announcing "summit 10 km." There was no time to promenade today. The sky was overcast and grey and, even before the riders reached the top, heavy splashes of rain were falling. The tops of the mountains were shrouded in mist and the roads were treacherous.

First to launch a serious attack was Tour de Trump runner-up Kvalsvoll, who quickly put time between himself and the thinning peloton. The young-looking Norwegian attacked the climbs with great verve, so much so that a group of four chasers was totally incapable of bridging the gap built by the Z rider.
Back in the peloton the Z team was looking strong, with Jerome Simon, the promising Madouas and Bruno Cornillet all well to the fore and providing Millar with plenty of support.

On a thickly wooded and tricky descent through Sechilienne what was effectively the race winning move went clear. The too-nervous Leblanc, who had no teammates near him, fell victim to the unfamiliar descent and the aggressive riding of Roche, Hampsten and Claveyrolat.

On the steep Col du Luitel, which wound its tortuous way up through mist-laced and dripping wet pine trees, the favorites moved to the front. Millar, Claveyrolat, Roche, Parra, Martin Farfan, Alvaro Mejia and Hampsten all saw that Leblanc was missing and rode strongly to ensure that the young race leader would remain behind.

After the finish Millar revealed what had happened. "He [Leblanc] was nervous today; and when the guys started to jump, he had lost all his self-confidence. He probably could have come with us on the Luitel, but he's still young. It was his first leader's jersey, and he didn't know what to do."

This leading group forged further and further ahead of the fragmented bunch, catching and jettisoning the early attackers (including Kvalsvoll and his four chasers). Then, on the final climb of the day, the Col du Coq, Claveyrolat, Parra, Farfan and Millar broke clear. The rain made the descent more dangerous than usual, and Kelme's Farfan couldn't handle the corners and was dropped. Meanwhile, Parra's front wheel slipped away from him on a particularly tight left-hander and he hit the tarmac. He quickly remounted but, in his haste to catch the Franco-Scottish ex- press, he fell again. Millar and Claveyrolat were now alone in the lead only 39 km from the finish, most of it downhill.

Both riders put their backs into it, and as they passed under the red kite at one km to go, each knew that whoever won the sprint would be wearing the leader's jersey that night. Mejia was 3:46 down, Parra at 3:54 and Roche was at 6:35. Leblanc, alas, was to finish that terrible stage in 21st place, 11:29 in arrears.
Claveyrolat was an easy winner, leading out from 200 meters, with Millar unable to get past him. From day one Claveyrolat had been in the mountain's jersey points. Now he had the most important one of all.


Claveyrolat may have been happy, but he was not at ease. He had stated on the eve of the race that he needed a lead of at least 1:30 over the other favorites in view of the time trial on the last day, and now his lead over Millar amounted to five seconds. On stage seven, which featured another three first-category climbs, he would have to increase his slender advantage to have any hope of winning the overall.

Over the Cols des Saises and the Aravis the field thinned out until, at the foot of the final col of this Dauphine, there were only 36 riders left in the front group. For Claveyrolat it was now or never. "I rode up and flat out, as though the finish line was at the summit, and at one point I thought I had dropped Millar. But then I saw he was still with us, and my heart sank. What could I do...?" Claveyrolat recalled. He knew that his tenure in the jersey was almost over, although his third place on the stage, behind Luc Roosen and a momentarily rejuvenated Bernard, gave him another four seconds over the Scot.

Nevertheless, nine seconds was nowhere near the 90 he himself had decreed necessary for the final flat time trial around the picturesque shores of Lake Annecy. Claveyrolat had been frank, and Millar was equally as forthright.
"If I ride good, I'll put two minutes into him," the Scot declared. "If I'm not riding so good, then a minute." There was no ambiguity in Millar's voice, although with the arrival of Z patron Zannier there was a hint, just a hint, of tension. Millar was, after all, only 10 seconds from one of the best wins of his career.

For all the talk from both camps, any doubts were quickly dispelled as the final time trial unfolded. After 10 km Claveyrolat was already lost and Toni Rominger, third at 3:05 on general classification, was only a handful of seconds ahead of the Scot, who rode the wet course prudently.

When it was all over, Claveyrolat had dropped 1:44 to Millar and with it the race. It was a hard blow, but "Clavette" took it well. "I started the stage with the intention of giving my all," he explained.

"I tried as hard as I could throughout the stage — what more could I do? But Millar rode well and he is a good winner, a better all-rounder." The crowd roared its approval of this gracious admission of defeat — getting beaten on the last day will always be hard to deal with.

Just such a situation had befallen Millar before, on the final stages of the Vuelta in 1985. "I know how he feels — it's happened to me before and you have a lot of regrets, but there's other races and a long life ahead of you," the happy winner said.

There were no such regrets this time for Millar, boss Zannier or the rest of the hard-working team. Putting the win in context, Millar observed: "This is probably my most important win because it's a big race in France and it's very important for all the guys in Z. But I knew I would win after yesterday when the team and the RMO guys controlled the race a little bit. It was important that we distanced Rominger yesterday. Today I was never really worried after I got a check that Claveyrolat was 1:40 down at halfway. I just had to make sure that I didn't fall apart and lose three minutes to Rominger."

Criterium du Dauphine Libere, France
May 28 - June 4, 1990

Stages won by: Rolf Golz (WG), Buckler (stage 1); Frederic Moncassin (Fr), Castorama (stages 2 and 4); Toni Rominger (Switz), Château d'Ax (stage 3); Luc Leblanc (Fr), Castorama (stage 5); Thierry Claveyrolat  (Fr), RMO (stage 6); Luc Roosen (Belg), Histor (stage 7); Alvaro Mejia (Col), Postobon (stage 8).

Final General Classification
1. Robert Millar (GB), Z in 33:42:04
2. Thierry Claveyrolat (Fr), RMO at 1:35
3. Alvaro Mejia (Col), Postobon at 1:56
4. Toni Rominger (Switz), Château d'Ax at 2:35
5. Fabio Parra (Col), Kelme at 5:06
6. Bruno Cornillet (Fr), Z at 6:05
7. Stephen Roche (Ire), Histor at 6:48
8. Andy Hampsten (USA), 7-Eleven at 6:53
9. Denis Roux (Fr), Toshiba at 9:39
10. Oliveiro Rincon (Col), amateur at 10:42



Making a Big Impression
Coors Light’s Michel Zanoli is one of the world’s fastest sprinters, but that’s not all he can do.
By Matthew E. Mantell


Item: Michel ("Please, don't call me Michael") Zanoli of Team Coors Light, stands 6-feet-6-inches and weighs 200 pounds, which makes him the largest racer on the U.S. professional cycling circuit.

Item: Michel Zanoli's 62-cm bike (a Clark-Kent built of True Temper RC steel tubing by Frank "Pat" Clark and Dean Kent of Denver Spoke in Colorado) tips the scales at around 22 pounds.

Does the sum of these humongous dimensions mean that the big Dutch native must be typecast in the role of a bicycle racing "heavy" — a top-tube hugging, elbow-throwing, leg-churning sprinter? Not necessarily.

To wit, after the first stage of this year's Tour of Texas, Zanoli shocked the sport's cognoscenti by riding off with the King of the Mountain's jersey. But the next day Zanoli read an article in a local newspaper which said, in essence, that the climbing must not have been too severe since he had earned the KOM's vestment.

"Hey, these weren't mountains like those in the Tour de France," retorts Zanoli with some annoyance in his voice, "but a lot of guys were getting dropped. I could have won the climber's jersey, but Len [Pettyjohn, the director of Coors Light] wanted me to protect my teammate, Chris Huber, who won the race."

Pettyjohn concurs: "Michael [he means Michel] could have won the KOM which were really hills — if he wanted to. However, my goal was to win at Texas, and I had him chase down groups in order to defend Huber." Zanoli followed his director's instructions and still finished third in the climbing contest, as well as second on g.c.

Yet, by his own admission, Zanoli was primarily a sprinter as an amateur. In 1986, he utilized his thunder thighs to cop the Junior World Road Race Championship held in Morocco. Two years later, at the Olympic Games hosted by Koreans in Seoul, he placed 15th in the road event and was also a member of Holland's 100-km time trial team that finished 11th."While some people might be satisfied with these [Olympic] results," he says, "I felt very disappointed because I could have performed better."

After the Games were over, the Amsterdam-born Zanoli felt the time was right to turn professional. OK. But why come to America, when cycling's fabled jousts are conducted in the Old World? "When you compete in Europe, there's more pressure from the outset — the money, bigger races," he reports. "I didn't feel I wanted that at the beginning of my career. Also, as a rookie pro you have to work for a team leader, and I wasn't willing to do that."

Zanoli, whose volition is as strong as his legs, however, was quite willing to work for Pettyjohn. "I had spoken to Len at the 1988 Coors Classic before the Olympics, and I liked him very much since he was very straightforward," he recalls. "When he formed Coors Light [in 1989], I decided to join."

Adds Pettyjohn: "Zanoli is an individualist who resists authority figures. He decided to ride in the United States because he felt the European team system was too rigidly structured. With Coors, he has been able to develop at his own pace."

That pace has included significant results in both editions of the Tour de Trump. In 1989, Zanoli took second twice in closely contested sprint finishes. This year, he upped his game a notch and sprinted to a pair of stage victories.

Zanoli sealed victory number one by powering past 7-Eleven's Ron Kiefel during the last meters of stage 10 — a 124-mile road race that began in Stroudsburg, Pa., and concluded at the State University of New York, in New Paltz. It should be noted that the decisive move which set up his win occurred when he surged over the palpably real Mohonk Mountain. After a wicked descent in the rain and fog, the blond Dutchman provided a textbook lesson in two-up sprint tactics.

"My strategy began with three km left in the race," he explains. "I knew Kiefel had to go for it more than I did because he was riding for g.c. With one km to go, I just sat on his wheel and wouldn't ride around him. After he towed me close to the finish line, I passed him. Kiefel isn't a real strong sprinter, so that made it easy."

But, victory number two, which came on the Trump Tour's final day — a 114- mile road race from Northampton, Mass., to Boston — was, according to Zanoli, a little more challenging. "This was a field sprint," he says, "and I had to keep my eye on Olaf Ludwig, who is very dangerous." (Ludwig, an Easy German neo-pro riding for Panasonic, scored three stage-winning sprints during the 11-day- event.)

Zanoli's analysis of this two-wheel melee illustrates classical field-sprint strategy and also offers insight into the sprinter's psyche. "As the bunch approached the last mile, I had [New Zealand teammate, Stephen] Swart sheltering me from the wind," he explains. "When Swart faded in the last kilometer, I closed my eyes and sat on Ludwig's wheel. It was very hard to stay in this position because some Panasonics were slamming into me.

"I was very nervous since Ludwig was sitting 15 men back," continues Zanoli, his voice a faint whisper, his eyes vacant the tell-tale signs of a man reliving an all-consuming experience. "I said to myself, 'Come on man! Get more to the front! This is too far away.' I knew the game Ludwig was playing: he wanted me to pass him and then he could take my wheel hoping that I would bring him to the front of the field.

"But at 400 meters, he started sprinting. There was a head-wind and I was still sitting on his wheel saying to myself ‘Perrfecct! I'll wait. I'll wait. Let him die I'll wait...hmm.' At about 100 meters, I started saying, 'I guess it's about time now — I better get going.' And, then I passed him with no problem."

While Zanoli's Tour de Trump triumphs may have been relatively easy, he has engaged in countless bunch-sprinting duels beset with difficulties. Frequently, the jockeying for key positions that allows him and the other sprinters to do their jobs is initiated by teammates five or six miles before the finish line. At this juncture, the rival domestiques provide two functions: they attempt to shelter their designated prize winner from the wind as well as prevent a lone wolf from grabbing his wheel. All of these intricate manoeuvres are executed while the pack is travelling at speeds close to 60 kmh.

During the final few kilometers, should luck be with him, Zanoli might get a leadout from one of his support riders. More often than not, he is on his own and this is when the fun begins. To the strains of whirring spokes and chains clicking over sprockets, the sprinters commonly slam, hook and elbow one another.

Sometimes this mayhem escalates into punches being thrown, or else produces devastating crashes that send riders and bicycles thumping to the pavement.
When it comes to spills, Zanoli has been pretty fortunate... so far. His only serious collision took place in 1987 while riding for the Dutch national team. After hooking handlebars with another racer, he went down so hard it left him unconscious for 24 hours.

"Most of the guys sprint fair and don't intentionally try to cause accidents," he relates. "But there are plenty of riders who play the game mean and will do anything to win. [Giovanni] Fidanza, who rides for Chateau d'Ax, is particularly bad; and Lotto's Wim Arras will crash you even if it forces him to go down." According to Zanoli, the Belgian, Arras, espouses the motto, "I'd rather crash than finish second."

Given sprinting's danger as well as its physical demands, what, then, is the quintessential element required to practice this craft? "A strong head," responds Zanoli with a laugh. "I'm not kidding. Without the capacity to really concentrate during a flat-out sprint, you'll probably get blown away just by all the intimidation. I've learned not to be afraid of anything or anyone."

Fear aside, the Coors rider still recognizes that a premier sprinter must possess the gift of "natural speed." And like the ones he rates the best — Fidanza, Ludwig and Panasonic's Jean-Paul VanPoppel — the big Dutchman is blessed with those special, fast-twitch muscles that enable him to accelerate twice upon approaching the finish line banner.

"To develop this ability," volunteers Zanoli, "I have discovered that spinning and riding on the track is very helpful." As for improving sprinting in general, he recommends two workouts per week of up-hill intervals. "Select the biggest gear you can handle and then go as fast as you can for 400 or 500 meters."
The benefits of this type of power training have begun to payoff for Zanoli in another cycling discipline — the prologue time trial. In this solo drill at California's Redlands Classic, he earned the leader's jersey with a rocket-like performance that was only four seconds shy of the course record. (In this stage race, which had some bona fide climbs, Zanoli finished in fifth place.)
With both the ability and confidence that matches his size, what can the cycling world expect the 22-year-old rider to achieve?

Says 7-Eleven's Davis Phinney: "Michel Zanoli is an example of the new breed of cyclist who, despite his large build, can do everything quite well. As he matures, he will get even better in all of these areas."

Says Coors Light teammate and 1984 Olympic road race gold medalist Alexi Grewal: "Zanoli has the most potential of any bike racer I've ever seen. If he isn't the best sprinter in the world today, he's only a hairbreadth away. Ultimately, I think he will be a great one-day classics' rider and, without a doubt, a Tour de France stage winner."

Zanoli agrees with the appraisals offered by his peloton peers. "Pretty soon," he says, "I'll be considered one of the sport's best sprinters. I want to win Milan-San Remo because it's filled with tradition, and Paris-Roubaix because it's a high prestige race. Also, next year, I hope to race in the Tour de France, either with Coors Light or on a European team. It would be great to get some stage victories and the green points jersey."

But, say, Michel, what about the Tour's red and white polka dot King of the Mountains tunic? "I'll leave that for [Pedro] Delgado, [Luis] Herrera or [Robert] Millar," he replies with a smile.


High-Stakes Surprise
In the tough, no-nonsense world of Japanese keirin, a colourful band of international riders upset tradition.
By Chris Yeager

It was a Monday, but that didn't stop about 18,000 Maebashi, Japan, keirin fans from calling in sick, spending unused vacation time or otherwise contriving to witness a sneak preview of the 1990 World Pro Track Championships, due to be held in their town at the end of August.

What they saw was an exhibition of smart, tactical riding, tough and experienced blocking, and topflight sprinting. But not from the expected quarter, namely, the Japanese. This year, the five "foreign" riders taking part in the second annual International Keirin Grand Prix at the Maebashi velodrome put Australian strongman Stephen Pate and veteran Belgian sprinter Michael Vaarten across the line for a one-two sweep. Italian newcomer Ceci Vincenzo led Pate out, while American old-hand Gilbert "Libby" Hatton and France's Patrick De Rocha hung back to disrupt the Japanese riders' line.


These five were the top points winners in the 1990 International Sprinter's Tour of Japan, which  encompasses 16 professional keirin races over eight weeks starting in mid-March. The other five "team" members — West Germans Hans Hindelang and Dieter Giebken, Dutchman Theo Smit, Australian Gary Sutton and American Nelson Vails — raced with four Japanese in a "B" race before the main event, with Vails scoring his first win of his first year on the tour.

Japanese national hero Koichi Nakano, a 10-time world sprint champion, and an all-star team of Tsutomu Sakamoto, Uichiro Kamiyama and Nobuyuki Tawara were the unhappy victims of the stunning upset at the top of the card. Yes, 5,000,000 yen, or $35,000 went to the winner, but  there was also, and perhaps more importantly, pride at stake. Last year at this event the Japanese dominated the first four places by simply overpowering the foreigners in the last turn. This year, they were beaten at their own game, on their own turf.

A quick scan of the racing form might have given the favored Japanese riders an inkling of what was to come, as Pate had won all 15 of his races during the team's eight-week campaign. The 26-year-old 1988 world sprint champion looked almost apologetic at the post race press conference, diplomatically observing that "the Japanese riders are very strong, but they only have two arms and two legs."

Downstairs in the massive pit area overlooking the track, as the losers stripped off their helmets and padding, the normally unflappable Nakano could be seen reading the riot act to his fellow Japanese. After he cooled off a bit, he agreed to be interviewed through a translator. "What were you saying to your team down there?" he was asked. "It's not a team!" he replied with some frustration. "Keirin is a race of individuals. There isn't supposed to be any teamwork involved." But then he added, "I told them 'we should have ridden more like they did."

Riding as individuals may be the ideal, but it is far from the reality in Japanese keirin. With its long 400-meter tracks, extended and multiple sprints, and two paceline formation, keirin lends itself to a certain amount of sacrificial cooperation.

"You're just not going to win without help, and we really rode as a team this year," reflected Hatton at a reception in the track's dining area. "We're always talking, planning, on the bike and off. We live together and race together for two months. We don't always agree, but we know each other's strong points and weak points. It would be difficult not to work together."

A more eclectic "foreign legion" could hardly be imagined. The "old hands" of the 10-man group, in terms of age and Japanese keirin experience, were Smit, the rail-thin ex-road sprinter with the sad and worldly eyes, and Hindelang, every bit the clean-cut Munich businessman, who listens to Beethoven on his Walkman. Both are 38, with six keirin seasons behind them. Vaarten, slightly younger at 33, had the most accumulated experience, having come over every year since the invitations began in 1982. Hatton, 33, was in his seventh year, while Giebken, 30, had been campaigning for the past five years. De Rocha, 29, a lean Parisian, was in his third year of competition, thanks to his success in European sprinting. Then, there was the Australian duo of newly resuscitated Sutton, back for his first tour since 1984, and Pate, who came on last year. Rounding out the roster were first timers Vincenzo, the baby at 24, and the irrepressible New Yorker Vails, 28. All showed themselves to be serious, level-headed and articulate. And they all had something else in common. On a bicycle, each of them could produce a white-hot explosion of speed.

Keirin racing is a popular form of legalized gambling in Japan. Enormous amounts of money flow through the parimutuel windows. Compensation to the competitors is proportionally generous. For example, with the help of a calculator and the table of winnings from rider profiles handed out to spectators at the gate, one can estimate that Vaarten has averaged, very roughly, about $50,000 (U.S.) per two-month tour since 1982. In his best year, 1987, he brought home over $70,000, earned over 21 races. That's over $3,000 per three-minute race.



"It's not as much as a tennis player or golfer," says De Rocha, "But still, for cycling..." A knowing shrug finishes the thought. A few top road stars may sign contracts for hundreds of thousands of dollars, but with their eight-month season full of classics and stage races, the efforts they make to earn their pay are legendary. A keirin rider, on the other hand, rides only one three-minute race a day, a few times a week. When the amount of effort is compared to the financial return, Japanese keirin is the most lucrative event in cycling.

To compete in Japan as a foreigner, however, you must be invited. "This is the end of a three-year effort to get discovered by them," relates first-timer Vails, the 1984 Olympic sprint silver medalist, referring to the necessity of impressing the scouts who stalk the national and world championship track events, looking for talent. Because it is an "international" program, they pick one or two top sprinters from each cycling country. "You have to go to all the events, you have to do well, and you have to be seen," Vails continues. "If they like you, they'll tap you."

To follow the team into the Maebashi keirin-jo, or racetrack, is to glimpse another culture and another world. Simply looking at the track reveals a lot about the popularity of the sport in Japan. Along the homestretch there are covered bleachers for 40,000-50,000 people. Along the backstretch are two official buildings, both three stories high and both with picture-window views of the action. The first contains the administrative offices, press and guest areas. The second is exclusively for the riders.

The riders pass the guards and enter the first floor pit area. It's an enormous, spotless room, lit by the windows. Floor, walls and ceiling are poured concrete, the national building material of Japan. Riders assemble their own bikes here, out of their own bags with their own tools. Then the bikes are inspected by track officials.

"I check my bike like you wouldn't believe," says Vails. "If something's loose or misaligned, they really let you know, and it's really, really embarrassing." It doesn't matter who you are or how much you've won, at the end of the day you're down on the floor with the other guys, packing it away again.

Bikes assembled, the riders ascend one floor to the locker area. In the stairwell is a large poster with one image: a hardshell helmet that looks like a patch on the front of it has been touched with a belt sander. You don't need to understand Japanese to get the message. Then it's up to the dressing area to wait for the race. But there are no wooden benches or rows of lockers — this is Japan. The room is the size of a hotel ballroom, and it's floored with tatami, the woven straw mats that serve as living, dining and sleeping areas in every Japanese house. On this huge floor, under criss-crossed lines of washed and drying uniforms and underwear, riders sit, lie, loll, snooze, joke and pass the time.

The foreigners camp out in a corner near the uniform pickup counter. When there's a race, they gather at the window to watch. When there's a crash, it stirs the undercurrent of tension permeating the room. The waiting is as difficult as the racing. "There's a tremendous amount of psychological pressure," says Sutton. "It's just one race a day, but everything rides on it. You have to build to it."

Finally it's race time. The B team dons pads, helmets and numbered jerseys and joins its Japanese counterparts one flight down in the ready room. As the riders lumber down the stairs in their padded gear, they make a lasting impression: this is a rough game, a big man's game.

The ready area feels like a war room. All the riders assemble here for about 10 minutes. Like fighter pilots doing a slow motion scramble, they put their helmets back on, adjust their suits, tie and re-tie their shoes. No one is joking, no one says much. In a minute, they'll get their bikes, scream a concrete-cracking YOSH! (let's go) in unison, and head down to the track and the crowd. But now, before the call, the Japanese have momentarily retreated within themselves. Hindelang and Giebken are staring at the floor, and in the corner by the window, Vails has his hands folded in front of his face.

The race results couldn't be better. After winning, Vails comes up the ramp walking on air. Everyone wants to shake his hand. Still out of breath, he grabs Hindelang. "This guy protected my wheel!" he exclaims. "Did you see it? He came from a hundred meters back!" Vails doesn't have the spotlight long, though, because out on the track, the jet-black-clad Pate is turning everything upside down in the main event.


Later that evening the team has a half hour to kill while waiting for the bullet train back to Tokyo. Vaarten and Giebken go over the race in German, and then again in English. "Libby was magnifique," says Vaarten. "He took us down the back-straight, then he stayed behind and did the cleaning job."

Pate is reflective. "Last year I was really off. I was just cruising on 1988, that's all. But this year, I'm trying to do it differently."

Hindelang, sporty in a blue blazer and pressed slacks, regards De Rocha, slouched against his bike bag in old jeans, a sleeveless T-shirt and two days growth of beard. "Hey, Patrick," he says, "you look like a street-man." "Oh, yeah?" retorts the Frenchman, patting the beltbag that contains his Grand Prix winnings. "How many streetmen do you know that have this?"

A few feet away, Vails is trying to order 10 beers from a bewildered refreshment counter girl. He holds up 10 fingers and shouts, "Ten! Right! For them, there. Ten of them, see?"

"Maybe she doesn't understand," offers Smit.


"No, no," says Vails, with his trademark Cheshire grin. "She understands. Hey, I'm Mr. Tokyo."

Sunday 30 November 2014

Fabio Casartelli

If you don't know already, I live in Australia where cycling is a low popularity sport in comparison to such other sports as Australian Rules Football, Rugby League, Rugby Union and Cricket.  This week the cricket family had a tragedy where Australian international Philip Hughes lost his life playing the sport he loved. This was a freak accident that was felt worldwide where many sporting events have held a minute of silence or applause to celebrate the life of Hughes.

This took me back to nearly 20 years ago where in the Tour de France of 1995, Fabio Casartelli, the 1992 Olympic Champion was killed.  


I have gone through my cycling magazine archive for the reporting for this tragedy and just like the cricket world recently, the cycling world was grieving for one of their own.  Stage 12 of the 2015 Tour de France will commemorate the 20th anniversary of the death of Casartelli as the climb the Col de Portet d'Aspet will be used where he made his final pedal strokes.


Casartelli Killed in Tour Accident (Winning Bicycling Illustrated September 1995)

Motorola rider Fabio Casartelli died July 18 after being injured in a crash in the Pyrenees during stage 15 of the Tour de France, from St. Girons to Cauterets.
The 24-year-old Italian, who fractured his skull and received other injuries, was airlifted by helicopter to a hospital in Tarbes where he was pronounced dead. The cause of death was brain trauma, according to a hospital spokesperson. Casartelli was reportedly not wearing a helmet.

Casartelli, the 1992 Olympic road race gold medallist, was in a group of several riders descending the Col de Portet d'Aspet, the first climb of the day, when the crash occurred. Casartelli fell heavily and apparently struck a concrete block by the side of the road. The resulting head injuries caused him to lose consciousness immediately, doctors said. AKI's Dante Rezze and Polti’s Dirk Baldinger were also hospitalized suffering from fractures. The exact cause of the accident had not been determined as of press time.

Casartelli’s death was the third in Tour de France history and the first since Britain's Tom Simpson collapsed and died in 1967.

Casartelli, who was married and the father of a three-month-old son, was buried July 20 in Albese, Italy. Motorola team manager Jim Ochowicz, Eddy Merckx, and Bernard Hinault were among those attending the funeral.

Tour riders paid tribute to Casartelli during stage 16 when they rode as a procession and allowed his Motorola teammates to cross the finish line together ahead of the field. No stage results were listed. The day's prize money and a matching sum from the Tour Society were donated to Casartelli's family. Motorola also established a trust fund for the rider's widow and son.


Coping with the Unthinkable (Winning Bicycling Illustrated September 1995)
By Jeremy Whittle

We applaud their courage and stamina, envying the extraordinary fitness that allows Tour de France racers to climb 9,000 meters of Pyrenean mountains in a little over six hours. It’s hard to think of these rare athletes as falliable everyday human beings who miss their homes and their wives and children, and who long for the conclusion of this hardest race of all so that their days of suffering can finally end.

After stage 15’s finish in Cauterets, it was all there in Tony Rominger's red and brimming eyes as all around him, the full story of Fabio Casartelli's tragic death unfolded.

Yet it was curious how the lost and bewildered press gravitated towards the Mapei team bus. In the eerie atmosphere of the team vehicles parking area, the only member of the stricken Motorola squad visible was Alvaro Mejia. Nobody but the most insensitive dared intrude on the Colombian's grief as he sat in a departing team car, head bowed, sobbing uncontrollably.

In the Mapei bus, Rominger, with rising anger, was watching ghoulish TV replays of Casartelli's last moments; but then, wisely, his personal soigneur reached across to switch off the horrific images.

Moments later, Rominger felt composed enough to talk to the press. "I didn't know what had happened until the finish, but maybe they should have told us during the stage," he said barely audible. "When I rode over the line, they told me that somebody had died — that was the first I knew of it. I think that in such a case, even if you don't stop the race, you shouldn't carry on with the podium presentation.

"There's always the risk of crashing, but you try not to think about it. I have a family and I have a life outside cycling. Racing's getting more and more dangerous as the races get faster. Perhaps we have to consider more safety precautions."

A long pause followed. "But they should show respect for him and his family. I don't know why they have to show the pictures of the crash on TV over and over again," wondered Rominger, his voice trembling.

"Did you know he had a three-month-old child?" interjected an Austrian journalist. It was too much for the father of three, whose face fell in dismay, his eyes filling once more.

At the front of the bus, a withdrawn Johan Museeuw was telling journalists that he would never come back to the Tour. The Belgian had fallen in the same group as Casartelli and knew immediately that the Italian was critically injured.


"I found out that he'd died when I was on the Tourmalet," Museeuw recalled as he stared blankly at the ground. "When I heard the news, I just wanted to stop. When he'd crashed, I'd fallen, too. I was there at the scene for five minutes, waiting for the doctor...."


The Peloton Remembers Fabio (Cycle Sport September 1995)

FABIO Casartelli's bike is still hanging up in the back of Motorola's truck. None of the mechanics have the courage to touch the bike that carries the number 114. It will go all the way to Paris.

The crowds watching the Tour have applauded the red and blue Motorola jersey on the road to the unforgettable finish of the Tour's most intense stage. The day became one long homage to Fabio's memory because nobody had the desire to ride competitively. The riders decided on this among themselves.

It seemed likely the riders would do this right from the start of the day. There were long faces, red eves, few words were being said and there were still tears. Francesco Frattini's reaction summed up that of many riders as he sobbed before the stage start: 'We thought there had been some kind of mistake when we heard the news of Fabio’s death. I don't know how I am going to ride after what happened.

Tony Rominger, like all the members of the Mapei-GB team, was wearing a small black ribbon as a mark of respect. 'I hardly knew Casartelli,' he recognised, but his death has touched me profoundly, as it has everyone. These are the kind of things that really make you stop and reflect.'

When the Motorola team van arrived there was a moment of silence. The six riders were dressed to ride: Armstrong. Peron, Mejia, Andreu, Bauer and Swart all had a large black rectangle of cloth pinned to their sleeves. Andrea Peron, Casartelli's 24-year-old room-mate faced up to the trials of the day with great dignity. 'Yes, I did sleep last night,' he admitted, 'but in my mind I could still see Fabio's grin, and that will stay with me forever. He wanted to make it all the way to Paris, and now I'm determined to finish the Tour in his memory.

‘I have spoken with his wife Annalisa, on the telephone and she has told me to go on because this is the best way of remembering him. And I am sure that is what he would have wanted.’

Peron has suggested that Motorola’s winnings from the Tour be sent to Casatelli’s family. 'It won't alleviate Annalisa’s grief,’ Peron recognised, ‘but it is the least we can do’.

Before the start the Tour caravan observed a minute’s silence. Then, after a few kilometres out on the road Davide Cassani representing all the Italian riders, spoke with Indurain and Virenque. All were agreed. A few moments later, the Frenchman in the polka-dot jersey told race organiser Jean-Marie Leblanc that no one would race for the primes. A whisper went around the peloton: 'take it easy today, one of the Motorolas is going to win.'

Casartelli's team-mates took all of the intermediate primes and at the end went ahead of the race to the sound of both applause and tears. For the record, Peron crossed the line first, but it mattered little. The real victor was the sensitivity of the riders, and the true winner was the memory of Fabio.


Cycle Sport Editorial September 1995
Death of an Olympic Champion
by Andy Sutcliffe

THE tragic death of Motorola's Fabio Casartelli in this year's Tour de France cast a long shadow over what had been until then one of the best ever Tours.
For all Miguel Indurain's achievement of a fabled fifth consecutive win, it is doubtless true that 1995 will, like 1967, go down in history as a Tour during which a rider died.

Like so many human tragedies the death of Casartelli brought out the best and the worst in people.

The best was clearly the emotional display of rider solidarity that led to the Motorola team crossing the finish line in Pau after a day-long promenade dedicated to the Italian's memory. And the sight of Motorola team captain Lance Armstrong soloing to a personal stage victory that owed as much to the power of raw emotion as it did to the former world champion's physical fitness.

The worst was surely both the failure of various individuals to recognise that in the face of such a tragedy the Tour de France is just a bike race, and the tasteless handling of the story by much of the media.

That the Tour organisers went ahead with the prize presentation — complete with a delighted, laughing Richard Virenque, who was unaware of the day's events until he stepped down from the podium — after such a day was difficult to believe. The Tour hierarchy is dominated by ex-pros who one would expect could be relied upon to understand that, in the light of such an accident, gestures needed to be made. Sponsors may need pleasing, crowds satisfying, but surely no-one would have criticised Jean-Marie Leblanc for cancelling the day's official set pieces.

The reaction of some areas of the press was perhaps more predictable. In the UK, newspapers that can usually be relied upon to be unable to find a spare column inch to report the best of cycling stories suddenly managed to locate acres of space to display some of the more gruesome photographs being touted around. The Daily Mirror's 'Tour of Death' back page — complete with a full page photo of the stricken Italian, albeit electronically sanitised to spare readers the full gore — was fairly typical of the insensitive way many papers treated the tragedy.


Britain's tabloids were not alone in reporting Casartelli's death in a less than sensitive manner. Certain other papers made themselves very few friends in the peloton with their use of crash scene photos. And reports of photographers being despatched to the morgue left many riders barely able to contain their fury.

The reporting in the non-specialist press also, predictably, quickly focussed in on the supposed danger inherent in the Tour and ways in which such tragedies could be averted — namely helmets. As quickly as the Tour's doctors could say that it was highly unlikely a cycle helmet would have had any bearing on Casartelli's ultimate fate, the papers could be relied upon to call for compulsion.

The fact is that the Tour's safety record is extremely good. Rider deaths are very rare — just two from crashes in the 92 years of the race's existence; it was obvious from the riders' reactions that the death was a pro-found shock to them principally because such serious accidents are not part of the day to day life of a professional cyclist.






Editor’s Corner Winning Bicycling Illustrated September 1995
A Death in the Family
By Rich Carlson

I didn't know Fabio Casartelli. Never met him. I wasn't able to make it down to Motorola's winter training camp last December, and he wasn't with the team this spring when they came over for the Tour DuPont and the CoreStates races.
And now, because of a horrible crash on the descent of the Col de Portet d'Aspet in the Tour de France, I'll never have a chance to meet the happy looking young Italian pictured in Motorola's media guide, never get to talk to him about what it was like to win the Olympic road race in 1992, never be able to ask him how he liked riding for Jim Ochowicz and an American based team.

Thats because Fabio Casartelli is dead, his life cruelly stolen away just a couple of weeks before his 25th birthday. One minute he was racing down than lonely pass at 50 mph, the next minute he was lying crumpled on the ground, his skull fractured, his lifeblood flowing from his terrible wounds.

Everyone did all they could to save him. Other riders in the crash, horrified at what they saw, frantically signalled for an ambulance. A helicopter summoned to airlift poor Fabio to the hospital. When his heart stopped during the trip medics resuscitated it … again ... and again.

But it was hopeless. Fabio Casartelli, husband of Annalisa, father of little three-month-old Marco, died soon after arriving at the hospital.

Things like that aren't supposed to happen in bicycle racing.
And usually, thank God, they don't.

In the entire 92 year history – with all those stages, all those riders, all those countless miles, all those terrible, mountain roads all those dangerous high-speed descents, all those awful pile-ups — Casartelli was only the second racer ever to die in a crash.

Incredible, when you think about it.

Alas, even such reassuring statistics do nothing to ease the pain of such a tragedy. But what happened at the Tour the day after Casartelli’s death did offer some comfort, at least for me. In fact when I saw what the riders in the peloton did, heard about what Casartelli's Motorola sponsors were doing, realized how much his death had affected the entire racing community, I felt privileged to be involved in the sport of cycling.

At first, though, I had my doubts.  On the day of the tragedy, the Tour's organizers blundered badly, failing to inform the riders of Casartelli's death and even being so obdurate as to hold the victory ceremonies afterwards, a gaffe that had an incredulous Eddy Merckx shaking his head in dismay.

But then the riders themselves took over. The next day, in what could have been a decisive stage, it was agreed that as a tribute to their fallen comrade the peloton would ride but not race. All prize money from the stage would be donated to Casartelli's widow and child, a sum to be matched by the Tour Society itself. And, in an incredibly moving tribute, the remaining Motorola riders were allowed to roll ahead of the pack at the finish and cross the line in unison, with Casartelli's Italian roommate Andrea Peron edging forward to "win" the stage.

Motorola came through, too. The team decided to donate all of its winnings to Casartelli's family, and the company itself established a trust fund for his son. An obviously shaken Ochowicz handled the entire sad situation with grace and quiet strength. "It's a tragedy for all of us." he said quietly. "But it's even more so for Fabio’s family. Our deepest sympathies are with them." And, later in the week, as he soloed into Limoges to win stage 18, an inspired Lance Armstrong looked up and blew kisses toward the heavens.

Professional cycling is not without its flaws. But I can think of no other sport that would honor one of its own in such a genuinely sincere and human way. A Super Bowl or World Series game played as a tribute, with no final score? A NASCAR or Formula One race run at half speed, with no one trying to win?
Never happen.

Fabio Casartelli has left us, never to ride a bike or win a race or – and this is the truly sad part – see his wife or infant son again. But in the face of all this heartbreak, the sport he loved, in fact gave his life to, has gathered 'round like family. And that's a comforting thought, indeed.

Below is the footage from Stages 15 and 16 of the 1995 Tour de France.