The early years of International Cycle Sport are one of my favourites. With JB Wadley as editor there are some memorable pieces of journalism. This is one of them, written by John Wilcockson of the 1970 Milan - San Remo from Issue 33 of International Cycle Sport February 1971.
This story also made it into John Wilcockson's book World of Cycling (dedicated to Wadley) published in 1998 of some of his best articles from over 30 years of cycling journalism. I have asked permission from Wilcockson to publish this article here (via twitter) with no response at this stage however should this be requested to be removed, I will honour that.
This may be a long read, but certainly worth the effort.
FOR the millions of Italians who lined the route of the 1970 Milan-San Remo and the millions more who watched it on television, or heard it on radio (I even saw one enthusiast doing all three), one memory will be outstanding. The race was won by an Italian, something that had last happened seventeen years ago when Loretto Petrucci scored the second of his two consecutive victories. The hero who broke the losing run was a pint-sized, brown skinned corridore named Michele Dancelli, twice winner of the Italian championship and of a dope-questioned Fleche Wallonne in 1966.
For my part I shall long remember that Milan-San Remo as a tremendous race in which an "impossible" series of events brought about Dancelli's winning lone break over the final 70 kilometres. Dancelli is certainly no Coppi or Merckx, but for an hour and a half on St. Josephs Day 1970 he looked every bit the campionissimo.
But the race will not be such a pleasant memory for Gerben Karstens of Holland. First over the line in the 1969 Tour of Lombardy (last classic of the season) but later disqualified for an alleged doping offence, Karstens tried hard to make amends in this Milan-San Remo. He sprinted mightily on the Via Roma to beat Eric Leman and raised his arm in triumph—not knowing that Dancelli had already finished.
How did all this come about? Why did Karstens think he had won? Was Dancelli a worthy winner? What happened to Merckx, superb victor of a Paris-Nice which finished a few days earlier?
The answers to these questions about the 61st version of what many regard as the biggest classic of all, will be found in this on-the-spot account of a superb race.
IT would be hard to find grander and more I classic
surroundings for a bike race than those of Milan-San Remo, the race that is the
national holiday (St. Joseph's Day) to most Italians. The signing-on takes
place in an imposing medieval castle—the Castello Sforz¬esco; the race passes
the famous Milan Cathedral in the neutralized zone; mid-way along the marathon
288 kilometres route the snow-capped Apennines are crossed through Tour de
France-like conditions on the Passo del Turchino; and then comes the 130
kilometres along the Riviera di Ponente—the blue Mediterranean on the left and
mountains on the right—before the last sprint into San Remo along the Via Roma.
In 1970 there were "only 236 starters" (according to the race radio) that set out to battle from Milan at 9.27 on a bright morning in March, with victory in this season-opening classic the dream of them all, especially the 108 Italians in the line-up. To emulate Petrucci, and end the record of sixteen successive wins by foreigners, would make them immortal stars overnight.
The 236 professional riders from 27 different trade teams had travelled from all over Europe for the great race, ten nations being represented. The race preliminaries took place the previous afternoon in the splendid grounds of the Castello Sforzesco. Tables for the issuing of race numbers, car plaques, programmes, official passes, etc. were laid out in a romantic inner courtyard, its floor paved with rounded cobbles, and so distant from the bustle and noise of the traffic-laden streets of Milan the other side of the high castle walls.
Among the first to arrive, causing a commotion among the
inquisitive fans outside the gates, was the Zimba-GBC team with former winner
Rudi Altig, and bespectacled Aldo Moser, the experienced Italian rider who is
even older than Altig. With photographers about there were inevitably a few
publicity stunts for the morning papers. Altig was soon laughing away as a
couple of champagne bottles were popped open, with UCI president Rodoni somehow
getting himself in the pictures.
Many of the riders had come straight from Paris-Nice of course, the 8-day stage race being ideal preparation for the Primavera (as the race is known); while most of the Italians had finished their own equivalent (Tirreno-Adriatico) three days before, although it had been won by a Belgian, Houbrechts. Most of the other Belgians had been content to persevere in the cold of their home racing: men like Van Springel, the De Vlaeminck brothers, Verbeeck.
As more teams (most of them clad in track-suits), pressmen
and race followers assembled, so the peaceful courtyard became filled with
people and talk of the morrow's big race. A lot of the talk was whether Eddy
Merckx, winner in 1966, '67 and '69, was going to start or not.
He had won Paris-Nice more brilliantly than in 1969, but even he had suffered from the bad weather and was troubled by a painful saddle sore. Obviously, his absence would be a great relief to most riders and team managers, as they could then transfer their efforts from watching (and being watched) by the Merckx team to more attackirrg moves on their own behalf.
He had won Paris-Nice more brilliantly than in 1969, but even he had suffered from the bad weather and was troubled by a painful saddle sore. Obviously, his absence would be a great relief to most riders and team managers, as they could then transfer their efforts from watching (and being watched) by the Merckx team to more attackirrg moves on their own behalf.
The usual adulation greeted the appearance of the Gimondis, Mottas and Adornis, but most of the crowd hardly noticed a slim figure in a light suit who came up to the signing-on table with the six Spaniards of the Casera squad. It was a still young looking Federico Bahamontes, who was soon happily chatting with his old friends like Rudi Altig.
Among the last to arrive, as the shadows lengthened, was the French Sonolor team with the only Englishman on the huge start sheet, Barry Hoban. Paris-Nice had left him with a strain below the left knee, but he seemed confident enough. The 'injured' Merckx also put in a smiling appearance and seemed likely to be on the starting line next morning.
Alongside Merckx and the other favourites would be lining up a host of unknowns, many of them in little teams such as Civitanova Marche, Cosatto Marsicano and Zonca. These are the men that help to bolster the size of the field to such large proportions, and also make the job of forecasting so difficult.
It is normal to look for a sprinter as a prospective winner in modern times as the finish is normally disputed by a small breakaway group or even the whole bunch. The only lone winners in recent years were Poulidor in 1961 and Merckx in 1969, both of them crossing the line at San Remo with the bunch in sight behind them. And the last time a really long range break had succeeded in staying away to the finish was 1960, when Frenchmen Privat and Graczyk came first and second.
The names that appeared most in the danger books of the directeurs-sportifs were Janssen (Bic), Sercu (Dreher), Guimard (Mercier), Bitossi (Filotex), Verbeeck (Geens-Watney), Reybroeck (Germanvox), Van Ryckeghem (Mann), Leman and the De Vlaemincks (Mars), Karstens (Peugeot), Godefroot (Salvarani) . . . nearly all Dutch and Belgians. One name that was missing was that of Molteni's Marino Basso, possibly the most rapid of all, but not starting because of injury. This meant that Michele Dancelli would be sole leader of the Molteni team, with young Boifava their other 'protected' rider.
Speaking to Barry Hoban before the race in the mobile Faema coffee bar parked in the Castello Sforzesco grounds, he predicted—"No Italian's going to get away in a break without a skiving Belgian sprinter in it . . . or perhaps a skiving English one." he added, with a twinkle in his eye!
Hoban's view was probably shared by most of the riders and race followers gathered on this bright, crisp Thursday morning, and it seemed unlikely that this was to be the year that the Italian successor to Petrucci would be found.
And whatever they actually thought about their respective chances it was certain that Eddy Merckx was going to be danger man Number One. As one team manager who had been on Paris-Nice said: "Merckx is capable of dropping everyone on the hills, he can outsprint them all, he can even go faster downhill and he also has the strongest team !"
Thursday
19th March, 1970.
THERE was quite a crush in the Sforzesco castle as the
never-ending stream of cars and people came through the Barchio gate between
7.30 and 8.30, team cars and officials being directed to the right, press cars
to the left. The vehicles lined up facing each other on either side of the main
Filarete gate after making their way between the lawns and flower beds. It was
an imposing sight.
The early morning sunshine had warmed everyone up by the time the man on the micro¬phone had finished reading through the roll-call of names, 248 on the list, but only 236 starting. Before the riders formed a solid phalanx the police motor-bikes and the scores of press cars managed to escape over the castle draw-bridge and follow the neutralised route through the city along the Via Dante and the Via Orefici to pass below the huge and ornate facade of the Milan Cathedral.
It was St. Joseph's Day, the national holiday, End there were massive crowds lining the streets to see off the big race and its convoy on its way to San Remo, almost 200 miles away on the Mediterranean coast. There were white-helmeted policemen on every junction and traffic light. On the road out through the southern suburbs of Milan the crowds were just as dense.
I was travelling with an experienced journalist from the A.N.S.A. news agency who had a well tried method of reporting the race. To get his story to the office as quickly as possible he typed out the details of any breaks while they were in progress and then handed the sheet of paper to the four correspondents waiting along the route at Voghera (60 kms), Voltri (155 kms), Savona (185 kms) and Alassio (235 km). In this way 80% of his work would be done by the time he had reached San Remo!
As we cruised out to the real start we passed several groups of club cyclists, soaking up the atmosphere and getting the chance to see their idols in the flesh. I was told that one little chap we saw following behind a veteran was only seven years of age—they certainly start young in Italy I There were also the usual placards being held aloft to the praise of Gimondi, Motta, etc. But I was also surprised to see a similar number (written in Italian) for Eddy Merckx, such as "Viva Merckx—to your 4th victory" and "Eddy will win". Obviously not all Italians mind that the incomparable Belgian beats their own heros so frequently.
The sky was lightly clouded when we reached the proper start on a long, straight main road that heads south to Genoa. Looking back over the city the snowy peaks of the Alps could be made out indicating a fine day, as did the distant bands of blue sky between the clouds.
I was glad it was to be good weather as the mountains and
the Riviera road would be at their best on the Milan-San Remo route that has
hardly changed since Petit Breton won the first edition in 1907 In those early
days the rough road conditions, combined with the three climbs of the Capo
Mele, the Capo Cervo and the Capo Berta, always caused a selection. Coppi used
these climbs in the final 40 kilometres to send him minutes ahead for his
hat-trick of wins in the '40's, but when the road surfaces became smoother, the
gears became bigger and the race started to end in bunch sprints, the
organisers (the Gazzetta dello Sport newspaper) introduced the Poggio climb
that is a 2-mile hill that descends into the streets of San Remo itself. Never
had the Poggio proved of more benefit than in 1969 when Merckx literally
sprinted to a 10 metre lead on the very summit of the hill and swooped down to
the final sprint into the Via Roma with a lone lead of 12 seconds. Everybody
was wondering if he could do it again this time.
OFFICIAL starting time was 9.30, but Signor Rodoni, the UCI boss, dropped the chequered flag (yes, it signifies the start in Italy) at just 9.27 a.m. and the Great Race was on. No sooner had the race radio reported this fact than the first numbers were called out. "The first break, straight from the start, numbers 247, '144, 179 and 78." Translated to names that meant a 4-up attack by Lievore (Zonca), Sonck (Herte¬kamp), Pecchielan (Molteni) and Tamiazzo (Ferretti). Three Italians and a Belgian, and already one of the Molteni riders. And seconds later two more of them had joined the leaders-175 and 170, Santambrogio and Dancelli.
Breaks at this early stage count for nothing and after 6 kms, the field had regrouped, charging along the flat, straight highway at a steady 45 kms/hr. At the roundabout at Binasco I timed the gap between the front and the back of the corn-pact assembly of over 200 riders. It was almost 20 seconds, and when it stretched out into a long line pasing through towns, perhaps the time gap was twice that.
The importance of keeping near the front to observe the attacks and avoid the crashes is very obvious, and this maxim would be proved many times during this long day on the road.
Next man to attack was another Molteni, Luxembourger Eddy
Schutz; but he was soon back, before finding himself off the front again in
company with a fellow called Eufronio Sahagun Santos (La Casera) as well as
Soave (Sercu's Dreher team-mate), Hellemans (Hertekamp), Van Loo (Willem II
team-mate of Van Looy) and Carniel (another Zonca). The bunch quickly reacted,
and then there were three more finding themsehies clear—Huysmans (Faemino) a
Merckx man, Ballini (Dreher) and Delisle (Peugeot), a Frenchman. They too were
soon back, then it was French pro. Lapebie (Sonolor), son of a famous father,
who showed momentarily in front, before Polidori (SCIC) suffered the same fate.
This was pure road racing. No hills to interfere, few bends
and an infernal pace set by the massive bunch echeloning into a slight breeze
from the left. There always seems a thoroughbred quality about a big race in
Italy, and this was no exception. Perhaps it is the police motor-bikes that
help to create this staccato atmosphere: in France and Belgium the police use
big, almost cumbersome BMW's and Triumphs; but in Italy they ride excitable
little Moto-Guzzi's. smaller and buzzing up and down the road to see the race
proceeds smoothly.
With the leafless trees, a canal running alongside the straight road and the flat fields stretching out to the horizon on either side, the scene seemed to resemble Flanders rather than Italy and so it is no surprise that Belgians are expected to do so well in this rough and tumble of a race. And tumble in Milan-San Remo usuaily means a crash, and it was less than 20 kms before the first of many took place this time. It was nothing serious, just leaving unfancied Italians Tartoni and Ballini struggling off the back. At the same time another, Lucillo Lievore (the first attacker) was away at the front again, gallantly staying there for the next 20 kms with never more than half a minute's lead. He was only doing his job, by showing the Zonca name to the public massed in the streets of Pavia, the first big town on the route after Milan. It would also get in the local papers (good advertising) as the Zonca head-quarters is at Voghera, first dropping off point of my friend's agency report. But there was plenty more action before we reached that 60th kilometre.
Just as Lievore was being absorbed the road had risen a few feet to cross a long viaduct over the River Po and its flood plain, and it was then that the radio announced a puncture for Roger De Vleeminck, runner up in 1969 and a favourite this year. Curiously, at that moment I looked out of the car and saw one of the many club-rider spectators dressed in a 1968 - vintage tracksuit -- Faema-Flandria. The two firms were then allies but now in 1970 they are big rivals. I do not think that Merckx (Faema) would have thought much of going back to help De Vlaeminck (Flandria) in these times. However, the old wearer of the F-F colours, and winner in 1958 of this race, Rik Van Looy was to be going to play a big part in the story of this his last Milan-San Remo
With the first hour gone and over 45 kilometres having been covered over these flat, straight roads, the country at last started to change as the hills loomed ghost-like out of the mist of the plains. There were tall factory chimneys on the left and equally tall trees on the right, and still those dense crowds lining the roadside. They now saw a Belgian, Kerremans (Hertekamp) and an Italian, Cortinovis (Ferretti) on the attack for a mile before the 200-plus bunch concertina-ed back together again into a remarkably compact formation. An impressive sight as I looked back and saw them come thundering over the sky-line of a motorway bridge.
The Molteni team were still very prominent at the front, their chocolate-coloured jersies attacking and defending in turn as the thin line at the front swished its vicious way back and forth across the macadam. Cortinovis tried another sprinting attack on the right, but this time it was the red-and-white Faeminos who were the first to counter him. And that is how the race continued, small attacks constantly forming and foundering; the attacks causing the high speed, and that speed spelling an end to the attacks. A strange circle of events.
The first signs that the pattern was to change came as the
route turned right at Casteggio (50 kms) onto a road turning parallel to the
hills, now on the left. It was not like Flanders any more, for the Italian
landscape was being given away by the vineyards on the hillsides, the sunbaked
tiles on the houses, and the peeling plaster on the walls. For the first time
there was a break without an Italian when Riotte (Sonolor), Krekels (Caballero)
and Pfenninger (Zimba)—a French, a Dutch and a Swiss rider—attacked after
Montebello della Battaglia. And when they were caught it was Belgian Willy
In'T'Ven (Mann) having a go.
At Voghera, with the sun again breaking through the white,
puffy clouds, it was still an integrated group. And they treated the really
huge crowds—two deep both sides all through the big town—to an impressive
display of speed as the town prime was won by Van der Vleuten from Sels (both
of the Willem II team).
After this excitement, the next bit came from the armada of press cars in front; the Direttore Corsa decided the riders were getting too close, and so there was a couple of kilometres of klaxoning and roaring of engines as drivers carried out the instructions to move forward.
The incident emphasised the continued pace of the race, with
the car-borne tiring more quickly than those born to pedal. The warm sunshine
was inciting more and more attacks and it seemed inevitable that there must
soon be a proper breakaway. In less than an hour the gradual, winding climb up the Turchino pass would begin ...
and end the hopes of the many riders not really fit enough to tackle it at this
early stage of the season after 80 miles of hanging on to fitter companions.
An indication that things were about to boil over came as the race neared Tortona (77 kms) at the end of half an hour of bunched nding. There was a long drag up around the modern bypass, and a rider in black and white had managed to move clear when I had a look down the road before the road turned right under another motorway and over a river. It was an Italian in the SCIC teams, number 213, Luciano Armani. This could be the start of something big, for Armani had won two big races already that month: Genoa-Nice, in which he outsprinted Gimondi and Mortensen, and Milan-Turin, a lone victory.
He was moving very well, and turning left onto another straight, but bumpy highway, he was joined by Primo Franchini (Cosatto). Glancing down at my watch I saw that 50 miles had now passed, covered in under 1 hour 43 minutes . . . and when I looked up again the two breakaways had been absorbed. I saw the reason why. Most of the Faemino team the Merckx riders, were gathered at the front, with young Joseph Bruyere riding so strongly that he was soon off the front, looking round for others to help him force a break. Nobody came, and next it was his colleague, Frans Mintjens, having a go - together with Emilio Sanantonio, another Cosatto man.
We then passed a sign on the left of the road that said 200 kms al arrivo, only 125 miles to go! A rather forbidding sign to see at this stage in the proceedings, but it was not daunting the two attackers who had now been joined by seven more—Soave (Dreher), Erik Pettersson (Ferretti), Aldo Moser (GBC), Chiappano (Molteni), Borghetti and Favaro (both Sagit) and Jotti(SCIC). The biggest break yet, but even they were not strong enough to withstand this un-relenting pace on the flat roads. 91 kilometres (57 miles) had been covered in two hours.
However, there is more to bike racing than flat-out speed and fitness; there is also experience and incentive, both of which were now used to the full by 36-year-old Aldo Moser, one of the oldest men in the field. Sensing a slight slackening of the pace as his 9-up break was caught, he immediately went away again to a 50 metres lead, knowing that there was a big prime to be contested just three kilometers up the road at Novi Ligure, home town of the late Fausto Coppi. The prime was to play a large part in the story of this Milan-San Remo ... as would another in another three hours time.
Moser did not take the Prime, having been joined by seven other riders ---two Italias and five Belgians. The names: Chiappano (Molteni) again and Simonelli (Ferretti), Jos Huysmans (Faemino), Eric De Vlaeminck and Eric Leman, (both Mars-Flandria), and two Willem II men Van Looy and Van Loo. This was clearly something very important, a break that included the two oldest riders (Moser and Van Looy) and two of the strongest finishers (Leman and De Vlaeminck).
Even so, it would probably not last long if no more Italians could get up to the front. It was appropriate that all this action should take place in such a famous town where really huge crowds had gathered, the one crowds that had probably cheered in the past their own townsman, Fausto Coppi. They were not to be disappointed and they saw a group of ten more riders (half of them Italians) chasing 150 metres behind the leaders, with the front of the gargantuan peloton coming through another 150 metres later. The Italians in the group were Zilioli (Faemino), Bitossi (Filotex), Soave (Dreher), Pella (Germanvox) and Dancelli. There were two more Belgians—Godefroot (Salvarani) - and the other De Vlaeminck brother, two Dutch —world champion Ottenbros (Willem II) and Karstens (Peugeot), and the German Wolfshohl (Fagor-Mercier).
The first critical stage of the race had been reached after two hours of fruitless endeavour, but it was still uncertain whether these two important splits were going to be consolidated, and that we were at last going to see a definite break succeed. The next news was that Van Loo (the protege of Van Looy) had left the front with Chiappano (henchman of Dancelli), both of them working to ensure that the speed was kept at breaking point.
At points like this in a race I prefer to see what is happening personally rather than get the information from the race radio and so I was glad to see our car slow down on a long straight. We looked back to the corner and in a moment a big group of riders came streaming past a line of tall poplars, with no breakaways. The two front groups had joined up! And it was half a minute before the main bunch came into view. The break was on. Eighteen men had eluded 200 others.
It was the perfect moment for this first real break because the plains had at list been left behind, and the road dipping and twisting along a valley into the hills. The breakaways were already out of sight, the 30 seconds became 42 in other 5 kms, and 1-10 after two more kilometres . Probably more than half the main bunch did not even know that a break had become established.
There were plenty of people who did not know, of course, all the pressmen and directeur sportifs for a start. They would now be writing down the numbers from the radio announcements, converting the numbers to names and team and then digesting the information. This is what they would have found:- That 12 out of the 27 teams were represented, with only four of the bigger teams having missed out. Most of the race favourites were in the now ahead---Bitossi, Leman, the De Vlaemincks, Dancelli, Karstens, Godefroot etc. And Merckx was being represented by Zilioli and Huysmans (his two lieutenants), Sercu had Soave there, Altig had Moser, Reybroeck had Pella (who had won the last stage of Paris-Nice). Gimondi had Godefroot in the 18, etc.
On paper therefore the chances of the break staying away were very good, although with over 100 miles still to race no forecasts could be made whether the break was strong enough to be successful to the finish. But things were also looking good on the road. The break was about to reach Ovada, starting point of the Turchino climb, when a radio flash reported a big crash in the bunch, with at least 30 riders involved. Adorni and Janssen (both unrepresented in front) were among those who had been delayed the longest.
It was just the impetus the break required, and there was even worse to come for the men behind. Within ten minutes most of those involved in the crash had fought back to the bunch, which was then starting the climb. Adorni punctured, causing him to chase once more, and then ten minutes later he was in another big crash! It was also Jan Janssen’s misfortune to fall again, this time breaking his spectacles and putting him in hospital, where he was joined by Spaniard Lopez-Rodriguez, another victim. News was given at the same time of the forced retirement of Patrick Sercu - his team car had not spotted him in the crash and he was left without a spare wheel.
The disappearance of both Janssen (third in Paris-Nice after the Mont Faron stage win over Merckx) and Sercu was a particular disappointment, Sercu was at last showing his true form as a roadman, having won the Tour of Sardinia a few weeks before, and then followed up with sixth place (and a stage win) in Tirreno - Adriatico. But one must always expect bad luck stories when so many riders are competing in a race like Milan-San Remo.
As a result of the crashes, first Pecchielan (Molteni) and
Ballini (Dreher) had taken up the chase, 200 metres up on the bunch, then
Sanantonio and Guidali (Mobel-Huser) had gained 15 seconds. But by this time,
after only 8 kms of gradual climbing the lead had shot up to 2-40.
Our car had dropped back to be with the break on the climb and it was frightening to see the speed that they were progressing (it was too fast to call it 'climbing') towards the Passo del Turchino. Out of crowd packed Ovada, a typical hill town of tall, rectangular buildings, the eighteen riders were in one long line, threading their way from bend to bend as three consecutive level crossings passed below thorn on the way to the heights. The road was now tight to the hills with its cover of bare trees and patchy snow; the lazy river of the plains had become a fast flowing stream, tumbling down the steep valley to their left.
The upward gradient was not steep, but the riders were out of the saddle at times because of the fierce pace being set at the front. On the flatter parts, two lines were in operation, with the whole eighteen working as one unit, really charging along. On the steeper parts young Pella was usually struggling to hang on, while Bitossi, Huysmans, Moser, Wolfshohl and Chiappano formed the vanguard; but the most ardent worker was little Eric Leman, who took the lead for long periods, hands on the drops and not looking round for assistance. It seemed an unusual action from a rider that had been previously considered as just a typical Belgian sprinter, but I thought back to Paris-Nice a few days before when we had seen Leman sustain a lone break for an hour on the hilliest stage of the race. Here was the explanation; he was after his first classic win.
Only the final slopes were steep enough to give the impression of a major col (the Turchino is only 1,146 ft. high), although there was plenty of atmosphere. The road-sides were jammed with people, cars and packed snow, police whistles blew, car horns sounded, the crowds clapped and cheered ... and then the break sprinted for the summit prime before disappearing into the dark, narrow tunnel beyond. It was Bitossi who pocketed the prime, just beating Dancelli, Moser and Wolfshohl; not a surprise. What was startling was the time they had now taken out of the bunch-4-50 - nearly five minutes.
This information was not given until the dangerous descent had been completed, right down to sea level and the Mediterranean Sea near Genoa. It was like being transported into another part of the world. The halfway point of the race had been reached, the wintry landscape of the northern side of the Apennines had been left behind; ahead lay the corniche road along the Riviera, with its palm trees and bays bathed in warm sunshine. Such a transportation must be a tremendous incentive to a breakaway, particularly during the 12 kilometres of descending, with the mountains behind and the blue sea becoming closer and closer down the narrow valley.
Our car had only overtaken the break on the last part of the climb and so we had them on our heels for the first part of the descent, swishing around the hair-pin bends. The driver thenaccelerated away to the coast at Voltri, where the second agency man was waiting to take the Italian journalist's up-to-date race report that he had finished typing coming down the mountain. It was like a piece of espionage, with the journalist holding up a little sign that the other man had to spot. He saw it, and came running out of the dense crowd just as the break swept around the corner to start the 133 kilometres along the coast to San Remo. So the local man could add another sentence at the end of the report—Carlo Chiappano led the break through Voltri (155 kms) from Aldo Moser and Rik Van Looy, with Rolf Wolfshohl bringing up the roar, taking a drink from his bidon. And if he had his wits about him, he could have also added that 'the big bunch came through four minutes later.' Yes, the main field had pulled back almost a minute of their deficit on the downhill stretch.
When they came along, the bunch was one long line spearheaded by the yellow Mann and white Watney jerseys, both of these teams (working for Van Springel and Verbeeck respectively) having missed out on the break. They were travelling very fast, and it seemed as though they would soon be reeling in the breakaways even more quickly.
The next time chock was 3-50, still going down, but that was as low as it was to become for the next 50 miles. The reason being that there was now strong tail-wind, giving the eighteen fugitives even more encouragement. It was a very blustery wind that I first noticed at Arenzano, where the thickly leaved palm trees were blowing vigorously, outlined against the blue of the sky. There were oilier evergreen trees—Cypresses, Pines, Cedars whose shade tempered the heat of the strong sunshine. And everywhere there wore crowds, millions of thorn all the way to San Remo gathered in the non-stop line of towns, tourist resorts and fishing villages: Cogoleto, Varaize, Albissola Marina, Savona, Spotorno, Lido di Borgia, etc., etc.
Was it to be a long procession to the finish ending in a sprint on the Via Roma between the remains of this 18-up break ?
It appeared to be the best policy for those in front to work together so that the bunch would not catch them, for the chances of success wore very high with such a strong back wind. However, the composition of the break did not favour this policy. In the eighteen, there were two teams with three riders: Mars-Flandria (Leman, Eric and Roger De Vlaeminck) and Willem II (Van Looy, Ottenbros and Van Loo). This numerical superiority and sprinting prowess should have meant a sprint finish with one of their number winning; but this break had already been striving mutually for 1½ hours, and there was about another three hours to go. By then all of them would be very tired so that the sprinting factor would not be so important. After the Mars and Willem II teams, both the Molteni (with Dancelli and Chiappano) and Faemino (with Zilioli and Huysmans) had two riders there, none of them noted sprinters so they would undoubtedly try to get a splinter group away before the finish. And among the individuals there was another cross-section—Godefroot, Bitossi and Karstens would be happy to contest a sprint, while Wolfshohl, Pella, Soave, Moser and Simonetti would probably try to join any breakaway attempts.
It was an interesting situation, and we soon saw that the policy was going to be one of attack after attack, until the decisive one eventually came.
The Riviera road between Genoa and San Remo falls into three distinct parts: from Voltri to Savona (30 kms) there are a series of hills rising about 200 feet with many twists and turns; then from Savona to Alassio (50 kms) the road is flatter and straighter, but with several narrow stretches through towns and villages as well as six tunnels where the road cuts through coastal headlands; and the last, and most famous section, is from Alassio to San Remo (50 kms) with the varied climbs of Capo Mele, Capo Cervo, Capo Berta and the Poggio (which is the highest at 500 feet).
There was plenty of action on the first stretch to Savona, where the break had re-joined their former lead of 4-50. Several small attacks had contributed to this success, the main one being by Chiappano, Wolfshohl and Moser. All experienced riders, they understood the urgency to stop the break from stagnating. Their attack, on a section that dipped and turned around a rocky part of the coast, caused a split in the break that was mainly closed by Eric De Vlaeminck, who was clearly working in the interests of his two sprinter team-mates.
They regrouped on a flat section of road high above the
turquoise blue sea before Varazze, a charming little town with yachts bobbing
in the harbour, and the heads bobbing in the crowd to see action. There were no
more attempts to upset things before Savona, because this was the first feeding
station (the second was at Alassio) and all 18 men would be needing fresh
drinks if they were to stay away to the finish, especially in the summer-like
temperatures that had materialised.
Savona is a big shipping port, and I wondered if anyone else spotted the big Norwegian ship tied up in the docks as we went by—it was called "LONG HOPE" ! ! It would be a good name to give to this superb 18-up break: the Long Hope Break. That long hope was now looking much more favourable, the odds now being much shorter that they would finally succeed.
To see how the chase was progressing behind we also stopped for some hurried refreshments on the road out of Savona, grabbing a coffee and getting away just as the bunch came ambling through. Yes, there was little hurry about the giant group, now 5-35 in arrears, typified by the figure of Raymond Poulidor at the front, who was looking round to see if anyone else was interested in chasing. It seemed that the defending riders (in the majority) had killed off most of the urgency shown earlier, so the initiative was back with the riders up front—if they could keep their speed up they had a very good chance of lasting out the 100 kilometres that still remained.
While we motored back up to the break the radio announced that Huysmans, Zilioli and Godefroot were piling on the pressure, causing another split in the break, which had closed again by the time we reached them at Spotormo (198 km). News had also come that three riders had gained 20 seconds on the bunch, 5-20 down on the break. Their names—Conti (SCIC), Crepaldi (Salvarani) and Monsere (Mars-Flandria), the last two more likely to be-defending than attacking. It showed that the experienced men in front were justified in their efforts, to keep the pace high, and soon four more men were 100 metres clear: Zilioli and Moser again, with Leman defending and Pella also figuring, having recove4d from his earlier falterings. It was /another split, and this time it was loners Bitossi and Wolfshohl that caused the regroupment.
This activity seemed bound to throw up some successful attackers before long, despite the absence of hills on this Savona-Alassio section.
It remained to be seen whose ambitions were the greatest, as nearly all the eighteen seemed to fancy themselves as winners. This is why the break was so interesting. In a similar break in a stage race they would all be working for a common cause and there would be none of these repeated attacks, and if there had been there would have been less urgency in bringing them back.
Another five minutes and there were two more pairs opening up gaps, and this time Godefroot led the chase to neutralise them. And the radio gave the time gap as 4-40. Were the larger numbers in the bunch at last having their say? It was looking that way, for the break had clearly slowed down, as emphasised by an incident that moment when young Pella punctured and rejoined the others with no trouble.
It looked as if this Savona - Alassio section was finally going to cause the break's downfall, most of the 18 now looking tired after being away for 120 kms. Chiappano was still active, and Van Looy was also attacking, but the men from Mars were on the alert, working for their sprint finish.
And then it happened; a break so unexpected that everyone was taken by surprise.
We were coming into Loano (218 km), a typical little village with crowds jammed solid either side of the winding street … and there was a prime. Another prime that was to cause the second decisive move of the 1970 Milan-San Remo. Alassio was not far away (and the start of the final hilly section) and so our car had just overtaken the break. Looking back I saw that Chiappano was sprinting away for the prime, which he took in his stride. Several bends then interrupted our view before I saw the brown Molteni jersey again, now well clear of the others. I wrote down "Chiappano 0-20 up. Out of sight of break."
It had happened veil/ quickly, but it was quite a surprise
to see on dropping back that it was not Chiappano …it was Dancelli! Yes, the
two Molteni men had worked a very subtle ploy that only one or two of the
riders in the break could have spotted. Dancelli had asked his team-mate to
lead him out for the prime, but Chiappano was first over the line, immediately
eased, allowing his leader to continue at full speed, giving him a huge lead in
no time at all.
The break had been riding in a jagged single line through
the town and so the view of most riders of the incident was this: they saw a
Molteni rider attacking for the prime, before seeing him drop back immediately
afterwards. A team car (Molteni) then passed the riders, 'obviously' moving
ahead to the last feeding station at Alassio. It was another of the
never-ending series of incidents that would continue all the way to the finish.
Nothing to worry about.
The few riders who had seen that Dancelli had got away were probably of the same opinion. Nothing to worry about. One man like Dancelli would have no chance of staying away for the remaining 70 kms. from such riders as Godefroot. Wolfshohl, Zilioli, Huysmans, De Vlaeminck … it was out of the question. Few people would have disagreed with this opinion, except of course for Michele Dancelli.
He was riding as if the finish were only a mile away, his big gear turning on the flat, smooth road, eyes alert and concentrating on the course ahead—to become the first Italian to win the Primavera for 16 years. Things were going perfectly so far, and I timed his lead as 1 -10 over the others after he had been away for only 5 kms.
The wind was blowing more strongly than ever from right
behind, and there were no signs of a chase mlterialising.
The 27-year-old had every incentive to keep riding at maximum speed. The beautiful corniche road started again before Alassio, with the wind whipping up white caps on the turquoise sea. The sun was warmer than ever and the crowds were cheering for him all the way, having heard from the radio of his break. Conditions could not have been more perfect.
Down into Alassio, where big rollers crashed on the sandy
beach to the left, news came that Roger De Vlaeminck had attacked from the
group and was chasing Dancelli on his own. So they had found out that the
Italian was away, but they couldn't have known that he was now two minutes
clear. In fact the first race radio information concerning the attack was at
14.58, exactly 40 minutes after Dancelli had gone away. It was the sort of
thing that could only happen in Italy, and even then they gave facts that were
15 minutes out of date, saying that at Laigueglia (239 kms) Dancelli was 1-35
clear of De Vlaeminck, 2-25 clear of the other breakaways, anti 6-0 up on the bunch.
Even that message was garbled on our radio, so we stopped at the 40 kilometres-to-go sign after watching Dancelli climb the steep Capo Mele and flatter Capo Cervo in impressive style, still riding with the impetus of his initial break.
The gap was now 3-30 and he was still gaining, De Vlaeminck not having been strong enough to pursue his effort. The seventeen were riding without conviction, looking at each other to do something about the situation. Ahead lay the Capo Berta, an unrelenting climb that rises from sea level at Diano Marina to just over 400 feet.
Would this prove the downfall of Dancelli? It seemed unlikely as we cruised up the hill with the break ambling along behind, led all the way up by Jos Huysmans. There was no snap in the riding, a sort of resignation, although we knew later that many of them (such as Karstens) had not been informed of Dancelli's break. Only at the summit (where the deficit was 3-35) was there any action. Godefroot jumped away suddenly, with Eric Leman glued to his wheel, and Wolfshohl chasing on the descent.
The acceleration was enough to split the group into three with Ottenbros and Pella being dropped, following in the wake of Chiappano who lost contact on the actual climb. It also cut the lead by a minute, although there was but 20 kilometres to bring back the other 21 minutes. The flatter roads after Imperia had caused a re¬groupment and Leman then took up the chasing for the Mars team, showing that Paris-Nice had really brought him to a high degree of fitness.
The finish was now at the head of all our thoughts and it seemed that only a disaster could rob Dancelli of the victory he had set out to conquer six hours earlier on the outskirts of Milan. Our car was also heading for the finish, which involved passing Dancelli after another slight climb. There were vehicles everywhere, most of them press cars that had been cruising in front for the whole race. The race director was again panicking, shouting for the cars to move forward on the descent. Dancelli was almost riding along in our boot, which he didn't seem to mind, but the man in charge did. So our driver pulled over to let them pass, and the situation was again back to normal.
It was another incident that was bound to encourage Dancelli
and there was only the 500 ft. climb of the Poggio left in the last 10 kms that
could possibly defeat him. It did not and at the summit of the two miles of
1-in-20 he was still 2-0 clear of Leman, 2-30 up on the others headed by
Karstens, Simonetti and Wolfshohl, while Van Looy and most of the other
escapees were in the process of being absorbed by the bunch that was still over
120 strong.
This information came from the loud speakers strung down the
Via Roma at the finish, all the press cars having by-passed the last hill by
continuing along the coast road instead of turning right up to Poggio village.
The truly enormous crowds cheered every announcement as if Italy hod just won
the World Cup. In fact it was more important than that. It was their own
Michele, who would now be known affectionately as Michelino, who was coming in
to win the Primavera after a gap of 17 years. The noise was deafening as he
came free-wheeling down that famous street, his arms raised in pleasure, honour
and emotion, with his rascally face a mass of smiles and tears of joy. He had
made it.
If this was not drama enough, the next piece of action would have amply sufficed. It was the stupendous finishing effort of Gerben Karstens who had gained 50 seconds on the winner in 5 kms. to catch little Leman in the last yards and fling his bike over the line in front, and throw his arm up in victory. This could only have been the action of a man who really believed he had gained another classic win, an opinion that was quickly confirmed by the Dutchman as he spoke with the journalists beyond the line. As I said before, it could only happen in Italy.
So happy, that they were still mobbing 'their' winner,
shouting out "Ecco, ecco, Dancelli, Dancelli …" Had it also been a
hollow victory I mused, considering the final action of Karstens? No, it was a
win that fully warranted all the fanatical furore of the tifosi and would merit
the highest praise from the sports writers of Europe. It had been a splendid
way to carve the name of Dancelli into the Italian history books.
1970 Milan - San Remo
288kms. (179 miles)
1 M. Dancelli (I) Molteni 6-32-56
2 G. Karstens (H) Peugeot at 1-39
3 E. Leman (B) Mars-Flandria
4 I. Zilioli (I) Faemino
5. W. Godefroot (B) Salvarani
6 R. Wolfshohl (G) Fagor-Mercier
7 M. Simonetti (I) Ferretti
8 E. Merckx (B) Faemino at 1-56
9 F. Verbeeck (B) Watney-Geens
10 G. Reybroeck (B) Germanvox
11 D. Van Ryckeghem (B) Mann-Grundig
12 J. Katwijk (H) Willem II
13 G. Claes (B) Hertekamp
14 H. Jansen (H) Sonolor-Lejeune
15 G. Van Den Berghe (B) Faemino
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