Skippy: ‘All’s good, mate! Where ya stayin’?’
‘With Dan Lloyd.’ I turned and pointed with my spare hand. Dan was leaning against a wall with one shoulder at an angle, arms folded. He was about 80m (260ft) away. He looked at me over his sunglasses, which sat halfway down his nose, like a teacher staring down a naughty kid. He shook his head very slowly to deliver the warning. He then pushed his specs back into place and looked away in a Get on with it kind of way. Get on with telling Skippy to piss off. I got the message.
‘Gotta go. Sorry!’ Using my other hand, I pushed against his forearm and pulled my hand clear.
Skippy wasn’t happy: ‘Look, I’m here for the Keep the Koala campaign, mate. Where are you staying? I need to talk to you about the campaign.’
I’m already off at a brisk pace, like an Olympic walker.
Skippy loses it: ‘WHERE YA F--KIN’ STAYIN’, EURO-F--KIN’-SPORT . . . WHERE ARE YA? . . . THINK OF THE KOALAS!!!’
To his credit, Skippy fundraises for a myriad of causes. For a couple of seasons he was a mobile billboard for Kids With Cancer Foundation Australia. Lately he’s switched to the Stop Killing Cyclists ‘safe passing distance’ initiative. He carries card-backed posters of these worthy campaigns and has thus managed to get himself photographed with an arm around the shoulders of the likes of Alberto Contador.
‘Hi, mate, riding for Kids With Cancer. Can I borrow your room for a mo? Just a shower, mate. It’s for the kids, after all. Eh, mate?’
This is the kind of line you fall for just once. On his first Tour, a kindly David Harmon handed Skippy his room key. About two hours later and after much knocking, David had to get the hotel staff to let him in. There he found Skippy fast asleep in bed, with all his washing hanging wet around the room.
Harmon: ‘Skippy, you’re in my bed!’
Skippy, stirring: ‘No worries, mate, we can split it. You take the mattress and I’ll use the base.’
Harmon: ‘Er . . .’
Skippy: ‘Hey, it’s for Kids With Cancer, mate!’
An uncomfortable night ensued. Next morning, Skippy is in the shower calling out: ‘Where are we staying tonight, David?’
Harmon: ‘I’ll just check. Give me a mo…’
A hasty escape plan saw Kelly and Harmon slipping away quietly as Skippy towelled down. He probably heard the tyres screeching away through the open window.
But the boys were not quite in the clear.
After the day’s broadcast, they headed towards the open highway. As they reached the tollbooths, there was Skippy, waiting on the other side of the barriers . . . for them!
Kelly was driving. ‘Ohhhh shite, he’s seen us!!!’
Screaming ‘Eurosport . . . Heeeey, Euuuuuuro-f--kin-spoooooort!!!’, Skippy was heading their way, dodging the cars being released from the tollbooths. Still behind the barrier, Kelly took the ticket in a panic and hit the accelerator. One of Skippy’s paws slammed on the roof.
‘Give us a f--kin’ lift, you bastards! Don’t you care about KIDS WITH CANCER??!!!’ he screamed at the departing Skoda Estate.
They were gone. And a lesson was learned by David.
‘Never speak to that eejit again. Understand?’ said Kelly.
David just nodded in shock. He’d been Skippied.
‘He flies up hills exactly as bricks don’t.’
11
Protesters
If you’re into the Rolling Stones, you’ll know that, for Jumpin’ Jack Flash, life is a gas, gas, gas. But if you’re into rolling hay bales on to the Tour de France route, then be prepared for the flash of stun grenades and plenty of gas, gas, gas as well. This is the latest round of the French way of dealing with disputes. Protest first as a starting point . . . then talk. It’s sort of the opposite to the British way. In France they get the percussive bit over with early on, then pick up the pieces. I was told by a colleague that this method defines the ground rules early on and can end with a glass of wine and a handshake – albeit between bandaged hands. The Brits go the other way with disputes: all nicey, nicey at first. Slowly things smoulder. A few scuffles, then arbitration. Nobody knows what the baseline standpoint is until the very last. Drags on for ages, everyone miffed.
I do see the point in the French revolutionary way. After all, it served them well in the past. But sadly it’s a method that doesn’t mix with cycling. If a local disgruntled workforce decides to get the bale rolling, so to speak, it can prove disastrous. This happened on Stage 16 of the 2018 Tour de France.
The run to Bagnères-de-Luchon was 218km (135 miles) long and was meant to be tough. It came after the second rest day and involved five climbs, getting progressively harder. There were two Category 1s at the end and a downhill run to the line. It was a day made for a breakaway. The teams knew this and so it took a lot of time before the group established itself up the road. Finally, after an hour of many attempted formations, 41 riders pulled clear of the main challengers for the title and headed up the road. This group was an impressive fighting force and was destined to contain the stage winner. The challengers would have their own battle behind this gang of breakers. And so it was that after a very feisty start to the day we thought we’d settled into a calm period. Oh no.
En route a very cleverly planned ambush was being implemented. A tower of round hay bales had been stacked close to the race route. On top of these were the protesters, disguised as happy race fans. They were dancing and shouting as one might expect. Advance security had indeed been fooled and so much of the police force guarding the route had passed by, along with the advanced organisation vehicles. Then, just as the riders were approaching, the protesters went into action. Tractors moved in and the bales
