Dan Lloyd, who sometimes commentates with me, told me how, as a newbie racing for the Cervélo test team, he committed what was a cardinal sin. He nicked his leader’s lunch! Kind of.
Cruising into a feed station is a precarious business, as we know. Pace, timing, bike-handling skills and determination all count if you’re going to make a tidy collect without stopping. The juggling begins as you shoulder your prize and begin rummaging for nosh.
Dan executed what he regarded as the perfect take and soon found enough road space to sit up and cruise with his hands off the bars and the bag on his belly. He began foraging. ‘You have got to be kidding me,’ said his expression. ‘F--king jelly sweets!!! Is this a f--king joke?’ said his mouth. Dan took the full water bottles and a small tin of Coke. His arms did the talking next as he flung the huge candy-bag towards the enthusiastic roadside fans.
He began to drift back to the team car to get something useful to eat. Just as he knocked off the speed, with feeding riders passing him and stuffing provisions in mouth and pocket, David Millar cruised by, swearing. Seeing Dan bagless, David assumed he’d missed a collect and slammed a full bag into his chest. ‘Here’s some shit.’ Then he went on the radio. The smile on Dan’s face after being serviced by his team leader soon disappeared as his earpiece crackled to life. It was the Directeur Sportif: ‘Guys, whoever has collected Dave’s Haribo, can you please hand it over. Now!’ Dan said nothing and rode on with the slightly strange expression of forced innocence one adopts going through Customs at airports: ‘I have absolutely nothing to declare’, said his face.
If you are surprised by Haribo and cans of Coke, then add to the list women’s tights. On a hot day a can of chilled soft drink is one thing, but a pair of tights filled with crushed ice is a whole different level of satisfaction. It’s a true example of secondary design. Filled with crushed ice, a pair of tights sits nicely on the back of the neck and as the water runs down it cools both jugulars, anterior and exterior. If tights – or ‘ladies’ panty-hose,’ as Sean always calls them – didn’t exist, you’d have to invent them, just to cool down a cyclist on a hot day.
Thirsty?
Heat and dehydration are a couple of the biggest problems a rider has to overcome on a Tour de France stage in the middle of July. Great care has to be taken to constantly top up with liquids. You often see a whole team, all eight riders, take a sip from their bidon at the same time because their Directeur Sportif has just reminded them over the team radio to take a drink. Hydration is so critical to the correct functioning of the body that it has been the centre of much research. One of the findings is that the signals your body gives you – thirst – arrive too late. This means that if you are experiencing thirst, you are in fact already too late to maintain full function. A top athlete is already behind the ideal hydration curve. For this reason, teams are constantly nagging riders to drink on a schedule tailored to the day and their need or exertion levels. It’s all very scientific. It wasn’t always the case.
The effects of thirst can make a rider do silly things. Over the years there have been many teams sponsored by beer companies, Pelforth (a fine drop) being one of the better known in the early 1960s. One of these teams had the bright, yet rather sneaky, idea of hobbling the opposition by putting out a trestle table lined up with iced glasses full of beer on the approach to a series of late climbs. The vessels were real glass, not plastic – which these days you’re not allowed to take on to the course. And they looked so tempting, all frosted up on a blisteringly hot day. To the thirsty peloton, this was irresistible stuff. Many fell on the frosty vessels, heartily swigging down what must have been pure nectar. Half an hour later, all those who’d succumbed to the temptation had completely had it. The pack was decimated and half the peloton trundled in some minutes behind the leaders. Of course, the riders who were in on the trick stuck to their water rations and came in ahead of their rivals – and were rewarded with a few cold beers beyond the line.
In the old days, they’d hand out almost anything. Unlike today, riders did not enjoy the same levels of support in terms of being fed and watered. Indeed, it was a frequent sight to witness riders stopping to take a dash into a café or bar and just grab the first thing they could find. On a fateful day in 1967, one of Tom Simpson’s fellow riders did just that. Time being precious, he laid the bike down and ran into a small tavern, simply grabbing the closest bottle to hand. This turned out to be cognac. Despite this, it was handed around the leading riders, who were simply grateful to dampen tongues that were as dry as stone. Later that day poor Tom died of a cardiac arrest on the slopes of Ventoux. The autopsy found traces of amphetamines in his system and, of course, alcohol. The press thus proceeded to mark the man in two ways as a
