They Had it Easy.......!

Seeing this year's video of the Paris-Roubaix recently reminded me of my adventure in the amateur version - 250km (approx. 160 miles) in 1984 or 85. It must have been good to jog my memory and I can't remember exactly which year I rode, but it was the year Hennie Kuiper won the pro race in early April. I do remember that it was late May and I had been looking forward to riding this daunting race for a couple of months beforehand, as I had been in good form, and had done some reasonable rides in England, and in Belgium and Holland.

The week before the trip, however, I ate something that decided to rebel in my stomach and for the first time ever I had food poisoning! For three day beforehand I ate very little and was in two minds whether or not to go. I did, and we arrived in Compiegne, where the race actually starts. I was still no better, and everything I ate came out of either end around 15 minutes later - in other word I had the merdes!

I put this to the back of my mind and that evening forced down some rice and a couple of mouthfuls of steak with a couple of glasses of red wine. Amazingly, it worked and ‘bunged' me up for the night. At the team talk that evening it was decided that I would abandon the race if I felt bad at the first feed - approx. 100 miles - just before the cobbles. It was also decided that I ride without a crash hat (legal in France then) to help my breathing and in case I was sick.

The following morning it was pouring down with rain so my spirits bucked-up a little as I liked (and still do) racing in the rain. With my other team members I went to sign on at the local café. Amongst the throng of riders, managers, officials and general hangers-on, was a dark haired guy in his early 40s. I vaguely recognised him and he was looking at me as if he knew me, so I shook hands and said ‘Hello' and signed on. It wasn't until afterwards that my team-mate told me that told me that I had just shaken hands with Eddy Mercx! Typical of me not to recognise the greatest and most famous bike rider of our time! No wonder I don't recognise other people and can't remember their names when I do!

The race drew nearer and my stomach pains receded to a dull ache. I filled my pockets with two Mars bars, reasoning that I only had to ride 100 miles to the feed, and with two bottles on the bike I was as ready as I'd ever be.

We set off at a fair old pace, with a strong tail wind. There was a break after around 20 miles and one of my team-mates went with it, so I just bowled along near the front of the bunch, and started to feel a bit better as the miles went by.

We were nearing the first feed and by this time we were flying along, a good 15 minutes up on schedule, with the break 5 minutes up on us. As we went through the feed, after around 100 miles, with still nearly 60 miles to go, I started looking expectantly for a mussette, as by now I had decided to carry on to the next feed - which would be approximately 25 miles to go.

It was a good job I still had my two Mars bars, as our team helpers had got lost and missed the feed altogether. With the race being up on schedule, they arrived to see the sag wagon going by!

Just after the feed we hit the cobbles and every rider within 5 feet of me immediately fell off in several big heaps, leaving me to continue on my own for a while, until a group of around 10 riders came up. We carried on slipping and sliding across the wet and muddy cobbles, with riders falling regularly, except me!

We caught the break within around 10 miles and went straight past. When you hit a patch of cobbles, the pace accelerates, and when you come off them it accelerates again. Most of the time you ride along on 53 x 15 or 14, it doesn't matter whether it's up-hill or flat. (There is no down-hill!)

By now I was feeling good, with around 40 miles to go, and was pushing at the front with a rider from the Paris ACBB, who turned out to be Czechoslovakian, a complete animal and the eventual winner.

We reached the Arenberg Forest with around 35 miles to go and the break diminished in strength. As some of the riders fell off, the Czech geezer cleared off up the road. There were around 12 to 15 of us left, then I punctured just coming out of the forest. I was fortunate that my team car had just arrived at the back of our group and managed to get a wheel to me fairly quickly. I chased and got back on just before the next set of cobbles where I punctured again! The car was still there so I again got a wheel quickly and got back on to the group which had now split into two, so I was now back in the back half of the break, though still feeling okay.

At the next set of cobbles I punctured again and took a wheel, though this time I didn't get back on, as I was beginning to feel knackered! I rode along on my own for a time, while my team manager stopped to see where any of my team were. He found my mate Guy Rowland a couple of minutes behind me, and towed him up to me. (this sort of thing goes on all the time on the continent where the officials only worry about what goes on at the head of the race!)

We carried on towards the finish and went through the second feed where, amazingly, Richard our helper was waiting with mussettes. We both took them, though I still had my Mars bars, having not eaten at all during the race so far. (I forgot!)

By now, after 140 miles of wind, rain and mud, we were absolutely plastered from head to toe in grime which was around ¼" thick, and our bikes were creaking wrecks.

We were very surprised, therefore, to be caught by a bloke with race numbers on, who was absolutely immaculate, with not a spot of mud on him - even his spots were Daz white, and his bike was perfect. He dropped us after a nano-second, and carried on his way, making motorbike noises... or was it car noises?!

I managed a few stretches of cobbles without puncturing but with 15 miles to go it happened again twice in quick succession, on a long stretch of cobbles.

We criss-crossed Northern France on our way to Roubaix and on one patch of cobbles, where we could see for miles, stretching out along the main road ahead were threads of riders, pedalling towards the junction for which we were heading.

Having studied the videos of the pro page - which was run in dry, dusty conditions (told you they had it easy!) - I could see recognise various parts of the route and this paid dividends when we were on the last patches of cobbles. Guy and myself , having been caught by the chasing group, were nearing Roubaix - this was a fast section of fairly smooth cobbles with tarmac down each side to make the road wider as it was obviously near the busy town. I recognised where we were, and realised that around the next corner was a huge pot hole which Kuiper had hit in the pro race whilst making his bid for victory. He spent an agonising 30 seconds (I timed it) waiting for a spare bike from his team car before going on to win. I moved to the other side of the road with Guy and watched 5 riders hit the pot hole. All fell off, punctured, or both. We congratulated ourselves and continued on our way.

Our group was now down to 9 or 10 riders, and the weather was abating a little to a steady downpour as we hit the last patch of cobbles with around six miles to go. I punctured for the last time and took a bike this time as I had used up all the spare wheels. I got back on quickly and, as we entered the outskirts of Roubaix, the rain stopped, the roads dried and the sun came out, all in 100 metres!

Once again I recognised the run in to the stadium from studying the videos and positioned myself near the front of the group for the sprint. We were still going for a top 20 placing so I made sure I won the gallop!

After the finish, I was walking around in a daze when I heard a familiar voice. It was that of my winter training partner, Paul Sherwen, who came out with some choice expletives of encouragement when I collapsed on the grass next to him. He lived in nearby Lille at the time with another continental pro and winter training compadre, Graham Jones.

There is nothing like a good, hot shower after a cold, wet, muddy, gruelling event like the Paris-Roubaix and that's exactly what we got - nothing like a good hot shower... At all! They were bloody freezing, and drilled you into the ground.

On removing my numbers, I discovered two sticky packages in my pockets which turned out to be very muddy Mars bars. I had given the food in my mussette to Guy, saving myself one piece of dry bread and jam which got me to the finish! I had only gone through 2 ½ bottles en route as well, perhaps the mud and rain kept me fed and watered? By the way, the stomach didn't ache again after the finish. I just wish it had cleared up a bit sooner - like before the start!

Greg Newton

N.B. Sherwen told me later that the result was in "L' Equipe" and that I had finished 16^th. I have often wondered if that included the bloke with clean socks...