Book Review: Mapping Le Tour

For cycling enthusiasts one of the great joys of the sport/pastime is that if you love the Tour de France you can a) buy a bicycle similar to the one the pros use and b) go out and actually ride the same roads of “la Grande Boucle” that they do. And of course not just the roads of the next edition but pretty much all the roads since 1903. The Anjou VéloVintage event in 2013 included a section of the final stage of the 1903 Tour between Angers and Saumur, luckily making it only 90+ kms instead of the insane full 471 kms from Nantes to Paris of the original. But I thought then how nice it would be to have a book showing maps of each year's Tour so that you might be able to put together your own ride into history.

It turns out that in fact 2013 saw the publication of “Mapping Le Tour: The Unofficial History of All 100 Tour de France Races” by Ellis Bacon. This nicely-produced book is an excellent information source for Tour enthusiasts and offers a logical progression of each and every edition of the race, usually spread over two pages. The left-hand page, heading by a period photo, is where one will find the text describing the race that year, and includes some key statistics for easy reference, such as the number of starters and finishers, the distance ridden and the average speed for the winner, the longest stage and highest point as well as the podium winners. The right-hand side offers a full page map of the route with the route as a yellow line marked into stages and showing major cities.

I learned that the while the Ballon d'Alsace was credited as the first major climb of the Tour (appearing in 1905), the inaugural 1903 race included a number of climbs (with the highest point at 1161 m) but these were not seen as particularly challenging—although one would think that racers on fixed gear super-heavy bicycles with terrible brakes would find any climb challenging. It may have been fairly flat but that first race featured some crazy stage lengths, with the shortest being 268 kms while most of the rest were over 400 kms each. No wonder that of the 60 starters only 21 made it back to Paris.

While the text is concise and interesting, I enjoyed just looking at the maps even more. The Tour began as a huge circle, heading clockwise around the hexagon that is France but taking some care to avoid the Alps and the Pyrenees but rolling through major cities. By 1905 the previously-mentioned Ballon d'Alsace appeared and the winner was declared on a points system rather than time. The winner, Louis Trousselier, apparently gambled all his winnings away in a single evening in Paris playing dice. He never won another tour but seems to have set a precedent for nicknames for French cyclists, being called Trou Trou (see “Pou Pou,” “Dudu,” et al.) although Henri Desgranges christened him “the Florist” due to his family business.

By 1906 the race went outside of France for the first time into German-held Alsace and in 1907 included a section of the Paris-Roubaix course (on a stage won by Trou Trou). It was 4,488 kms spread over 14 stages, compared to 2428 kms in the first race (over only six stages). For the next few years the race seemed to more or less follow the same route but things really changed in 1910 when the Tour divided into the Pyrenees, inlcluding the Portet d'Aspet, Col du Peyresourde, Col d'Aspin, Col du Tourmalet and Col d'Aubisque for the first time. The next year the Alps showed up, providing climbing thrills on the Col du Télégraphe, Col du Lauteret and the huge Col du Galibier: seven mountain stages in a race covering (gulp) 5,344 kms. The climbs that would become legendary in Tour history were now part of the regular itinerary and in 1913 the race finally went around France counteclockwise, although it would be many years before the regular annual switch (clockwise alternating with counterclockwise, or Alps before Pyrenees and vice versa) would be instituted.

Curiously, for a good part of its history the Tour avoided the central part of France, rolling around the country's periphery and avoiding the Massif Central. The was to change in 1951 when not only did Mont Ventoux show up on the route for the first time but the race did not start in Paris but rather in Metz and the race has not started in Paris since then except in 2003. Clemont-Ferrand was on the Tour route, deep in the heart of the Massif Central and not only home to Michelin but also the centre of French bicycle manufacturing. In 1952 the Alpe d'Huez and the Puy de Dôme were added, the same year that Fausto Coppi won five stages on his way to winning the overall race by nearly 30 minutes.

The maps are very interesting but the scale is unfortunately too large to be of much use in planning a stage-specific reenactment on your own but would be a useful general guide. The photos are well-chosen and the final sections of the book provide a preview of the 2013 Tour (the 100^th Edition) but also a series of chapters on “the Tour's Most Memorable Places.” These include not only the famous climbs but celebrated cycling regions such as Normandy and Brittany.

Every region in France has been covered by the Tour and more than a few foreign countries have been visited. Excursions into the Italian Alps have been pretty common (and will take place again in 2016) and the Tour has not only gone to its immediate neighbours, including Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, Andorra, Spain, Luxembourg but across the Channel several times to the UK and even Ireland. The author includes the memorable Grand Départ in London in the book but also, for non-British readers, waves the Union Jack a bit too much. The inclusion of the Tom Simpson incident in the 1967 chapter is right and proper and it is nice to mention Barry Hoban, whose eight Tour stage wins were the most for a British rider before Mark Cavendish but eight wins is half as many as our somewhat obscure Trou Trou won. The worst example of Little Englandism is the remark in the 2011 chapter that “Bradley Wiggins' yellow jersey was still a year away...” but this is easy enough to overlook, along with the fact that Wiggins did not even finish the 2011 race as he crashed out in Stage 7, breaking his collarbone. There is a revised 2014 edition of the book, only in paperback, that was produced to include a preview of the 2014 course which began in Yorkshire so the publishers were probably not looking much at the global audience.

“Mapping Le Tour” is highly recommended even for those with an extensive Tour library. The geography of the race is what makes the Tour de France the great sporting event it is and this book would make pedalling backwards through time possible with a bit of effort. Maybe I will yet take down the steel Peugeot PXN-10 with its Simplex derailleurs, put on my black-and-white checkerboard team jersey and head eastwards from Nantes through Touraine on the long road to Paris...well, probably not in one day.

“Mapping Le Tour” by Ellis Bacon, with a foreward by Mark Cavendish

335 pp., hardcover, with profuse illustrations

HarperCollins Publishers, Glasgow, Scotland, 2013

Suggested Retail: ₤25.00 (seems to be available in the USA for around $30 online)

ISBN: 978-0-00-750978-2

Book Review: Tour de France 100

100: that's a big number. Frenchman Robert Marchand was 100 years old when he set a new age group category record by cycling 100 kms in 4:17, soon after setting the One Hour Record for the same 100+ age group (of which he currently seems to be the only member) to crown his birthday activities. Well done, Robert! And to mark another 100^th in France, VeloPress has produced an elegant photobook to celebrate the first 99 editions of cycling's greatest event, the Tour de France from 1903 to 2012.

Author Richard Moore, in “Tour de France 100,” begins at the beginning, seeking out the Cafe Zimmer where early in the last century on a November evening in Montmartre the Tour de France was first proposed by staff of the struggling L'Auto newspaper. From that small group discussion emerged a race that has, befitting its origins as a commercial vehicle, received exhaustive press coverage from the start, that has adjusted itself over the decades to meet the varying demands of print, radio, film, television and the Internet. The race has outlived the Cafe Zimmer (although it still exists as the Indiana Cafe) and grown into a global enterprise. Its strengths include the glorious stage of the entire nation of France (with a few foreign excursions), a cast of great athletes with larger-than-life eccentricities or tragic tales and titanic clashes to overcome geography, weather and rivals. The rules have been constantly adjusted as the organizers sought out ways to heighten the tension, broaden the challenge or, apparently, kill the riders.

Reaching backwards to that first decade, the book opens with a grainy black-and-white photo not of a triumphant racer cresting a ridge or hammering to a sprint finish or even passing any spectators. It is 1910 and Octave Lapize is there shoving his bicycle up the Tourmalet in the year that Tour included the Pyrenees in its itinerary. A Tour legend was born: Lapize (who was faster on foot than his nearest competitor riding up the pass) famously called Tour organizers “Assassins!” (or “Murderers!” in this account) as he crossed the Aubisque. From the first flattish race in 1903 the rate of difficulty had progressed until this day, July 21, when the organizers saw fit to have a stage beginning at 2 a.m. and running 326 km over seven major climbs. Lapize was the victor in a sprint finish (!) and was the overall winner in Paris at the end. A Tour legend was born: Lapize (who was faster on foot than his nearest competitor riding up the Tourmalet) famously called Tour organizers “Assassins!” (or “Murderers!” in this account) as he crossed the Aubisque. Tour founder Henri Desgrange seemed to confirm this with his comment at the finish line:

We brought far too many people to Paris, and there was not enough wastage...Out of 110 starters, 41 riders finished the race. I repeat this is far too many.

Lapize was to win a single Tour and was one of three champions to die in World War One.

The Tour has had its constant themes but there have been so many rule changes, seemingly at Desgrange's whim from time to time, it gets confusing to follow how the race was judged in the past. “Tour de France 100” is helpful in dividing the race into eras and offering explanations of exactly what was happening. The early days were never much about fair play or sporting nobility. The first winner, Maurice Garin, was stripped of his second title for cheating and the first double winner became Lucien Petit-Breton (1907 and 1908). An atmospheric photo shows Petit-Breton (who also died in the Great War) looking filthy and haggard on his heavy team Peugeot bicycle, held up by an immaculately-dressed white-clad gentleman (an official, perhaps or his trainer?). And moustaches all around.

The race continues after a break for World War One as the riders regroup in the shattered countryside. Another legend is born with the Unluckiest Man in the Tour (well, aside from those who actually got killed) as Eugene Christoph breaks a fork in the 1913 edition, drags his bike to a village blacksmith and hammers it back together at the forge, receiving a time penalty because a boy operated the bellows to keep the flames up for him. Christoph was the first to wear the Yellow Jersey in 1919, broke his fork again that year, probably costing him overall victory, and, yes, again in 1922 descending the Col du Galibier. He found yet another blacksmith's shop and did his repairs, noting in later years: “That accident didn't upset me as much as the others. By then I was a bit of an expert.”

The photos are wonderful, showing the bikes built more for strength than anything, their riders more like muddy desperadoes than Olympic sporting heroes. In 1924 there was a protest when Desgrange enforced another one of his flippant rules, this one requiring cyclists to finish with the same clothing as they began, meaning you could not shed any layers after a descent. The Péllisier brothers had enough and withdrew and a third rider joined them in a bar where a journalist wrote down their thoughts, eventually turning them into a book “The Convicts of the Road,” emphasizing the suffering cyclists had to endure. Henri Péllisier described the race as “a Calvary,” and his brother Francis produced a box of pills, saying “We run on dynamite.” Anger, suffering, controversy, doping: more fuel for the Tour publicity machine!

Henri Péllisier, who was prone to violence himself, ended up being fatally shot with five bullets in 1935. The rider who went on to win the year the brothers dropped out was Ottavio Bottechia, the first Italian winner who took the victory in 1925 as well as 1924 but died in mysterious circumstances on a training ride two years later.

The rules changes are not always clear as Desgrange and his men tried to find ways to make the race more exciting. Freewheels were not allowed for a number of years and variable gearing was not permitted before 1937, when cycle tourists had already been using it for at least a decade. Trade teams were dropped in favour of national teams (and sub-national ones) and Desgrange was appalled by the idea of support riders, belittling Maurice Brocco who helped François Faber to victory in 1911 as merely a servant, or domestique. The noble domestique, giving up his own chances for his team leader, became part of the Tour legend. It made Desgrange so angry that one year he basically turned the Tour into a series of time trial stages. The book offers a fine photo of Lucien Buysse leading Bottechia through Saint-Cloud in 1925 on the final stage that year. This faithful helper won the Tour himself the following year.

By the 1930s the reach of mass media broadened interest in the tour and that decade saw management passing from Desgrange, who retired in 1936 due to ill health and was replaced by Jacques Goddet, who was to run the race for the next half-century, immediately dropping the rule against multiple gears and opening up the opportunity for some technical advances in equipment. Roads were actually paved on some of the mountain passes, replacing the previous goat tracks, but the beginning of Goddet's reign did not make the challenges less, as a fine image from the 1937 race shows, picturing the peloton lined up at speed on the cobbles stones of Vannes in the cycling heartland of Brittany.

My own favourite era of the Tour begins after the Second World War, with black-and-white photos, superb in their details, highlighting the adventures of famous riders including Koblet, Bartali, Copp and Bobet, leading us eventually to the Five Time Winners. Anquetil and Merckx still belong to this period, seemingly so far in the past.

The era of colour photography begins and it is a bit jarring to see Anquetil, Merckx and Hinault together in 1987 in bright yellow jerseys, two retired riders and the still-aggressive “Badger” in the modern world. One likes to think that those jersey are still wool as clothing moved then into half-developed polyesters and some of the most tasteless designs ever.

The great joy in a comprehensive visual history of the Tour de France lies in the unfamiliar photos and here the old images bring the most pleasure as once we pass the time of blurry colour to today's super-sharp photos there is a sense no longer of wandering in a foreign land. This is not to say the photos are not excellent. High-speed cameras have frozen Ullrich attacking or Armstrong crashing better than anything in the old days but these seem familar and workaday to us.

The book concludes with the 2012 win of Bradley Wiggins, continuing the trend of victories by non-French riders and preparing the stage for Chris Froome's domination in 2013 at the 100^th running of the race. And the race will probably remain the only sporting event with 100 races completed and only 93 winners but we don't need to rehash this.

The magic of “Tour de France 100,” which does feature excellent written commentary by Richard Moore, seems to be more in the distant haze of yesterday. Yes, there was plenty not to be nostalgic about and the reader can pick and choose his or her own view of the Tour de France and what it means. But the race's history is well-served by this finely-produced book with far too many excellent photos to describe. It should find a respected place among the many tomes dedicated to the ne plus ultra of bike races.

The Tour de France will surely go on to many more editions. And back in France on January 31 this year, Robert Marchand proved that 100 is only the start of things. Clearly having upped his training program in the last two years, Monsieur Marchand smashed his own One Hour Record in the 100+ age group.

Tour de France 100: A Photographic History of the World's Greatest Race

by Richard Moore

223 pp., ill., hardcover, VeloPress 2013

ISBN 978-1-937715-06-9

Suggested retail price: US$34.95

Available at www.velopress.com

The 2012 Lost Boys Tour of Europe: La Conquète de la Corse

It is summertime and among other things it means the cycling world needs to prepare itself for the next installment (Number 7 and counting) of the Lost Boys Tour of Europe.  The Loyal Reader of this blog may blink in astonishment and ask, with reason:   “Where is the completion of the 2010 Tour of Europe?  And the entire 2011 Lost Boys trip to Tirol?  It remains invisible still!”

Well, yes.  I’ll get to those yet (promises, promises) but felt that having returned so recently from another exciting Lost Boys trip I would put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, and report in a more timely fashion.  So let’s strike while the iron is hot!

After the usual trans-oceanic on-line discussions, we decided that the Tour would find itself back in France but on the island of Corsica, known as “l’Ile de la Beauté.”  Although the idea was originally that of Stevie Z., none of us had ever been to the Isle of Beauty so were not sure what to expect but had heard of great climbs, fine beaches, high prices, considerable heat and home-grown terrorists.  We all knew that it was the birthplace of Napoleon Bonaparte and that for the first time in its long history the Tour de France would be there in 2013, but that was about all.

We quickly learned that even getting to Corsica requires some planning, patience and money.  People flying to our jump-off point of the port city of Bastia from the United States made their way from the Charles de Gaulle Airport to Orly (with mixed success) and then flew on to the island.  It was there that we were to meet Basile, our guide from the commercial tour operator, Europe-Active, with which we had been working since October to get our plans all together.

Lost Boys Tour Minus Two
Three of us (Tom, Rudiger and myself) representing the Rhine-Ruhr component, drove down in Tom’s Ford Fiesta, leaving on Friday, June 22 from Düsseldorf with three bikes on the roof rack and a trunk packed with gear.  We drove south past the Black Forest (scene of the first Lost Boys Tour in 2006 and part of another in 2007) and into Switzerland at Basel.  Passing through the impressive Gotthard Tunnel (I had ridden over the Gotthard’s old cobbled pass road years ago) and seeing the work on the amazing AlpTransit tunnel, we soon left Heidiland and crossed into Italy.

Tom had worked out an excellent plan to reduce our driving and add another cycling adventure.  We drove through Como and then onto small busy roads to our small hotel in Civenna.  The hotel was located around 300 m below the summit of the climb that takes the Giro di Lombardia to the famed Madonna del Ghisallo chapel and we were there to ride it.  As the chapel was on our way, we stopped briefly and I showed Tom and Rudiger around a bit.  I rode to the chapel in 2003 while staying in Bellagio, and an account of this wonderful trip was an early posting in 2007 here at Tin Donkey.

One of Fausto Coppi's Bianchis in the chapel     

The chapel is full of interesting cycling memorabilia but the overflow is now housed in a very modern new museum adjacent to the 500 year old chapel.  It was just closing as we arrived but the plan was to do our ride on Saturday, get cleaned up and visit the museum and continue driving southwards so this was fine. at our hotel, we found a friendly welcome but a room of quite modest dimensions and decor.  There was a lovely swimming pool that we quickly took advantage of to cool off in after the trip.  The highlight, however, was the view from the hotel’s balcony was truly spectacular.  The restaurant served pizza from a wood burning oven and of course we celebrated our first evening with some excellent pies and suitable refreshments.  We had an excellent view not only of Lake Como and the little villages dotting it but also the impressive serpentine road below that we would enjoy climbing the next day.  As we ate, we saw single riders passing on their way to the Ghisallo cycling magnet.

The night did not go so well as we had to keep the windows open due to the heat and discovered that the road did not empty late at night as motorcyclists with loud loud exhausts constantly woke us up as the tore around the curves below the hotel.  But we managed and felt well enough to get ready for our ride early the next morning.

Lost Boys Tour Minus One

At 7:00 we were on the road, beginning with the quite difficult 9 percent grade out of the hotel driveway 300 m up to the top of the Madonna del Ghisallo climb.  Without any warm-up, we huffed and puffed our way up (at least I did as both Tom and Rudiger are climbers) and then took some more photos in front of the chapel, including the requisite comedy pictures in front of the “Triumph and Disaster” monument overlooking the lake.  Water bottles filled with holy water from the fountain near the chapel, we began the first leg of the ride, cruising rapidly downhill through Magreglio and Barni (where the locals had made way for me at the spring to refill my bottles in 2003) and then down past Lasnigo under a big arch of rock.  Down, down, down we cruised, passing Valbrona and enjoying the fabulous views and finally reaching the level of the lake at 17.5 kms into the ride. 

Riding through the lakeside town of Oliveto Lario we stopped for lots of photos of the breathtaking scenery, startling a grazing brown goat.  The views are dramatic as you look across the Lecco arm of the lake towards Mandello del Lario and the great massif behind it.  The weather was ideal, comfortably warm and although some showers had been forecast there was nothing threatening our plans in the early morning Italian sky.

We rolled into sleepy Bellagio, where very little was happening and rode into the harbour looking for some kind of breakfast and eventually found a very charming old-style café, where we enjoyed Italian coffee and some wonderful pastries to gather strength for the coming climb.

Now the fun really began.  Leaving the harbour, the 8 km climb begins pretty much immediately, although it is a while until you come to a line marked “Start” where you can time yourself if you want.

It was a strange sensation to ride this climb in reverse to how I did it nine years ago.  It begins rather steeply and then when you get near the Il Perlo Panorama Hotel you are confronted with some 14 percent brutality.  The road goes ever up and takes you through more and more turns, and past some sleepy villages.

Soon enough we entered the set of serpentines below our hotel and rather than pull back into the parking lot to end the circuit we continued again up the last 300 m to the top of the climb.  I photographed Tom as he cleared the marked finish line, and he was followed soon by other cyclists riding the famous hill.

 

After the Comedy Photos, we turned around and returned to the hotel to get cleaned up and pack.  The bikes on the roof of the Fiesta, we drove back up the hill one more time and parked in the big lot where several vans of cycling touring companies were already sitting.  Our plan was to spend some time in the museum, which we had only glanced into the evening before.

Although I had asked when the museum would open, it is clear that volunteers are managing the enterprise as the Saturday 9:30 opening was more like 10:30 but at least it actually did open, unlike my foiled attempt to visit the Gino Bartali Museum near Florence earlier this year when nobody actually got around to opening the place.

The confusion over the opening hours aside, the museum is an impressive piece of work, modern and airy.  The last stone (blessed by the Pope!) was put in place in May 2006 and in addition to the impressive collection of historic racing bicycles it is also the home to revolving exhibitions.  When we visited, there was an interesting display devoted to the history of the Giro d’Italia (which was supposed to have ended two weeks before we were there).  There were framed maps of Italy showing the different courses taken by the race over the years and a very fine collection of Maglie Rosa, from 1933 to the present day and worn by cycling’s greatest champions.

Plenty to look at and enjoy, and I had the chance to compare an actual Giuseppe Saronni Colnago Mexico with my own same-era Colnago Super in the identical colour.  All of the famous brands were there, from ancient Bianchis to a Cervelo Giro centennial model and historic bikes, such as the Moser and Rominger hour record bikes.  There was a series of display cases devoted to the memory of Franco Ballerini, a popular two-time winner of Paris-Roubaix and manager of the successful Italian national cycling team, who died in a rally car accident in 2010.

With a wonderful morning of riding and sated with bike racing history, we had a quick lunch at the café next to the museum and then began the long drive to Savona, where our midnight ferry trip would bring us to Corsica and the other Lost Boys...

Fallen Angel: The Passion of Fausto Coppi

My newest review, of William Fotheringham's biography of the great Fausto Coppi, can be found here at Pezcyclingnews.com

Book Review: One More Kilometre and We're in the Showers, by Tim Hilton

A charming and eccentric book about a cycling communist...

“One More Kilometre and We’re in the Showers” is a typically English book in its meandering, delightful and often elegiac style. Tim (Timoshenko!) Hilton grew up as the child of ardent British communists and this book is his memoir of cycling in the UK from the 1950s to the 1970s.

The account of the Thursday evenings spent forced to listen to dreadful Marxist pontificating is quite funny, in a grim way, as young Tim dreams of getting out on his bicycle, a symbol of freedom, and escaping the Stalinist environment at home. His first bicycle was an ASP–All Spare Parts–assembled by a rider from the local club. Much of the book is about “clubmen,” and Mr. Hilton lovingly rolls through an alphabetical list of cycling clubs, many of which have ebbed and flowed but most of which were quirky enough: the Buckshee Wheelers, who served in North Africa in World War Two and raced in the desert; the Velo Club Pierre; the Out-of-Work Wheelers; the Scrumpy Wheelers; and the mysterious Rosslyn Ladies, who may or may not have existed at all. Many clubs were formed by admirers of a weekly newspaper called the Clarion, founded in 1892, and dedicated to a kind of relaxed socialism and although the name Clarion appeared in many bicycle club names, they were unaffiliated.

England was, at least in cycling terms, astonishingly provincial in Mr. Hilton’s time. Road races were not allowed and serious British cyclists were relegated to time trialling, developing this into a sort of national speciality as they set records from point-to-point. Those who wanted to do mass start races broke off into a new group, the BLRC, the British League of Racing Cyclists, and were seen as rebels, banned from the more conservative National Cycling Union, which was really more interested in cycletouring anyway. Mr. Hilton describes the leading “Leaguers,” such as Percy Stallard and who engineered the first BLRC road race in June 1942, in enjoyable detail.

But in addition to now-obscure local heroes, Mr. Hilton also reserves space for the great riders of his generation: Fausto Coppi, in the twilight of his career; Jacques Anquetil, the apprentice-soon-to-be-master; Louison Bobet, of the Spartan diet and training regime; the beautiful Hugo Koblet of Switzerland–Tour de France winners all. It is about Coppi that he is particularly eloquent–il Campionissimo, who was already fading away, a man burned out, when Mr. Hilton saw him race at an omnium in the Parc des Princes velodrome in Paris in the early 1950s:

Coppi was then thirty-four or thirty-five years of age, but appeared to be somehow ageless, or beyond age, his long thin body and melancholy features carved out by years and decades of suffering. The crowd paid him homage. Men and women acknowledged his tribulations and fate. Everyone knew that he was near to his end. There was no cheering....Even an adolescent such as myself realised that the occasion had a sacramental air–a ritual in honour of Coppi’s age, weariness and fragility.

Another fascinating character is the remarkable Beryl Burton, an amateur time triallist who was one of the best cyclists in Britain–man or woman–for more than 25 years. She was obsessive to the point that when her daughter outsprinted her in a local race she did not speak to her for a year afterwards. Her life was all about labour and training, and when she died at the age of 59 in 1996 it was from having a heart attack while riding her bicycle. Legendary in Britain, she never received much notice outside of the UK but then women were ignored by the cycling establishment generally. Women cyclists were excluded from the Olympics, for example, until 1984.

Ray Booty, time trial hero

I was very interested in reading the account of Ray Booty's record in the Bath Road 100, done in under 4 hours in late summer 1956. I had never heard of Ray Booty until I heard Alexander von Tutschek speak at Le Cirque de Cyclisme in June about being a collector in Britain. He spoke of how impressed he had been as a boy with Ray Booty's record (which stood for six years) and that one of the high points of his collecting life was to actually purchase Ray Booty's Raleigh Record used in the ride. Alexander von Tutschek was keen to get the bicycle not only for its historical meaning to him but because he himself is very tall and Ray Booty, at 6 feet 2 inches, was riding a 25 inch (63.5 cm) frame! The bicycle has been restored to what it would have been like in 1955, and there is an excellent description of it, fixed gear and all, here.

Tom Simpson, another Leaguer, also receives attention from Mr. Hilton and you realize why the cyclist still has such a strong grip on the British imagination even today. His dramatic death on Mt. Ventoux overshadows his great success as an international cyclist. He used drugs to drive himself through the races but reading this book you realize the degree of suffering, often for little reward, endured by these cyclists from another era and it is hard to be judgmental. To quote L.P. Hartley: “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.”

Part personal memoir, part reflection on contemporary cycling history, “One More Kilometre and We’re in the Showers” is an idiosyncratic work by someone who clearly loves the sport of cycling. Recommended for all comrades!