Paris-Roubaix 2000
By Derek Brouchard-Hall
report filed April 2001, Roubaix, France
As we huddled in our cramped camper, Peter Van
Petegem, a hard man among hard men, looked out the
window pensively. When he turned to address the team,
we became silent in anticipation of his thoughts.
Devoid of emotion, he said, "This will be a day you
will never forget." He has a way of stating the
obvious in such a way that makes it seem profound
nonetheless. And he was, of course, correct.
In the trenches of the Western Front of WWI, grown men
lay huddled in fear just moments from a battle they
could only imagine. Perhaps they had heard tales from
others. Perhaps they had previously experienced a bit
of battle themselves. But nothing could prepare them
for the hell they would encounter when the order was
given to begin the assault and crawl over that trench
wall. What would be going through their minds? Why
would they even obey that order? At 10:50 AM, Sunday
April 15, 2001, I felt like I now had a vague idea.
The commissar's whistle blew, calling riders to the
start line. I donned my helmet, stepped out of the
safety of the camper, and entered the hell that would
be the 99th Paris-Roubaix.
Here was out battle plan: First, we had to repel the
potentially devastating first strike attack. Many
teams would try to send riders up the road on the flat
to rolling and windswept initial 100 kilometers of the
race. If enough riders, from enough teams, got
together without representation from our team, a
dangerous alliance could be formed that would cost us
many casualties from a dreaded team chase. Our
counter to this strategy would be to dedicate two
riders to patrol the front of the race during that
long run into the pave to insure that if a large break
got away, it would have our team in it. A small break
of 6 or less without us would be acceptable, but a
large one would have to include us. The early break
patrol would consist of Jans Koerts and myself. Due
to the nature of that task, entailing a great deal of
effort very early in a very long race, we took on the
unofficial motto of the marines: "First to die." We
knew that our assignment would likely mean that we
would not survive the race long enough to see it to
the end.
Second, we had to protect at all costs our two most
potent and destructive weapons: Leon Van Bon and Peter
Van Petegem. As the race is very, very long, it is
important to save all of their power for the fierce
battle on the cobbles. Because the run into the
cobbles is mined with dangerous crosswinds, without
protection they could be caught having to expend
energy before the real race begins. So, we created
two weapon protection units consisting of Gord Fraser
and Plamen Stainov for Leon and Wim Vansevenant and
Jamie Drew for Peter. Their mission would be to
follow their assigned leader, sheltering him from the
wind's onslaught and supplying him with any needed
food or clothing. In crosswinds, the field will form
an echelon with a long tail on the leeward side where
the road edge prevents further continuation of the
echelon and hence protection from the wind. If one of
our key weapons finds himself in that tail ("in the
gutter") then his protectors will escort him, wind
sheltered, to the front of the echelon. Also, if the
race were to break apart into many echelons, then it
would be necessary to get Leon and Peter into the
first echelon.
Third, all available personnel would be responsible
for proper positioning of our weapons for the start of
the real battle: the pave. Position into the first
pave section is critical. Because the roads are so
narrow, and passing nearly impossible in the muddy
conditions, one's position at the start of the cobbles
at kilometer 100 can virtually predetermine one's
finish at kilometer 254. As the saying goes, you
can't win Paris-Roubaix by having good position at the
start of the pave, but you most certainly can and will
lose Paris-Roubaix by having poor position. So, we
would have to use every means at our disposal to help
Leon and Peter be at the front at the right time. One
tactic would be to line up our team at the front with
our leaders behind the sacrificial lambs who would
push the wind. If that were not possible due to
general chaos, then individual sprints to the front
with Leon or Peter on the wheel would have to do.
Fourth, hit the pave and go like hell. It would be
important for all our riders to ride the initial
sections of pave in the best position possible. If
Leon or Peter were to flat, a teammate's wheel may
come faster than that from the team car, support
motorcycle, or roadside support. "Never give up
early," was the mantra proffered by the Belgians on
the team with experience in the event. They knew that
regroupings sometimes occur unexpectedly. Fight on
and suffer until the race has clearly sorted itself
out.
I stepped out of that camper into heavy rain,
40-degree temperatures, and strong wind. Reports from
the pave fields told of 2 inches of slippery mud on
top of the cobbles. Johan Lammerts (team director and
former Tour of Flanders winner) and Greg Lemond (team
sponsor and former Cat's Hill Criterium winner) gave
me last minute advice which consisted largely of
seemingly useful truisms as "ride the front" and
"start the pave in the top 10." Good ideas both. I
found my way to the start line and negotiated a
position near the front. The lead car drove away and
we followed. We cruised through the town of Compiegne
at 20km/hr to the cheers of thousands. Miraculously,
I was able to spot Kevin Moran and friends out of the
corner of my eye. It felt good to know that familiar
faces would bear witness to my saga. At the outside
of town we passed under the large banner which read
"Depart ? km 0." The battle was on.
The attacks started instantly. I tried to be as
selective as possible with which ones to follow.
Because I don't know the riders and teams here as well
as I am accustomed, this proved difficult to do. I
jumped again and again in pursuit of attacks. I often
found myself in a group that had gotten a significant
gap on the field, but the right combination was not
there so we returned to the field. Our speed was
consistently above 50km/hr during this battery of
attacks. After about 40km, a group of five slipped
away on a long false flat in the crosswind. Because
the group was small enough to not be a threat, I could
let it go. The field stayed restless for about
another 20km, then finally settled down to await the
rush for the cobbles. We had 190km to go, and I was
already feeling fatigued.
Now that the first strike threat was contained, I
could turn my attention to helping out Leon and Peter.
With about 20km to go before the pave, you could
sense the field was getting anxious. It was clear
that it would be impossible to get the team together
at the front and ride to the cobbles together. There
was just too much movement and aggression to stay
together just off the front and too much power from
other teams to remain the whole time at the front.
So, we just free-lanced as best we could. I saw Leon
was about half way back so I tried to stay near him.
With 15km to go, it was time to move up. But by then,
it was almost already too late. The field, despite it
going rather fast, remained completely bunched up at
the front from curb to curb. There simply was no
place to move up at all. Power was not an issue ? you
could not have moved up on a motorcycle. Even the
common practice of hopping onto the sidewalk and
dodging pedestrians and lampposts to move up would not
work because riders in front of you were already doing
that without success. All I could do was remain in my
position with absolutely no place to go. With 10km to
go, Leon was just behind me and asked me to move up.
Of course, it was just not possible. He wisely took
matters into his own hands. With about 7km to go, I
saw him hop onto the sidewalk. A completely blind
corner approached as we wove through a small town and
dove past a large brick building. When the others on
the sidewalk pushed back into the field before the
corner, Leon hit the gas and took the corner on the
sidewalk. There was no way for him to know what was
on the other side. He took a chance, and it paid off.
Narrowly missing a pole and several spectators, he
moved up about 50 riders and was now near the front.
Without a bit of luck, or a huge team leadout, that is
just what it takes.
With about 3km to go, we hit a very narrow road with
heavy crosswind. This provided a bit of an opening on
the windward side of the road due to some echeloning,
but we were now going over 50km/hr and it was very
hard in the wind. I sprinted into the wind as hard as
I could every chance I could get to try to move up,
but a huge effort would only gain me about 5
positions. At one point I got back into the top 40,
but a crash on the shoulder of the road pushed me back
about 30 positions instantly when I hit the brakes to
swerve. When we finally turned onto pave sector 1, I
was probably in about 80th position and the field was
single file.
The moment I hit the pave, the mud started splattering
up onto my face and everything else. It was a shower
of mud coming straight up off the ground. You could
not see the pave at all. The road simply looked like
it was mud alone. But you could sure feel the pave ?
the pounding was violent and relentless. About 100
meters onto the pave, a Lotto rider (read: native
Belgian) spectacularly crashed. Several others piled
on top of him, many others coming to a stop just
behind the mess. I had to stop, dismount, and run
around the traffic jamb. I continued on. This
process was repeated again and again. It was carnage
? muddy bodies lay strewn about throughout the initial
sections of pave.
Riding the pave in these conditions was like climbing
? it was nearly impossible to use the rider in front
of you for drafting. For one, the speeds were slow (I
typically rode a 44X16 or 15). Two, there was too
much mud coming off the rider in front of you too see.
Three, you really needed to be able to see a few feet
of road in front of you to navigate around the holes
(being so slippery, quick turning not possible - only
gentle drifting.) I felt like I was now racing
against the pave, not the other riders.
I, like most riders, rode on the tops of the bars the
majority of the time on the pave. I frequently
switched to the drops for a short time, however, in
order to spread out the pounding to my upper body as
much as possible. Holding the bars further from the
stem actually gives you a bit more shock absorption
for the hands, though it is harder on the back. Three
examples of the pounding you get from the pave: 1) A
sensitive tooth of mine began to ache from the
vibration passing though my spine to my skull. It
continued to ache for several days afterward. 2) It
is difficult to see while on the pave because your
head is shaking so violently that your vision is
blurred. 3) While attempting to switch gears with my
STI levers, my hand somehow smashed against the lever
and tore my finger nail almost completely off. My
hands were already aching enough by this point that I
only realized the extent of the damage to my finger
when I reached paved ground again and could see the
blood running down my bars.
I nonetheless found that I was surprisingly adept on
the pave relative to many others. I was encouraged
that I always seemed to be going forward, slowly
moving up one rider at a time. Many riders were
fishtailing awkwardly constantly, whereas I felt
smooth and in control. I was even able to pass riders
when needed, which is difficult. To do so you have to
slide down off the hump of the pave into the gutter,
accelerate around the rider, and quickly get back up
on the hump ? all without sliding out. A personal
triumph for me was passing Ekimov, who I found was
slowing me up.
After the first few sectors of pave, I found myself in
a group of about 20 that was probably 2 minutes or
less behind the leaders. I could not tell how many
riders where in front of us, but I guessed that there
were about 40. There were some strong riders in my
group who were powering us along. I was starting to
tire rapidly, however, my earlier efforts and the cold
taking their toll. I started to lose position on the
pave now and found myself falling towards the back of
the group. When riders fell, as someone did on every
sector, I often found myself caught behind a
bottleneck. This was a particular problem for me
because I lost the ability to clip out of my pedals.
When I had to come to a stop, I simply fell over. On
the ground I could bang my heal out of the pedals with
a good blow from my fist. Clipping in was also
difficult because the vibration from the stones made
it hard to align my foot on the pedal. Each fiasco I
ran into meant a hard chase back to the group ? and
more fatigue.
By the 6th sector of pave, I got split off from the
hard chasing group I was in on a false flat road in
heavy crosswind. I fell back into another chase group
which was less motivated. I rode with that group for
another few sectors of pave. Slowly, however, my
group disintegrated when some foolishly attacked on
the pave and others dropped out. They realized that
they would never see the front of the race again and
that their duties were over. Before long, on sector
9, I found myself alone.
I really wanted to finish the race, but I had other
factors to consider. One, I had done my job and had
nothing left to contribute to the team. Two, I had
another race to do in two days and one more two days
after that. To ride the whole course would be fine
for the legs, but absolutely brutal on the upper body.
Finishing would likely mean being sore for a week. I
know its Paris-Roubaix, but I came to Europe for only
5 races ? and this one could ruin my ability to do the
last two of those. Three, I was unfamiliar with how
this race deals with stragglers. At Ghent-Wevelgem,
you were totally out of the race if you were just two
minutes behind ? and there was no broom wagon. I
didn't want to get caught having to ride 100kms on my
own in the cold rain on pedestrian crowded pave only
to find that the Roubaix velodrome had already been
closed. Fourth, I was tired as hell. Fifth, in my
mind, the honor of finishing a race comes from
actually being part of the race to the end. Simply
riding the distance, at training speeds, with nothing
left for grabs like prize money or UCI points, is not
what racing is about.
At the beginning of the 10th sector of pave, after 145
kms with 17 kms of pave, I called it quits. More than
half the field had already done so. I saw a group of
team cars from other teams. I had hoped to hitch a
ride with one of them to the second feed zone where my
team's staff would be. But, they had no room. They
told me that a van would be coming soon and that I
could get a ride from it. Well, that van took 15
minutes to reach me ? I must have been not too far off
the pace at that point. While I waited, I was passed
by my teammate Plamen Stainov and one other. Were
they really going to try to finish? When the van did
arrive, I discovered that it was the broom wagon ?
meaning that it would be following the entire length
of the course. With 100kms to go, that would be 3
hours in the van. Unless, we reached the 2nd feed
zone before the staff left for the finish. Any hope
of that was dashed when we caught up with Plamen and
friend, who were creeping along. The broom wagon
would not pass them, so we would be stuck behind them
for the rest of the race. I respected their
determination, though also knew that by finishing
Plamen would be useless for the rest of the week in
the races to come.
It actually turned out to be good fun in the van. It
was filled with defeated riders, but no one was in bad
spirits. We all had done our best in a very special
race. Also, the under-appreciation of domestiques was
the root for camaraderie. We listened together to the
race radio and shared thoughts on how the race was
unfolding.
When we reached the last feed zone, Plamen and friend
were now 45 minutes down. All team cars were gone.
We would have to go the last 50km behind the
struggling duo. When their speed became unbearably
slow, the policeman who was accompanying them began to
motor pace them. We in the van were happy to be going
faster, but we were now less impressed with their
determination. Soon, they stopped motor pacing all
together and started simply hanging onto the
motorcycle. The van became very irritated with that
maneuver. To be stuck behind a valiant, if misguided,
effort to finish was one thing. But to be stuck
behind two guys hanging on to a motorcycle was
another. That was just poor form. I took some heat
for being on the same team with one of the offending
riders.
Alas, nearly 40 minutes down, we arrived at the
Roubaix velodrome. I climbed out of the van and
walked to the showers. The 99th Paris-Roubaix was now
officially complete. It was a race I will never
forget and would do again in a second.
Misc. Race notes:
