Hinault by Bloomsbury Publishing

RUBEN VAN GUCHT

LON DON • N E W DE L H I • N E W YOR K • SY DN EY

05 FOREWORD (BERNARD HINAULT ) | 06 INTRODUCTION (PHILIPPE BRUNEL)

11 MAY 1972

19 APRIL 1977

4 JUNE 1977

25 JUNE 1978

12 JULY 1978

A CHAMPION EMERGES

BOLT FROM THE BLUE

HINAULT WINS OVER FRENCH HEARTS

A QUICKIE IN FRANCE

A NEW ‘PATRON’ EMERGES

22 JULY 1979

13 OCTOBER 1979

20 APRIL 1980

5 JUNE 1980

9 JULY 1980

BOSS UNTIL THE LAST BREATH IN PARIS

SWALLOWING THE OPPOSITION WHOLE

STRONGER THAN NATURE

A SURPRISE ATTACK IN BROAD DAYLIGHT

A CHOICE BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA

104

116

122

130

136

31 AUGUST 1980

2 APRIL 1981

12 APRIL 1981

2 JUNE 1982

23 JULY 1982

OMNIPOTENCE ITSELF FOR HIS COUNTRY

WINNING IN THE LION’S DEN

TRIUMPH OVER HATRED

FERRETTI’S BLUNDER

CREATIVITY AGAINST THE CLOCK

144

152

158

164

188

26 APRIL 1983

13 OCTOBER 1984

29 MAY 1985

13 JULY 1985

21 JULY 1986

THE LAW OF CUNNING AND WISDOM

HINAULT IS BACK

ONE DIRECT HIT FOR FINAL VICTORY

SWEAT, TEARS AND BLOOD TOO

PROMISES, PROMISES

201 PALMARES

Bernard Hinault in the jersey he is to wear for no fewer than 79 days over the course of his career. Only Eddy Merckx wears it for longer.

FOREWORD

BERNARD HINAULT

Cycling was always a real passion for me throughout my career, and it still is. I had some difficult times, which were soon forgotten, but I also gained a huge amount of satisfaction from all my years of competing. At the age of 17, on the morning of my first race, I promised my mother I would bring home a bouquet for her that evening. True to my word, I came back with a bouquet, which I gave to her. She was extremely surprised, but very happy. That was the beginning of

my career. Later on, I had the good fortune to meet some highly skilled people â&#x20AC;&#x201C; coaches, physios, mechanics â&#x20AC;&#x201C; who guided me along the way and helped me become the man I am today. I would like to thank my wife, Martine, who was my first team member and did an amazing job, and all the riders who helped me to success over the years. As you turn the pages of this book, you will be able to relive some great moments in my career, thanks to the work of talented photographers and journalists. Happy reading, and I hope you enjoy the wonderful photos.

Hinault with his familiar dogged expression. The trademark of the true original from Brittany.

INTRODUCTION PHILIPPE BRUNEL

An elite group including Winnen, Anderson, Van Impe, Alban and Hinault works its way to the top.

It was in 1977 in the Critérium du Dauphiné Libéré that Bernard Hinault burst into the collective unconscious by misjudging a bend as he sped down the Col de Porte. Thanks to the virtuosity of a cameraman, millions of television viewers looked on aghast as he plunged into a ravine and then scrambled back out, looking as wary and alert as a hunted animal. The scene was broadcast live and in actual fact lasted less than a minute, but it was an inert, unbearable minute, one of pure anguish, and which marked the beginning of the legend of this cantankerous Breton, gifted with an uncommon vitality and not about to let events get the better of him. He set off again, pushed by his mechanic, then stopped on the slope, overcome with nausea, before restarting and finally finishing ahead of Thévenet and Van Impe, at the top of the aptly named Bastille. The son of a railwayman from Yffiniac in the Côtes-d'Armor department of Brittany, Hinault had already made a name for himself. In the spring of that year, he walked away with Gent–Wevelgem and Liège–Bastogne–Liège, right under the noses of such Flemish cycling aristocracy as Merckx, De Vlaeminck, Godefroot, Maertens and Dierickx. The following year, 1978, he entered his first Tour and won it, making short work of Joop Zoetemelk and

Joaquim Agostinho, those tired old rivals who had been worn down by Eddy Merckx, the Cannibal, now retired. A Tour marked by the go-slow at Valence d'Agen where the peloton crossed the line on foot, to whistling and booing, in a protest against the number of transfers between stages. In the photos, Hinault is at the forefront of the insurgents like a union leader, recognisable by his tricolour jersey, clenched jaw and knitted brow, squaring up to Henri Desgrange and this convict’s life they were forced to lead, like the Pélissier brothers at Coutances railway station. However much Hinault behaved as the patron of the peloton – in a personal snub to all those who objected to his style of racing – there was something of Zola in him, a communal outlook, and that day was seen as an unconscious alliance with the workers at the Renault factories in the struggle against the infernal rhythm of the production line. One day, when asked by a journalist from l'Equipe about his childhood in Yffiniac, he responded, ‘At our house, it was to each his due’. Faithful to the education he received from his father, a platelayer for the SNCF, he fought all forms of exploitation. And to defend his territory, by hook or by crook. Hence the fisticuffs at the foot of the Espigoulier six years later, when he came face to face with a striker from

the Ciotat shipyard who tried to bar his route during Paris–Nice. Far from achieving consensus, he was often misjudged by journalists, these ‘predators’, these ‘mangy dogs’ as he called them, so quick to criticise him, not Hinault the champion but Hinault the proud, peculiar, opinionated man, for whom popularity was not an issue. At a time when television usurped reputations, Hinault did not seek to please people, or to cling to the myth of the Shakespearean prince isolated in his palace, but to stay true to himself. As simple as that. He experienced two careers, two very distinct periods, after surgery on his left knee in 1983, followed by a comeback just as delicate, left him facing the incumbents of a new generation, the iconoclast Laurent Fignon, and Greg Lemond, his ‘fraternal foe’ at La Vie Claire, with whom he crossed the line hand in hand on Alpe d’Huez in 1986, in an overrated and over-mediatised dramatisation of a prickly cohabitation. The year before, in the euphoria of a Giro-Tour double, Hinault rashly promised his young American partner to help him win the Tour, on the basis of which he attacked him twice in the Pyrenees, ‘to make our opponents work’, he argued. It wasn’t very convincing. Was he looking to win a sixth Tour, having always claimed he didn’t care about titles? Had he been ‘guru-ified’ by Bernard Tapie, the typical French boss of La Vie Claire? Had he given in to the duality that characterises great champions, in whom there is always a predator lying dormant? The mystery remains unsolved. Like a shadow cast over his own legend. As for whether he was as great as Merckx, Anquetil or Coppi, the question hangs in the shimmering reflections of his mesmerising

140 kilometre trek with Silvano Contini in the 1979 Giro de Lombardia – which earned him the undying respect of the tifosi – not forgetting, of course, that apocalyptic Liège-Bastogne-Liège, which he won with a ten minute lead on Hennie Kuiper amid gusts of snow and despite frostbitten fingers. And polar temperatures. On that occasion too, he brushed off the praise of the press. ‘Yes, it was snowing, what of it? As far as I know, I'm paid to pedal.’ In other words, why are they going into raptures, he just did his job. That was what Bernard Hinault was like, undiplomatic, not given to ostentation but born for action, and who, in 1981, made it a point of honour to win Paris–Roubaix, a race he hated ("It's a circus, a load of crap") but which he won, therefore, out of duty, under the injunction of history, 25 years to the day after Louison Bobet. And more than anything, so people would leave him alone. At the end of his career, he could rest satisfied: he’d won everything there was to win, except the hour record. Unlike his predecessors, he never attempted it, because of a lack of conviction or interest or perhaps also because he had a different relationship with time. Having seen Eddy Merckx ride himself into the ground in 1977, in the twilight of his career, in an unconscious, heart-breaking expiation of his long dictatorship, Hinault preferred to leave by the big door, covered in glory, at the age of thirty-two: his last competition was a cyclocross race, as he had intended, in order to deprive the scurrilous waiting journalists of the spectacle of his own athletic demise. And because, in everything, he wanted to remain master of his own destiny.

11 MAY 1972 10

A CHAMPION EMERGES

World champion in 1980. Five-time winner of the Tour, three-time winner of the Giro and two-time winner of the Vuelta. Forty-two stage wins in Grand Tours. A dozen classics. Numerous other victory bouquets with 216 wins over the course of a professional career lasting a good 11 seasons – 144 not counting criteriums. An impressive list of achievements, that goes without saying. Master of the time trial, a powerhouse uphill, unyielding in the classics, Bernard Hinault was versatility itself.

A real all-rounder, as Hinault demonstrates at an early age. Not on sloping routes, windswept roads and rough cobblestones, but in a velodrome. Whether it’s a track in Caen, Rennes, Vincennes or Outer Mongolia, it’s all the same to the young Frenchman. Hinault greedily chalks up national pursuit titles. Unbeaten in the amateurs between 1974 and 1976. Three in a row, making off with the double in the last two seasons: both amateur and professional champion. Typical Hinault. Not for the last time, but by no means for the first time.

A STORMING TALENT Arras, northern France. French junior championship, 1972. One of the riders mounts a lone attack around 60 kilometres from the finish line. Figurative suicide. Let him flounder and then pick up the dead little sparrow later on, thinks the peloton. For the spectators too, the attack is just the reckless action of a young lad short on race nous. Checking the list of participants, it appears to be a certain Bernard Hinault. They shrug their shoulders. There are enough big names lying in wait in the peloton with explosive power in their legs. Perfectly logical to try and impress of course, the Premier Pas Dunlop isn’t just any race. Founded in 1923, and from 1928 earmarked for riders up to 18 years of age. When the race was awarded the seal of French junior championship in 1952, it gained even more prestige. Hinault knows this. As they approach the finale, the same lone breakaway is still in the lead. A good performance, but the general sentiment is that his efforts won’t garner more than one line in the newspapers. They weren’t counting on Hinault. At the side of the road, one man watches the movements and behaviour of the soloist with intent: Cyrille Guimard. Winner of two stages and the points classification in the Vuelta the year before, and now hard at work preparing to shine in the Tour. The French sprinter for Gan-Mercier notices something quite unique. He sees a fire burning in the eyes of the young Hinault. An aggression that is funnelled into an unrelenting pounding on the pedals. Hinault’s name booms ever louder through the speakers. Pens and paper are at the ready. Something’s about to happen. The peloton groans and labours, but the speck in the distance doesn’t grow any larger. The aggressive youngster at the head of the race won’t give in.

Bernard Hinault rides straight towards the tricolour jersey. The peloton washes up half a minute later after a long pursuit. Guimard has seen enough. Hinault has something special. However, this had all been crystal clear one year earlier. But the debut season of the young Breton cycling talent Bernard Hinault had passed all but unnoticed.

THE GLUTTON FROM YFFINIAC Planguenoual, 1971. Somewhere between SaintBrieuc and Cap Fréhel, the sixteen-year-old Bernard Hinault rides his first ever race along rolling, windswept Brittany roads. The result speaks for itself. A win for the budding talent from Yffiniac, a neighbouring village about 10 kilometres away. The train has left the station and can’t be stopped. The same scenario repeats itself that year in Merléac, Melrand and Lamballe. Almost always the same rider in the number one position. Twenty races, twelve victories. Suddenly all the locals are talking about Bernard Hinault. But the young Hinault knows all too well that one swallow doesn’t make a spring, and the following year he comes back even more determined. The counter stops at 19 wins. Impressive results, and the same goes for the performances. One that appeals most to the imagination is the Grand Elan Breton, a difficult time trial over 60 kilometres. Hinault wins with an average speed of nearly 42km/h. He is 17. He is ‘the up and coming rider’. But 1973 is a null year. Reason? Simple, military service. On the advice of his mentor Robert Le Roux, a former gymnast and coach at Club Olympique Briochin, Hinault completes this early. The sooner

it’s done, the sooner he can refocus entirely on cycling. Hinault serves his country – after a lot of to-ing and fro-ing – in Sissone in the Picardy region. Not without problems. Joinville, the army training centre for the best athletes in France, is his destination of choice. But when his plans are foiled, Hinault is downcast. After a detour via Marseilles, he ends up in Sissonne, where he joins the 21st infantry regiment of the navy. Training goes out of the window. The pounds fly on. Hinault competes in just one race: the railway championships. It turns into a fiasco. The worst ever humiliation. For the ambitious Hinault, it’s a tragedy and something he never wants to experience again. It becomes a catalyst to a renewed sense of purpose. Once he’s finished his military service, the way to a career as a professional cyclist is wide open. Or not? He needs to earn a living too. To begin with, Hinault combines the bike with a job as a heating engineer. It barely lasts six months. From May onwards, he devotes all his attention to the bike. In 1974, Hinault finally breaks down the professional door. Hungry to succeed, he puts everything into it and reaps the rewards. The fourth stage of the Route de France 1974, a major amateur race, is one for framing. Hinault once again does not hold back, with a seemingly crazy display. At 100 kilometres from the end, he lights the afterburners. The rest have their doubts and allow the headstrong Breton to pound off on his own. They should have known better: 100 kilometres further on the stage victory goes to ... yes, Hinault. He has one second on the raging peloton. With a stage win and second place overall in the prestigious Route de France, he has earned his spurs. A win in the French Amateur Track Pursuit Championship does the rest. Sonolor-Gitane presents him with

Left: A man with an opinion, thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Bernard Hinault all over. From a young age, he goes his own way and follows his own ideas without any qualms.

Right: Even at a young age, Bernard Hinault stands out with some stunning performances. The French junior championships in 1972 is a perfect example.

a contract. Hinault jumps at the opportunity. On 1 October 1974, his dream comes true: he joins the professional ranks. With 36 victories between 1971 and 1974, including one season of almost complete inactivity, Hinault has made his mark.

IN GUIMARD’S LINE OF SIGHT At this time, Sonolor has been a fixture in the pro peloton for several years. None other than Jean Stablinski, world champion in 1962, leads the troops. As a former lieutenant to Jacques Anquetil, Hinault’s idol, Stablinski is in Hinault’s good books to start with. Thus it is that at the end of 1974, he’s teammates with Lucien Van Impe, Mariano Martinez and Jose De Cauwer for a few months. He earns a salary of 2500 francs.

Cyrille Guimard discovers Hinault at a young age. The two go on to have a successful but explosive working relationship.

It’s not long before people are talking about the barely 20-year-old Hinault. On 3 October 1974, in his first race as a pro, he rides a stormer of a time trial in the French stage race Étoile des Espoirs. Over a distance of 20 kilometres, Hinault demonstrates his racing ability, his strength, his perseverance. He finishes second, some 58 seconds behind the winner Roy Schuiten. A full 20 seconds later, an intrigued Cyrille Guimard finishes fourth. Yet again that powerful young man he’d met in the French championship some years earlier crosses his path. Guimard and Hinault continue to go their separate ways for a while, but when Guimard hangs up his bike at the end of 1975 and opts for a place at the controls instead, their trajectories soon converge again. It’s the beginning of a successful, but also stormy collaboration between Bernard Hinault and Cyrille Guimard.

FROM STABLINSKI TO GUIMARD Bernard Hinault is not the kind of man who likes to be led and influenced by others. Not even by team leaders. No doubts, no deviations. One plan, one way. It has been the same since childhood. Even the young Bernard Hinault is uncompromising, fearless. Hinault does not shy away from imposing his will on others. He enjoys it. One of Hinault’s mottos is ‘Do it or else!’, which he uses from primary school until well after his last race. Just look at the litany of disputes and even fights between Hinault and one or more other parties. At the end of 1974, Jean Stablinski takes this 19-year-old character/hothead under his wing. That year, the Polish Frenchman is playing second fiddle in the Sonolor team to André Desvages. Yet Stablinski is still respected, thanks to his own career. Stablinski has big plans for the young Breton, including riding the Classics and entering one of the upcoming Grand Tours. In 1975, after a busy spring, Stablinski has a tough sequel for Hinault. He expects his neopro to start in the Dauphiné, the Midi Libre and the Tour de l’Aude, and after that to make his debut in the Tour de France. Hinault feels dizzy when he learns of this hectic schedule and makes a run for it. He retreats to Brittany in the knowledge that he doesn’t want to continue with Stablinski. The precociousness of ‘the Badger’. He prefers a more gradual course. The Breton has his own plans. Predictably, the clashes with Stablinski ultimately lead to a split. My way or the highway, the attitude of great champions. In 1976, Stablinski is replaced by the newly retired Cyrille Guimard, who preaches calm and steady growth. The Hinault–Guimard tandem is up and running.

THE BADGER A character, that’s the least you can say about Bernard Hinault. Always strong-willed, unrelenting, aggressive with the bike, but also surly at times. Whether this combination of qualities earned him the nickname ‘the Badger’ is debatable. Hinault himself maintains it’s a regional nickname. Typical Breton, meaning something like ‘mate’. Afterwards conveniently adopted by the rest of the peloton. An explanation that is confirmed by another source. Maurice Le Guilloux, a faithful lieutenant to Hinault for many years, and Gilles Talbourdet, both from the same region, introduced the nickname midway through the 1970s. At joint training sessions with the young Hinault, the term le Blaireau is bandied about. Hinault’s soon resigned to it. When other teammates jump on the bandwagon, and then the media gets wind of the nickname, there’s no escape. The Badger is born.

‘‘Of course Merckx won the most races, but Hinault was unbeatable when he was at the top of his game. Say they’d both done the same amount of training, Hinault would beat Merckx every time. (CYRILLE GUIMARD ON BERNARD HINAULT)

A place on the podium is not enough for the hungry Hinault. For him, it’s all about winning.

19 APRIL 1977 18

BOLT FROM THE BLUE Hinault quickly acquires a good reputation within his own country. However, outside its borders he initially remains a blank page. The upcoming French talent thus follows a conservative approach and races mainly in France during his first two seasons as a pro. He notches up quite a few victories, albeit without stirring up much interest abroad. In April 1975, just a few months into his professional career, he wins the French stage race Circuit de la Sarthe, which has been opened up to pros for the first time. It is the pinnacle of a few debut months at the top level. Hinault also demonstrates his ability and class in Paris–Bourges and the Grand Prix d’Isbergues. Seventh in Paris–Nice more or less confirms him as the top French racing cyclist of the time. It’s Hinault’s first major international race.

Bernard Hinault in the Gitane jersey, the team he will ride for during his first years as a professional.

But the saviour of French cycling is not shining quickly enough according to some. Impatient types berate his attitude. A reluctance to rush into the job strikes some people as boring and unfashionable. Together with team manager Guimard, Hinault regularly comes under pressure from French public opinion. In 1976, the pressure is relieved just in time by the mountain goat of the team. The Tour victory by teammate Lucien Van Impe gives the Gitane team some extra breathing space.

A top result that comes in the nick of time because it soon becomes clear that Hinault thrives on the sidelines. Safe from prying French eyes. A few months later he’s more than happy to engage in tit for tat with critics. The 1976 season looks pretty good after all. With around 15 victories, Hinault takes a large step forward. He chalks nearly all of them up in his home country. Hinault wins the Circuit de la Sarthe again, leads the Tour de l’Aude and the Tour de Limousin from start to finish, and triumphs in the Tour d’Indre-et-Loire and Paris–Camembert. The young Hinault also puts in a strong performance at the World Championships in Ostuni in Italy. Freddy Maertens wins. The first world title for the Fleming. Merckx beats Hinault in the sprint for fifth place. At the end of the season, the Breton is honoured as the best French rider of the past year. Welcome recognition that nevertheless creates high expectations. Hinault proves himself time after time on French roads in 1976, but has yet to achieve an international breakthrough. But this arrives in the spring of 1977. A season he starts with fifth place in Paris–Nice is followed by a remarkable decision. Hinault announces he won’t start in the Tour of Flanders. He incurs the wrath of helmsman Guimard, but it makes little impression on the ever-obstinate Hinault. He has his own plan. One that unfolds in Gent-Wevelgem.

Eddy Merckx only just beats Bernard Hinault at the World Championships in Ostuni in the sprint for fifth place. The two greatest cyclists of all time will continue to ride together in the peloton for another three years.

ONE-EYED KING IN THE LAND OF THE BLIND Organiser Georges Matthys looks nervous before the start of Gent–Wevelgem on 19 April 1977. The founder wants the best for his ‘baby’ and hopes to see another famous name punch the air in Wevelgem. However, well-paid contractual obligations of certain races throw a spanner in the works. Big names don’t show up. Freddy Maertens, Felice Gimondi and Eddy Merckx are among the absentees. Will the 39th edition of the race be a waste of time? At the start in Ghent, there’s a lot of muttering about a small Gent–Wevelgem. The favourites include Ocaña, Verbeeck, Vanspringel, Raas, Godefroot, Knetemann, Leman and Kuiper. The riders face a tough job: 277 kilometres through all kinds of weather and terrain. Mapped out but not yet tested and approved. A marathon edition starting in Ghent, passing through the Flemish Ardennes and ending with a spirited finale in Westhoek. Good for a total of 16 hills including once over the Koppenberg and twice over the Kemmelberg. It doesn’t inspire the more aggressive riders to begin with. The race stays closed for a long time; monotony is the master of ceremonies. It’s not until the first crossing of the Kemmelberg that the race comes to life. Jan Raas is the bombardier on duty. He drags seven riders along in his wake. On the way to Mesen, the breakaway consists of Jos Jacobs, Didi Thurau, Herman Van Springel, Fausto Bertoglio, André Dierickx, Gerrie Knetemann, Jan Raas and ... Bernard Hinault.

On 19 April 1977, Hinault surprises friend and foe when he wins the 39th edition of Gent–Wevelgem after a solo breakaway.

Thurau is moving heaven and earth. He can’t manage to pull away. Even his teammate Knetemann’s attempts at blocking aren’t helping. In the corner of Thurau’s eye, he keeps seeing the same silhouette:

that of Herman Van Springel. The Belgian isn’t giving the German even one millimetre of space. Slowly but surely, spats break out. The eight of them aren’t really hitting it off. Friction that Hinault uses to his advantage to slip away. Somewhere between Ghent and Wevelgem, the Frenchman begins his time trial. At Komen – ‘Comines’ to the French-speaking Hinault – the deep blue sea of fame awaits. He’s ready to show the public what he’s made of. Ready too to plant his flag outside France. Ready to take the cycling elite by storm. Initially at least, this doesn’t go down well. Racing-obsessed Flanders is dumbstruck when it hears the name Hinault. Who the hell is that 22-year-old Frenchman? The peloton reacts. But too feebly, too little and too late. In Vanackerestraat, Hinault triumphs after a magnificent solo ride of around 15 kilometres. And after nearly seven hours of racing no less. Vittorio Algeri arrives one and a half minutes later in second place, while Piet van Katwijk is third. Hinault is the first Frenchman to win in Wevelgem since his idol Jacques Anquetil in 1964. A masterly example of racing talent – yet his victory is labelled a fluke rather than a spirited performance by the man in the street and, by extension, the media. Hinault’s not afraid to add fuel to the fire afterwards. In an interview, he says that all in all it wasn’t too difficult for him to stay in the lead, and that he was surprised that the pack did not catch up with him. A reaction that’s generally not well received. However, it only increases Hinault’s determination and stubbornness. Organiser Georges Matthys wastes no time in expressing his support for the still relatively unknown winner. Earlier victories in France are eagerly cited to raise the prestige of the 22-year-old Frenchman. It doesn’t convince everyone. Until Hinault steals the limelight again five days later. And in style! Suddenly they’re over the moon in Wevelgem.

DOTTING THE I’S AND CROSSING THE T’S 24 April 1977. The streets of Liège are wet. It has poured down in Wallonia for days in the run-up to La Doyenne. So heavily it semed like the world might be swept away in a deluge. It doesn’t come to this however. A faint watery sun at the start of the race even dries the streets up here and there. The race itself is also drily matter-of-fact to begin with. In any case, Liège–Bastogne–Liège is such a marathon session that the first half of the race is always restrained. There are still some notable skirmishes on the Stockeu, with the lieutenants being the first to cross swords: Pollentier, De Witte and Bruyère are the ambassadors for Maertens, De Vlaeminck and Merckx. Hinault glides along between the wheels. Safe and for the time being unobtrusive in the shadow of the great men. At the top of the Haute Levée, the frontrunners have a nice lead. The strenuous work in the Ardennes has taken its toll on the rearguard. The race couldn’t be any more wide open. The list of casualties includes some big names. Godefroot falls flat on his face, Raas sees stars and Thévenet too knows it’s not his day. Ditto Verbeeck. The race creeps slowly but surely towards the finale, the climax approaches. Out in front, the riders have converged again. A select group of favourites has now been in the saddle for around six hours. The final scene finds a fitting backdrop. As the weather turns, the drama of the last half-hour is fought out amid rain, sleet and melting snow. Only men of steel are still in the running for the victory. Lesser quality alloys surrender. Another 15 kilometres and the Côte des Forges coming up, Didi Thurau is

A visually stunning celebration of the life of legendary French cyclist Bernard Hinault.

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