MERCKX 69 Tonny Strouken & Jan Maes
Nothing will ever be the same again, and there will only ever be one Eddy Merckx in cycling history. That is the mystery of creation, the mystery of which Mallarmé once said, ‘It is extraordinary that one can put so much brilliance into one vessel.’ Jacques Goddet, former Tour Director
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FOREWORD Merckx 69 is a tribute book with a dual title. On the one hand it refers to the age of the greatest cyclist ever, on the other to the unique cycling year that was 1969. This duality fits perfectly with the character of Eddy Merckx: a friendly and exceptionally warm man in person, but an animal on a bike, at least where his opponents were concerned. He combined the two characteristics necessary to become a champion: class and character.
From the moment he entered the professional peloton, Merckx rose systematically to the top. In 1969, it became clear that he was more than just a winner. He did not just push back the boundaries of his own abilities, he pushed back the boundaries of cycling itself. Half-measures and compromise were punished mercilessly. Merckx did not just win, he steamrollered the opposition, any time, any place. Whether it was a spring race, an autumn classic, some big prize or other in an obscure village or a criterium, he always raced. He rode for himself, in order to win, not to make others lose. However unequal the battle may have been for his opponents, it was always an honest duel. Every race showed exemplary cycling. Merckx rode with passion and fire and encouraged his companions to follow him. Unfortunately for them, many were left behind on the barren plain of failure. The supremacy he demonstrated in 1969 was unprecedented. He could consistently turn out the kind of performance that great predecessors such as Bartali, Coppi, Anquetil and Van Looy could only realise occasionally. He had total dominance over cycling history and added a new dimension to it: Merckxism.
It is wonderful to be able to express one’s admiration unreservedly. The world was as it should be. Merckx ruled without words and was laden with superlatives. Tour director Goddet spoke of a new standard and launched the word ‘Merckxissimo’. His opponents tried to follow him, his fans were packed in together along the sides of the route full of admiration. Yellowed photos are the silent witnesses to this eternal memory. Look and you will see. Tonny Strouken’s iconic pictures do not just have exceptional artistic value, they also offer a unique insight into life at the time. For years Tonny has waited for the right moment to give the greatest cyclist ever a fitting gift. 69 was the right number.
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This book, which contains the best pictures from his extensive archive, will take you back to that special year. Strouken rode on Merckx’s wheel for hours on end. His photographer’s eye saw things that other people did not notice, he rode along with the greatest ever and could smell ‘le parfum de la vitesse’. The only significant event Tonny Strouken did not witness was that particularly dramatic 9 September, when Merckx suffered a fall at Blois. Given the historic importance of this date, this book contains a number of photographs taken by other photographers.
Let’s think eagerly back to that unique cycling year of 1969. Let’s sit on his wheel as privileged witnesses. We can even go beyond the duality of ‘enjoying Merckx’s draft’, a feeling that was out of this world for cyclists. Let’s go back to the year that was perhaps the best of Merckx’s career. His domination was absolute. Yet two events overshadow Merckx’s rule: the aforementioned Blois and the ‘Savona doping case’. At those two points in time, his humanity was tangible. At those moments, he was just a man like any other.
1969 is a year that we should cherish with nostalgia and huge gratitude, not least because of those two setbacks. It was the year of Eddy Merckx, the year that saw the birth of unconditional love for this exceptional athlete.
Thank you, Mr Merckx, for so much beauty, Jan Maes
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With Jacques Anquetil and Rik Van Looy, Tour of Sardinia, 1967
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Tour de France, 1969
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12 MOMENTS AIX-EN-PROVENCE COL D’EZE MILAN – SAN REMO TOUR OF FLANDERS LIEGE – BASTOGNE – LIEGE CESENATICO – SAN MARINO SAVONA WOLUWE-SAINT-PIERRE LUCHON – MOURENX VILLE NOUVELLE ENTRY INTO BRUSSELS BLOIS LETTER TO HIS MOTHER
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1
Aix-en-Provence
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Eddy Merckx turned professional in 1965. On 11 May the same year, he won his first race at Vilvoorde. However, the presence of the great Rik Van Looy made it hard for the newcomer to feel at home, and one year later he moved on to ride for the French team Peugeot. In the early spring of 1966, he won his first major classic: Milan–San Remo. It was the beginning of an incredible roll that would see him win seven of the ten editions of that race which he took part in. Over time, Merckx grew in maturity and developed to the highest possible level.
In 1967, he won Milan–San Remo again, as well as Gent–Wevelgem, La Flèche Wallonne and the World Championships in Heerlen. In spring 1968, Merckx won his first Paris–Roubaix. This is a list of achievements that many cyclists can only dream of, even at the end of their career. It took Merckx just a few years. ‘The Cannibal’ had yet to really get going. The early years were over; the golden years were about to begin.
1 June 1968 provided final confirmation of what everyone already knew. On the sheer flanks of the Tre Cime di Lavaredo, and in the middle of a furious snowstorm, he rode everyone off his wheel, thereby laying the foundations for victory in his first Giro d’Italia. This was quite simply one of the greatest chapters in his career and in cycling history. It was clear that Merckx had now come of age. His opponents looked forward to the next racing season with keen interest and no small amount of trepidation.
1969 looked sure to be a vintage year. It did not disappoint.
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With Ferdinand Bracke, Trofeo Baracchi, 4 November 1967
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17 February 1969 Dear Mr Merckx,
It really wasn’t cycling weather today. The freezing rain beat down relentlessly
Can I ask you a question? Is it true you’re an art-lover? I’ve heard you’re an
onto my face. The icy chill didn’t just deprive me of my remaining bodyheat,
admirer of the Spanish painter Miró. Are you fond of the paintings of Vincent
it also robbed me of my enjoyment of the ride. That unquenchable urge – the
Van Gogh too? He painted until his number was up. Like a man possessed, like
characteristic of a champion – had long since been washed away down some
a prisoner of his own mastery. Only a few people understood him. The rest were
drain. My mood had gone in the same direction as the temperature. The
confused because he spoke a language they didn’t understand. The language of
kilometre counter looked like it was frozen and didn’t seem to be increasing. Is
genius. His brother Theo, he understood him. He understood him because he
that stupid thing broken or what ... ? No, the problem wasn’t the bike but the
believed unquestioningly in his brother’s mission. He understood him because
man on the bike. I was longing for that one sound: the crunch of the pebbles
he loved him and admired him.
on the drive. Shivering I open the garage door, leaving a trail of drops from my sodden clothes in the wake of my tired steps. The click of the cleats on the
You won today in the place where he used to paint. You won today in the
polished floor falls silent. My gaze falls on the photo next to the bike rack and
place where he lived and fought with himself and the criticisms of others. He
the pair of spare tyres: a photo of you in a soaking wet Peugeot jersey climbing
was admitted, at his own request, into an asylum in Saint-Rémy, cut off from
the legendary Tre Cime di Lavaredo, two years ago now.
‘normal’ people. It must be difficult to bear the status of genius. It’s not given to many people, and often excluded by society. Out of misunderstanding, jealousy and stupidity. Will your opponents try to exclude you too? Will they try to
The warm shower doesn’t just make me feel better, it floods my mind with
sideline you because you surpass them? I’ll put it in writing: they’re just jealous!
an unusual thought. You looked into the flower girl’s eyes for the first time today. An insignificant preparation race in the south of France. What was that
I know you don’t have the time to reply to letters. You don’t write, you don’t
place called again? Aix-en-Provence. That was where your new season began,
paint, you pedal. But the way you pedal is an art. Perhaps I should reword
there in God’s retirement clime. I wonder how often this scene will be repeated
that: you have mastered the art of cycling like no other. Art is a higher form of
this year. Is Claudine ever jealous? Do you always bring the flowers home for
knowledge, you know. You’re an artist on the bike.
her? I expect not. I can’t imagine a bouquet of plastic flowers like that in your house. I decide on the spot to follow you on your victory march. Not on a bike
But let me go back to the photo on the wall in my garage. Do you ever think
or in a pursuing car. No, at a respectable distance, as befits a champion and
back to your other incredible ascent of that Italian mountain? I’m sure your
his faithful supporter. However odd the thought might seem, I’ve made my
opponents do. They won’t forget 1 June 1968 on the Tre Cime di Lavaredo
decision: from now on I will write you a letter at regular intervals.
in a hurry. The memory probably wakes them up at night, bathed in sweat.
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They hoped it was a bad dream. Unluckily for them it wasn’t. You outflanked
Sometimes I wonder what your favourite jersey is. Is it the one you haven’t
them, demoted them to ordinary footsoldiers. You ruled like never before, even
worn yet? The precious yellow one with Henri Desgrange’s initials on it? Or
if you did so unconsciously. You don’t want to offend your opponents, quite
would you only really enjoy it during the race itself? Only on your bike – an
the contrary. You have a lot of respect for them as kindred spirits. Except there
instrument of torture for your opponents, a means of transport for us and a
can only be one god in the peloton. I still remember the words of that Italian
tool for you. The fanfare on the podium is probably not much more than an
journalist. Do you know Bruno Raschi? Did you hear what he said about you?
irritating adjunct as far as you’re concerned, not to mention all the obligatory
No? Allow me to recall what he said here: ‘I saw him at work in snow, wind and
signatures.
storms. I drove behind him. I saw how he overtook riders who’d broken away. I saw something unique: the directeur sportifs in the following cars stopped to
You just wanted to be a cyclist. Nothing more.
applaud him. When a champion gets his opponents to stop and clap him, he has reached the top in his sport.’
Or am I wrong?
I don’t believe that Italian journalist. I don’t believe you reached the top last year. I’m convinced you have other surprises up your sleeve for us this year.
With heartfelt respect,
I can’t wait. Your opponents may well have a different opinion, but that doesn’t
Jan
bother me. As Gino Bartali put it when he saw you at work in the Tour of Sardinia earlier that year: ‘Lui è molto forte!’
Life is in fact a sequence of predetermined actions: you arrive on your own, you exist on your own and you depart on your own. Perhaps your opponents don’t understand (yet). This is lucky for them. But it’s the same in a race: you set off on your own, you ride on your own and you arrive on your own. You don’t make it easy for them. But you and I know that already. You just accept the part about being a star. ‘Il faut aimer sa profession.’
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Tre Cime di Lavaredo ascent, Giro d’Italia, 8 June 1967
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Tour of Sardinia, 1968
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Civitavecchia, Tour of Sardinia, 24 February 1968
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2
COL D’EZE
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Paris–Nice was the first big meeting of the new racing season. Merckx had not been firing on all cylinders in the previous year. He had injured a knee in a fall during the last stage of the Tour of Sardinia, forcing him to pull out of Paris–Nice 1968. Nonetheless, his move from Peugeot to an Italian team at the beginning of that year had been an important step. At Faema, everything was scrutinised, right down to the last detail. Medical care and nutrition played just as important a role as training and competing. The young Merckx listened attentively to the advice of his teammate, future world champion Vittorio Adorni. This new approach saw to it that his competition weight went down, which improved his performance as a climber. With the help of the Italians, the rough diamond was polished into a dazzling jewel.
Merckx wanted to put these improvements to the test. A glittering field, terrible weather conditions and an extremely difficult course were, being Merckx, all in his favour. From the start he took control of the competition, and set off as leader on the last-day time trial up the Col d’Eze. It was more than just another win. It took him only 20 minutes, 40 seconds and two hundredths of a second, but in that short time he did more than just win: he assumed power. Nevertheless he must have had second thoughts. Not as a champion, but as a human being: should he spare the great Jacques Anquetil the humiliation of overtaking him in front of thousands of French supporters? The champion seized the upper hand. It was a race, after all.
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Time trial on the Col d’Eze, 16 March 1969
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16 March 1969 Dear Mr Merckx, Do you have a calendar on the wall at home where you cross off the days with a
advantage in the old king extolling a new prince. It’s not just cordial, it also
red pen? I’d love to see it, your calendar. Or does it just exist in your head? So
raises him to a higher level, to the level of myth.
your opponents can’t see when they’re going to have to rely on God rather
than themselves. Maybe it’s better that way. If they could see the marked dates
However, winning Paris–Nice wasn’t going to be easy. There were all kinds
on your calendar, they might lose the will to live. They would feel trapped,
of obstacles in the way. All the great champions were present, except Bitossi
paralysed, and go knowingly to their defeats like martyrs. Supporters are always
and the world champion Adorni. There were five Tour winners at the start:
looking for some kind of prop. A hero who dies a martyr’s death at least creates
Anquetil, Aimar, Gimondi, Pingeon and Janssen. Poulidor was there too – not
sympathy. But what use is that to you? Let your opponents believe what they
a Tour winner but an exceptional athlete all the same. A rider who rode under
need to. It’s better to let your legs do the talking.
the star of the perfect trinity: strength, talent and perseverance. It was as if
they’d drawn up a mutual agreement. They took it in turns to attack and try to
Today you reset the course, you took absolute control. I think you know this
break you. In vain. They had no chance of succeeding and had to bow to your
yourself. Only, you’re not going to shout about it. No, you’d rather keep it
dominant athletic ability.
yourself and in training you’ll work even harder. Reinforcing is a higher form of winning, you see. Do you remember Liège–Bastogne–Liège a few years
They say you won the toughest Paris–Nice in history. The toughest, because
ago? As a young champion, you were confronted with your own limits. Do you
you entered into a lonely battle of one against all. The organisers made it
remember what you said then? ‘I know now what racing means: when Anquetil
difficult for you too. The route, a series of time trials and daily climbs, ensured
pulled away, I sat on his rear wheel, but I just couldn’t follow his pace.’ Then,
that only champions – those who had combined their innate ability with good
‘le Maître’ shook you off his wheel. That was then.
preparation – were high in the classifications. It goes without saying that you
rose to the occasion. You had worked hard to be ready for the Tour of Valencia
Times change. This morning I was reading a French newspaper. I’d like to
and all you had to do here, in la douce France, was switch to a higher gear in
share with you what I read. ‘I’ve never met a rider who has commanded a
order to inflict defeat on this elite club of top riders.
tour in such a way. Eddy Merckx was the best in every discipline. Against
the clock, in the mountains and in the sprints. The way in which he
As I said earlier, they didn’t make it easy for you. You probably had doubts
dominated through the force of his personality was without precedent.’ Does
yourself that first evening. That ear infection caused you a lot of pain and
it give you pleasure to read that? These are the words of Anquetil, a five-
undeniably undermined your strength. I heard that on the morning of the
time Tour winner looking for a second wind. Maybe he can’t help but
penultimate day – it must have been in Hyères – you finally admitted it, that
be reminded of the time when he himself took over from that Italian
for the first few days you were in excruciating pain, but you didn’t let on. You
campionissimo? Acceptance is always the first form of rapprochement.
suffered in silence. And why? Because you wanted to silence the critics. They
When the realisation comes that winning is no longer possible, there’s every
could have argued that you were just living off your exceptional innate talent and can’t hack it when more is required. Nonsense, of course.
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Still, I have another question for you. I’ve been wondering for some time
have time, take a look at the photo. Anquetil is wearing an ‘ordinary sponsor’s
whether I dare ask it. I really don’t want to be negative, and I realise that the
jersey’, a jersey without those five coloured bands. That says enough about who
year has only just begun. I know you have complete faith in those guys. I know,
the real champion is. But ... why weren’t you wearing the leader’s jersey? Was it
but still ... did you also have the feeling that your teammates weren’t quite up
because of those bands on the sleeves? Or did you just prefer your own sponsor’s
to expectations? Perhaps they just need to get used to the daily pressure. To the
jersey to the woollen leader’s jersey?
constant burden on their shoulders now that their leader has become public
But let’s go back to that internal conflict. Is it in your genes or is it what people
enemy number one of the peloton. It’ll be okay, you know best. They’ll fight for
call that irresistible urge? In civilian life, you’re always ready to listen to people
you till they drop. There will definitely come a time when your opponents will
and extend the hand. You’d probably find it easier to climb a high col than
envy you because of the men behind you.
say no to someone. Everyone that knows you describes you as a loyal person, a
warm man. Once you get on the bike, it’s a different story. And yet, you hardly
By the way, which stage win did you enjoy the most? Was it the victory at Le
dared look at him when you passed him. You’re well brought up, you come
Creusot, Saint-Etienne or on the Col d’Eze? I think your opponents saw the
from a secure family of shopkeepers. Hard workers with their hearts in the right
storm coming before they rode that last time trial. In the end, their attacks were
place and an innate respect for others. You don’t get much for free in life. It’s
no more than teasing. And yet, you should never underestimate a five-time
a precious gift, a quality that too few people still possess. Afterwards you said
winner of both Paris–Nice and the Tour de France. And you should know. You
apologetically: ‘If it hadn’t been about winning, I would have stayed behind
began the time trial as leader. That reassured you. They knew what they were
him.’ You meant it and I’m sure it’s true. Only I’d like to make a small point
up against, but they mainly knew who they were up against. There, on the only
if I may. You used the word ‘if’. In racing, it’s always about ‘winning’. Isn’t it?
beautiful place on the Côte d’Azur between Nice and Monaco. On the ridge
from where you can look out over the azure sea, where sky and water seem to blend in perfect harmony. Where people like to flaunt their status, where you
Congratulations and with affectionate greetings,
can have anything you want and everything is possible. At least, for the elite.
Jan
Pictures sometimes speak louder than words and numbers. That goes for races too. Do you know what I mean? That one picture where you look embarrassed. It happened 300 metres from the top. What was going through your mind? You allegedly had a moment of uncertainty. A dual thought: you had to choose between respect for a great champion and the irresistible urge towards victory. A great champion always makes the champion’s choice: to win. You were riding on the left, he was on the right. You had number 31, he had number 2. Do you know what struck me when I saw the photo? The sleeves on your jerseys. If you
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Time trial on the Col d’Eze, 16 March 1969
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A fascinating insight into one of the greatest road cyclists of all time at the pinnacle of his career, featuring previously unpublished reportage photography.
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