Fallen Angel by William Fotheringham

Author:William Fotheringham
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781409077459
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2009-10-18T16:00:00+00:00

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The 1950 Paris–Roubaix and Flèche Wallonne saw Coppi at his finest. The two Classics had completely different characteristics: Roubaix a long, flat slog with lengthy sections of cobbled roads; Flèche a shorter but tougher slog over the Ardennes hills. Of the two, Coppi’s victory in Paris–Roubaix came to be seen as a turning point, a demonstration of the way he had transformed cycling since the war.

He had been outwitted – to his intense annoyance – by Gino Bartali in Milan–San Remo in mid-March, but conversely a few weeks later Roubaix went entirely to plan in spite of foul weather, wind and rain. Early on, he was sheltered from the wind by Carrea, Oreste Conte and Fiorenzo Crippa, and Carrea and Serse pushed him time after time, unseen by the race referees, who were keeping dry in their cars. When a crash happened, it was Ettore Milano who led Coppi from the back of the peloton to the front to keep out of trouble. Meanwhile, Conte was seen to have his pockets full of race food: tarts, rice cakes, honey sandwiches – ‘enough to withstand a siege’, Pierre Chany noted.

The food was passed to Coppi just before the feeding station in Arras. Here, as the peloton collected food bags from support staff, most of the riders had to slow down. Coppi did not have to pick up a bag and attacked in pursuit of an earlier escape. There was chaos as the other favourites tried to launch a chase. Within a few kilometres, Coppi was in the lead, with only the Frenchman Maurice Diot, one of the earlier break-aways, for company. They shared the pacemaking, until Diot refused to collaborate, on the grounds that his team-mate Van Steenbergen (he of the previous year’s world championship) was leading the chase behind.

Chany takes up the story: ‘Fausto moved instantly right up to the edge of the pavement and left Diot with no shelter. He accelerated once to get the measure of Diot, a second acceleration shook the robust Maurice, a third attack stunned him. Coppi’s race was over and the demonstration began.’ In the final forty-five kilometres, ‘on roads that were barely fit to ride on’, Coppi opened a three-minute gap on the Frenchman and nine minutes on Van Steenbergen. Whatever Diot achieved on his bike is now forgotten, apart from the words he said on finishing that race. ‘I’ve won!’ ‘What about Coppi?’ ‘Coppi is in a different race. I feel I have won.’

Coppi’s win in Flèche Wallonne was even more crushing: at roughly half-distance, he repeated the attack at the feed station that had worked so well en route to Roubaix and again raced alone until he caught up with an early escape on one of the climbs. He then took out his water bottle, drank a little, sprayed the back of his neck, took out an orange and ate it, while two of the earlier escapees tried desperately to hold his pace. Having cooled down and had a

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