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A Clean Break: My Story
Actions du livre
Commencer à lire- Éditeur:
- Bloomsbury Publishing
- Sortie:
- Jul 3, 2014
- ISBN:
- 9781472910370
- Format:
- Livre
Description
Having been seen as a possible champion, his instinctive and stubborn refusal to dope saw him outstripped in physique, stamina and speed by men he'd once equalled or exceeded. His willingness to denounce the doping culture set him against the entire ethos of professional cycling: owners, management and his peers - the likes of Lance Armstrong, Richard Virenque, Christophe Moreau.
A year later, Bassons' career was over. Having clashed publicly with other riders - notably with Armstrong during the 1999 Tour de France - and written in French newspapers of his disbelief and disgust, Bassons found himself exhausted and exiled - chewed up and spat out by the sport he loved.
First published in French in 2000 and now updated following recent revelations from Armstrong, Tyler Hamilton and other high-profile figures, A Clean Break is unmissable reading for all cycling fans. It offers a unique and heartbreaking take on the subject.
Informations sur le livre
A Clean Break: My Story
Description
Having been seen as a possible champion, his instinctive and stubborn refusal to dope saw him outstripped in physique, stamina and speed by men he'd once equalled or exceeded. His willingness to denounce the doping culture set him against the entire ethos of professional cycling: owners, management and his peers - the likes of Lance Armstrong, Richard Virenque, Christophe Moreau.
A year later, Bassons' career was over. Having clashed publicly with other riders - notably with Armstrong during the 1999 Tour de France - and written in French newspapers of his disbelief and disgust, Bassons found himself exhausted and exiled - chewed up and spat out by the sport he loved.
First published in French in 2000 and now updated following recent revelations from Armstrong, Tyler Hamilton and other high-profile figures, A Clean Break is unmissable reading for all cycling fans. It offers a unique and heartbreaking take on the subject.
- Éditeur:
- Bloomsbury Publishing
- Sortie:
- Jul 3, 2014
- ISBN:
- 9781472910370
- Format:
- Livre
À propos de l'auteur
En rapport avec A Clean Break
Aperçu du livre
A Clean Break - Christophe Bassons
out.
Chapter 1
Love and l’Eau Claire
I became a professional rider on 1 January 1996. I was 21 years old. I was talented. I was ambitious. I was eager to be a success and convinced I would achieve this. I was one of those snotty-nosed kids who occasionally blossom and go on to become champions.
I had been courted by cycling’s elite for the previous six months. In June 1995, while I was doing my military service with the Joinville battalion, the unit that has traditionally welcomed budding athletes (including footballers Michel Platini and Bixente Lizarazu, tennis star Henri Leconte, and cyclists Laurent Fignon and Richard Virenque), Yvon Madiot asked to meet me. He told me he had spotted me at the Circuit des Mines, where I had just won the opening stage. Generally, only the sport’s cognoscenti are aware of this race, which takes place in France’s eastern province of Lorraine and is considered a real test by directeurs sportifs because it allows talented young riders to cross swords with seasoned professionals. Yvon offered me the opportunity to sign a contract with the team he was putting together with his brother, Marc. The new outfit was set to be launched in 1996 and was sponsored by the La Française des Jeux lottery, a prosperous backer, who, it later became apparent, was a generous one too.
‘You race like a rookie, but you interest me,’ Yvon told me.
His offer caught me on the hop. Before meeting him, the idea of turning professional hadn’t occurred to me. I had got my first racing licence in 1992 with the Union Vélocipédique de Mazamet, the club nearest to my home. I had joined them because the licence enabled you to get a reduction on the cost of entry to mountain bike events organised in the area. I was already showing I had impressive natural ability on the bike and was becoming more and more focused on the discipline. Some friends suggested that I give road racing a go. I took them up on that and began to stand out quite quickly. I won some races and earned myself a nickname – ‘The Cannon’. I climbed up through the amateur ranks with ease, without stopping to wonder where this path was taking me. I continued with my university studies at the same time, with a view to finding myself a job. Consequently, I was surprised that someone was offering me the chance to make a living out of my hobby.
Over the following two months I got used to the idea. In fact, it wasn’t long before I was viewing it with real enthusiasm. On 15 August, Yvon Madiot met up with me again during the French time trial championships at Les Herbiers in the Vendée. His project was taking shape; with a sizeable budget to play with, the team was destined to play a leading role. Madiot told me he had made contact with Bjarne Riis, the Danish rider who had just finished third in the Tour de France. He also mentioned that negotiations had been going on with the two Jalabert brothers, Laurent and Nicolas, who were not only from the same area as me, but had even emerged from my club. I also remembered the name of a German rider who was the same age as me. He was called Jan Ullrich. He had been the world amateur champion in 1993. He was a very promising boy. We both represented an investment in the future.
In order to convince me of the credibility of his project, Yvon Madiot also mentioned other riders, from both France and Italy, with a look of satisfaction on his face. I adopted what I hoped was a knowing expression as he recited a string of names as references. I didn’t dare confess my ignorance of the sport for fear I might seem like a dimwit.
As much as cycling captivated me, watching a race on the television or perusing results in the paper bored me. My family simply weren’t that interested in sport, and I rarely watched the Tour on television. Sometimes I would cast a half-interested glance at a mountain stage or catch a glimpse of some coverage on the evening news, but on the small screen I was only able to pick out one rider from the labouring mass. That was Miguel Indurain, whose personality demanded my respect. He became my idol because of the aura he had, but I would have been totally incapable of reeling off his palmarès.
Everything that had gone before the Indurain era was unknown to me, shrouded in the mists of time, which cloaked for me the deeds of Fausto Coppi and Bernard Thévenet, Eddy Merckx and Laurent Fignon. Only Bernard Hinault stood out clearly from this muddled pantheon. Later on, I knocked Marc Madiot’s self-esteem during the course of a meal when he was recounting a story about Paris–Roubaix.
‘You won Paris–Roubaix?’ I asked him.
‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘No, I’m not, honestly!’
‘I won it twice, son!’
‘My apologies, I didn’t know.’
‘Where have you been?’ he asked, clearly upset that someone could be so naïve as to be unaware of the two biggest highlights of a career that he loved to talk about.
What I did retain, when reflecting on the long list of heavyweights mentioned by Yvon, was the simple fact that I had been chosen to be part of an esteemed assembly. I felt very proud of that. My self-esteem was also boosted by the terms of the contract. La Française des Jeux had offered me a two-year deal earning 25,000 francs gross per month. I made some enquiries after our first meeting and found out that the salary of a new pro was generally less than half this amount. Being offered such an attractive package meant much more than all the plaudits I had received. I ended up sharing unreservedly the fabulous opinion others had of me!
That same day I won the title and became the French amateur time trial champion. In this discipline, the rider’s only rival is the clock, which means that it clearly establishes the intrinsic ability of each competitor. This success didn’t help to get my feet back on the ground.
My new contract didn’t go down well in one quarter. Michel Thèze, my coach at the Joinville battalion, was putting his own team together with a view to launching it the following season. He had been looking for backers for months.
At that time, French cycling was in a huge slump. Lots of teams were living on their wits, just scraping by, and they lived with the permanent fear that the sponsors they needed to enable them to keep going simply would not appear. As for the sponsors, they were cold-shouldering the sport despite the ongoing exploits of Laurent Jalabert, Luc Leblanc and Richard Virenque. Most of these riders had found sanctuary with foreign teams, based in Spain, Italy or Andorra, which had generous backers behind them.
Within this context of crisis, Michel Thèze had managed to get a number of investors in southern France to commit to establishing a team that would be called Force Sud. He was now trying to put together the roster for this team and was counting on me joining it.
When I told my coach I had already signed with a rival outfit, he went mad with rage, accusing me of deserting him. I was completely thrown by the virulence of his reaction and felt upset by it. The next day, after thinking it over, I reached a conclusion: the fact that my coach was so upset by my defection underlined my qualities even more. I was some kind of star who everyone wanted to get their hands on.
Two weeks later, I was hit by a bombshell. I received a call from an embarrassed Yvon Madiot. He told me his ship was not setting sail. Initially, I didn’t understand.
‘There won’t be a team next season. The sponsor has withdrawn.’
My mind was swimming. I was reeling. I actually collapsed into a chair. I was so distracted I only half-listened to his explanations for the withdrawal. Yvon told me how Cyrille Guimard, who was also looking for financial backing for the following season, had hatched a plot designed to scupper the project. He told me about some ministers not agreeing with the deal, about scheming within the government.
The pursuit of sponsors was so fierce at that point that it wasn’t simply a case of finding one of these rare birds. If you got your hands on one, you had to prevent it being pinched by a rival. The Madiot brothers and Guimard had hated each other for years. Yvon told me a few rather incoherent stories, characterised by rifts and low blows. I didn’t understand anything about these long-standing feuds. I was aware of just one thing: our agreement was null and void. The young wolf was now without a contract.
I was completely distraught. It was the first setback I’d had since I’d thrown my leg over a bike. I railed against the betrayal. As an amateur, I simply rode the bike and I won. I was good, and without any other aspirations. But a dream opportunity had suddenly been laid before me, only to be killed off just as quickly. Three months earlier, I hadn’t had the slightest idea of a professional career in cycling. Now it was my only aspiration. Was someone now going to prevent me from achieving my destiny?
Fortunately, Michel Thèze wasn’t one to bear grudges. He offered me another chance to join him. I signed the contract immediately. The financial terms weren’t as advantageous as those on the previous one. I was going to earn 15,000 francs gross per month, which was considerably less but still above average – not that I cared much about the money. The key thing was that I would finally be able to join the peloton, which had become my raison d’être, even before I’d had any experience of