EoinC said:I've gathered in all the guinea pigs and we're rubbing our hands (and paws), eagerly awaiting your next installment (to be titled "When Men were Men and Guinea Pigs lived on the balcony"😉.
The thing that struck me about the passage you regailed us with is that the riders were actually enjoying it! I guess, if you've not long been out of wintering in the trenches of the French battlefields, an extended jaunt across the countryside on a fixie may seem like fun.
Many of the feats of earlier times (and I'm not just talking about cycling), do make us look like Nancy Boys now.
C'mon, Lim - Put those speed-typing lessons to good use and lay another extract upon the cybertable.
Have a good time in Sicily.
Eoin
Les Sables (Brest) - D'Olonne 28th June 1924 :
There are some freaks who eat bricks, others who can survive eating frogs.
I've seen fakirs eating moten lead. These are normal people compared to this lot of cyclists !
These nutters that I am with are lunatics who left Paris on 22nd June to eat
a staple diet of dust. I know these people well for I have travelled with them.
We ate 381km of dust between Paris and LeHarve, 354kms of dust between
Le and Cherbourg, 405kms of dust between Cherbourg and Brest.
When you get a taste for it, you just can't get enough of it.
Even the waiter at our hotel in Brest, after taking our orders, was sympathetic.
At 1.00am he knocked on our door.
"It's 1.00am - time to eat dust" he cried.
"How many kilomtres to cycle today" he asked.
"412 kms".
"Hurray" shouts everyone, tumbling out of bed, delirious with joy.
We crossed Finistere and proceeded on through departments of the Morbihan, lower Loire abd the Vendee.
The dust in the Morbihan is poor quality compared to Finistere and the Lower Loire dust is a bit more juicy. As for the Vendee dust, it is a real delicacy.
I only have to think about the Loire dust and my mouth waters.
I just hope that the dust in the Landes is as good (next stage).
The pilgrims of the TDF have reached their four station. They carry on through the Landerneau at a very fast pace during the middle of the night.
It is the only town where there is no welcome whatsoever. It's 2.30am and Lnderneau is fast asleep and still. It's vert cold. Chateaulin is asleep too (next town). The wheel of 100 bikes crunch over the ground. At Quimper, the whole of Cornwall is hanging out of their windows. One Breton excited to see the site of the cyclists said "It's sad. We put 250,000 franc on a horse for a two minute race and men who work a lot harder than any horse get nothing".
The sun begins to appear on the horizon as dawn breaks.
"No way can we ride with Gods gold medal (the Sun) galring in our eyes"
says Alavoine. The peloton ride on in to the Lorient.
We pass a wild beast at the side of the road, who is pulling feverishly at rubber.
It is the yellow jersey Bottecchia. He's punctured a tyre. To get the tyre off quickly, he is tearing at it with his teeth (Limerickman - unbelievable!).
Bellenger remounts quickly after puncturing. He shouts as he passes "They're blowing it apart at the head of the peloton".It's Thys (Limerickman - one of my heros) shaking things up. He escapes with two fellow convicts Frantz and
Archelais, riding side by side.
Some drama, Frantz is told to keep the speed high. I don't know why Archelais is up there. He's a shadow man, a rider with no team, he rides by himself with no manager, no thighs, no calves, no nothing.
At the stage finish each day, he finishes in a terrible state, crying like a child.
But he always finishes each stage, trying to win and competing with riders from trade teams (trade team is a team that has support and riders).
You feel like pushing Archelais. Franyz is very strong. If Frantz claimed that he was tired, the telegragh wires by the side of the road would laugh.
We would be able to send our reports from Brest to nantes.
One rider in distress. "My bum is killing me. I have been toughening it for 6 months" He gets angry "I am riding against my bum".
At Riche-Bernard, aanother shadow man goes by. He's very far behind the peloton, he;s punctured many times. He shouts out happily "I'm not getting off any more to go looking for bracken" He's riding on punctured, flat tyres.
The leaders keep up the speed.
In the heat the peloton gives off a smell of hot rubber. The irders grab their drink bidons and tip them over their heads.
Faces streaked with dust and water. Very handsome they look too !
After 16hrs and 28 minutes cycling and 421kms covered, Felix Goethal wins the stage.
Our fiend Archelais finished 32nd.
The minutes tick by as the crowd of people in D'Olonne watch and applaud as
all the riders finish.
What a terrible sight it is to see grown men finish in such a terrible state.
But the public cheer them all, as fervently as the winner Goethal.
One hour passes and still they come by. Two hours pass and the frequenct diminshes but everyone knows that there 97 brave souls competing.
And still the crowds wait to cheer and encourage.
Three hours pass and still the crowd wait.
After 4hrs 17minutes the final three riders finish this stage.
Cassini, Burgat and Guidi pass the finish line to tumultuous applause.
Their eyes sunk in to their heads, the riders can barely raise a smile such is their exhaustion.
