Battle Scars Page 16

  We motored along at 50 km/h and I started yelling at everyone in the break, ‘Come on guys, this is perfect, this is awesome, let’s get as far as we can!’ They were like a big bunch of sheep: willing to listen to anyone. A lot of guys, especially the younger ones, tend to wait for their director to tell them what to do, but it takes a long time to relay back to the team cars which numbers are in the front group. They use a lot of effort to get in the break then think, ‘Shit, what do I do now? Sit in or work?’ So I tried to get in their heads and gee them up before their director told them otherwise. It’s about keeping the guys motivated, telling them that the further we go, the better it is for them and their leader.

  So we’re humming along but I hadn’t even gone near the front; I was sitting at the back yelling at blokes. That’s the beauty of having teammates in the breakaway because Luke and Matti really kept the pressure on and after 115 km we had a gap of 4 minutes 30 seconds. All the big teams were represented in the break and I clearly remember thinking, ‘This is absolutely perfect, these guys are towing me to the finish.’ I felt more confident than I’d ever felt before.

  As we approached the first cobbled section, a 2.2 km stretch known as Troisvilles à Inchy, I decided I wanted to go in first. Milram’s Ralf Grabsch attacked the breakaway and ended up leading by about one minute by the time we got to the 2.4 km-long Arenberg forest, the heartbeat of Paris–Roubaix. But I didn’t care because it was a ridiculous move made way too early. All I wanted was to conserve energy.

  But just as we cruised into the Arenberg—bang, I got a puncture. I’d done everything perfectly then felt the vibrations through my spine, my eyeballs were rattling in my head and my back wheel was sliding around like I was on an ice-rink. I knew we had spare wheels at the end of the section but that was at least 1 km away. I parked on the right-hand side of the cobbles and thought, ‘That’s it, it’s all over.’ I was absolutely devastated because I knew the team cars were a long way behind. As I ripped my back wheel out, a support motorbike drove by and gave me a Mavic wheel. It was handy but it didn’t really go well with our equipment, so I had to ride with a dodgy rear wheel as I watched my breakaway companions ride off into the dust.

  I’d lost about a minute and a half, but what I did here was crucial to setting me up later on. In my younger days I would have time-trialled my way back to the breakaway, using all my energy on a long stretch of bitumen after the forest. But there was no way I could catch such a big group so I sat up, rolled along and ate everything that was in my pockets while I waited for the next group, which included Fabian and Tom Boonen. I was in no-man’s land as I went through the next two sections—Wallers à Helesmes and Hornaing à Wandignies-Hamage—on my own but I could hear the chasing pack coming behind me.

  When I was caught, I was pretty certain my race was done and dusted so as quickly as I could, I found Fabian and asked him how he was. He said he was okay, but I noticed a lot of salt marks all over his jersey and his shorts. Suddenly, Boonen’s Quickstep boys attacked at full gas over the next section but I was straight onto them. I looked around at everyone—Juan Antonio Flecha, Leif Hoste, Boonen—and they looked shithouse. They’d been going bloody hard to bridge that five-minute gap to me for a long time while I’d been cruising in the breakaway and refuelling after the puncture.

  Shortly afterwards, my group split again because when guys attacked on the next section they were going 100 per cent in a bid to blow the race to pieces. Our bunch was gradually dwindling, guys were crashing over water bottles that were like hand grenades on the road, but all the favourites were still together. At this point, our directors Scott and Bjarne told us to put the pressure on. It was my teammate Lars Michaelsen’s last bike race after a long and fantastic career and he was on a mission, attacking his own shadow. He went away and ended up catching the front group so things were back in our favour.

  Soon after, Scott told me to give it everything I had. Fabian was to attack, then ride across to Lars and the front group where he would fight it out for the win. As I went into the next section there was a left-hander where I was preparing to go full gas for Fabian. I don’t know what went wrong because as I came into the cobbles my front wheel flew out from under me and before I knew it, I was on my arse.

  It’s got to be one of the quickest recoveries I’ve ever done because I jumped straight up and got back on my bike within five seconds. I had punctured in the forest and now crashed in the chase group so I was really angry. I used all my rage to go flat out across the cobbles and rode past guys who just minutes before had attacked me. Suddenly I was back with Fabian and Boonen.

  I could see on their faces that they were cooked. Their jerseys were white from salt and mine was too, but I was handling the heat a lot better. I rode up next to Fabian and asked how he was. He looked at me and said, ‘Not good. You go if you can.’ Hearing those words was like floodgates bursting open. I finally had my chance.

  As I was talking to Fabian I saw Steffen Wesemann attack on the right side of the road; immediately I was out of the saddle. There was so much dust and dirt that a lot of guys didn’t see me go, and by the time they realised we’d attacked from the group, they had lost us. If you’re not on the wheel when an attack goes in these big races, you don’t want to waste energy chasing and towing everyone else along.

  I tagged onto the back of Roger Hammond and Wesemann and just sat there because there was no one left, there was daylight between us and Boonen’s group and I wasn’t going to help because we still had Michaelsen and Breschel at the front of the race. Hammond and Wesemann were yelling at me to come and help them but there was no way I was putting in any effort to catch my teammates up the road. I just sat in while they drove us along at warp speed.

  Because the breakaway had been going almost all day, it didn’t take long to catch them and we re-grouped at the front. I knew Wesemann and Hammond had just done massive efforts—they’d basically done a time-trial to bring back the break—so as soon as we caught them I could see the guys drinking. As they slowed down they were spread across the road and we were flying towards them.

  As soon as we tagged on the back, instinct kicked in. This was the moment. This was it. I had to go all-in. Everyone else in that group was nailed and I was still feeling okay.

  Once I attacked, all my cards were laid bare. If it was a game of poker, I was all-in and there was no turning back. As I attacked I saw the ‘25 km to go’ sign and thought, ‘Holy shit, that’s a long way to go on my own,’ but I was committed and was out of the seat sprinting. That’s when it hit me that I was leading Paris–Roubaix.

  After the initial adrenaline of launching the attack subsided I was hoping the guys behind me would be disorganised and disoriented in all the dust and heat. So I decided to go at 90 per cent on the cobbles, then when I hit the bitumen I’d make the difference by going at 100 per cent effort. The gap was hovering around twenty seconds for a while and the time boards I was getting were so important because I thought, ‘Am I going fast enough? Are they going to catch me?’ I wanted to get the lead to one minute because if that happened, I could still have a puncture and win the race, but also, it would be a mental blow for the guys behind me. A one-minute lead would have done their heads in and they would have conceded that they were now racing for second and third.

  I was paranoid coming through the Carrefore De L’Abre that some Belgian fan was going to wipe my head off with a giant flag. People were spraying champagne and beer on me but that didn’t worry me; my only concern was being taken out by a spectator who’d been drinking in the sun all day.

  I was trying to keep spinning the legs as much as possible because if you push a big gear you’re more likely to cramp, but it was getting harder and harder. My arms were buckled and I was petrified about puncturing or having a mechanical problem. It was excruciating. Over the radio Scotty was saying, ‘Mate, this is it, this is your day, you can win Paris–Roubaix!’ I’d made it over the cobbles with my shabby back wheel still in place a
nd that’s when I honestly started to believe that I could win. I remember thinking, ‘If I get a puncture and lose this, I’m going to retire. I know this race is called the Hell of the North but any more bad luck would be just wrong.’

  After the last section of cobbles there’s a little rise in the road, not even a hill, but a gradual climb from 4 km to go to 3 km to go. I knew when I got over that, I had it won. My body was screaming at me to stop but my legs were going left, right, left, right, come on, I’m nearly there.

  I knew Anne-Marie and Seth were in the Roubaix velodrome but I had no idea where. Throughout those last few kilometres of pain and torture, I was thinking, ‘My God, my family is in that velodrome!’ There were so many emotions going through me. But even then, I was worried about coming into the velodrome and sliding on the track because my tyres were so dusty so I took the last corner like an old grandpa. Then the crowd started roaring and it felt like I was being lifted off the ground. It was like watching the whole thing from a helicopter. There was so much relief; I’d been dreaming of winning one of these races my entire career, watched so much footage of Eddy Merckx, Sean Kelly, Franco Bellarini, Johan Museeuw and Tom Boonen winning in this velodrome. But you never think it will happen to you. A boy from Adelaide who grew up racing against his own stopwatch every night after school had just won Paris–Roubaix.

  My victory salute was not going to be a wimpy, one-armed punch; it was about ten salutes rolled into one. Crossing the line I just collapsed, I couldn’t pedal one more pedal-stroke and the guys pushed me to the podium. Everyone wants to slap you on the back and every slap feels like a Mike Tyson blow to the ribs. My body was cramping, I had dirt in my mouth and dust in my eyes.

  I shed a tear when I finally saw Anne-Marie and Seth but one of the most emotional embraces that day was with Fabian. I was in the middle of an interview with a French television crew when mid-sentence Fabian came smashing his way through the crowd and got me in a giant bear hug, then grabbed my face with both hands and looked at me with such genuine joy. We’d gone to battle, and I know this phrase isn’t used lightly but we were prepared to die for each other in these big races. Fabian nearly ripping my head off with happiness meant a bloody lot to me. There was no disappointment that he was the favourite and I had won.

  As I climbed onto the podium I looked out over the crowd and saw some riders still coming into the velodrome looking over to see who had won. I had been one of those guys so many times and now I was the one they were all looking at. I was still wearing my bike shoes and nearly fell over when I hoisted the giant rock over my head. Of all the trophies you can get in world sport—flashy rings for a basketball championship, a silver cup for a tennis grand slam and a green jacket for a golf major—this was just a piece of rock but it was so significant. It shows that this is what you’ve raced over, it was your battlefield and here’s a piece of it to remember forever.

  Another Paris–Roubaix tradition is the shower block, which was part of the original velodrome that had been there for over a hundred years. They’re ancient, concrete cubicles and most of the water is cold by the time you get in, but on every one is a tiny gold plaque engraved with the winner’s name and year. It’s a very special place; you can shower in Eddy Merckx’s cubicle or any legend of the past.

  But I didn’t have time to shower there that night because I was whisked away to a media conference and doping controls. When I got back to the team bus the first person I saw was Whitey and we shared such a special moment. To have one of my oldest mates giving me the biggest hug meant so much. As I sat there with Seth over my shoulder, I was in another world, total disbelief.

  Fabian Cancellara says the joy he felt was as if he’d won the race himself. ‘For me it felt like I had won. I was not jealous, just proud of what we’d done. It was just a pleasure.’

  For Anne-Marie, it was the first time she had seen Paris– Roubaix live. After flying to Brussels on the morning of the race, she and Seth spent the day in the team bus on their way to the velodrome in Roubaix. ‘I was sitting in the team bus watching the race on TV and Seth was fast asleep on my lap,’ Anne-Marie recalls. ‘We soon realised Stu was out the front of the breakaway and that’s when the reality started to set in that he could win. Seth was still sound asleep but with 15 km to go I had to wake him up and the team helped us get through the crowd and into the velodrome. I was standing there with Matt White, so it was good to be with such a close friend to share the experience.

  ‘I can’t explain the feeling when Stu rode into the velodrome; I had goosebumps. To be there to see the people cheering—that’s when you realise what an achievement it was. It was a beautiful day.’

  While the final kilometres of the race were unfolding in Roubaix, on the other side of the world in Adelaide in the early hours of the morning, Stuart’s parents Brian and Fay were glued to their computer waiting for constant updates.

  ‘My first reaction was to say nothing, then as the finish got closer Fay was saying, “He’s going to win this.” And I said, “Shut up, don’t say that.”

  ‘I shed a tear, I’m nearly shedding a tear now just thinking about it. It was not only that he’d won it, it was how he won it, in the classic road-race style.’

  Phil Liggett says Stuart’s effort to rejoin the breakaway after his puncture in the Arenberg forest was almost as impressive as his solo attack to win the race. ‘He punctured, disappeared from the breakaway and we just crossed him off our list because nobody ever said he came back,’ Liggett recalls of commentating that day.

  ‘And out of the bloody fog and dust, I looked at Paul Sherwen and said, “That’s O’Grady who’s attacked.” And Sherwen goes, “Where did he come from?”

  Scott Sunderland remembers having a strange feeling of confidence in the days leading up to the race that Stuart could get the job done. ‘I really felt that he was the horse we needed to back that day because if he was ever going to win a big Classic, that was the day. It was unusually hot and he was in great condition,’ Sunderland says. ‘When these opportunities come along and when that door is open, you’ve got to go through it.’

  According to Sunderland, what made the victory so memorable for the team was Stuart’s selfless attitude in the months leading into the race. ‘The thing that stands out is how he laid everything on the line in every race—in Tirreno, in Flanders—all for Fabian,’ he says. ‘Even when he was in the front group of Paris–Roubaix, until I said to him, “Stuey, go, this is your chance,” he was still riding for Fabian.

  Luke Roberts was one of Stuart’s teammates that day. The two share a special bond because they both come from Adelaide and emerged through the national track program.

  Roberts says it was a ‘special’ moment to see his longtime friend achieve his ultimate dream.

  ‘My job was done by the time we got to the second feed station at about the 200 km mark. I’d been dropped so I got in a car and we went straight to the velodrome. We saw him make his attack on the TV in the bus and once he was only a couple of kilometres away, we jumped out and ran into the velodrome to see the final lap.

  ‘I was part of the team the year before when Fabian Cancellara won, but having known Stuey for so long, and knowing how much he loved that race, made it even more special. He’s definitely one of the toughest characters in the sport; he’s had some nasty crashes and always bounced back.’

  The team decided to stay on in Kortrijk that night instead of flying home and we shared an incredible night. Lars Michaelsen—who’d been looking really good to get second place in the final race of his career—had a mechanical problem and crashed on the cobbles just before the finish. I could tell he was devastated but was doing his best to put on a happy face for the team; I really felt for him.

  We had some really nice speeches for Lars’ retirement, celebrating his commitment to the team, and I’ll be forever grateful for what he did for me. I got up and said a few quiet words, called for quite a few champagne toasts, and kept looking down in front of me and
seeing this great big bloody rock. So much goes on behind the scenes that I wanted to go around thanking each and every person on the team—whether it was the person who filled up the drink bottles, who made the food, who stood outside with spare wheels all day, or other riders who sacrificed their own hopes to help you achieve a lifelong dream. A couple of months later I bought them all a bottle of South Australia’s finest wine, a Chris Ringland 2000 shiraz, formerly known as the Three Rivers Vineyard. I wanted to give these guys something special that originated from the roads where I began my career, the Barossa Valley. It was something they could put in their cellar and in twenty years’ time crack it open and remember that special occasion when our team conquered the toughest one-day race in the world.

  But no present—not even a top-shelf bottle of red wine—could express my gratitude. I remember thanking Bjarne a hundred times for giving me an opportunity I thought I’d never get, and we spoke about our phone conversations a couple of years earlier when I was without a team. I knew that to achieve my dreams I had to be on a team like his and those dreams had come true. It really was a beautiful day.

  The following day, Stuart took his family to Disneyland, honouring a promise he’d made to Anne-Marie prior to the race. As she recalls, ‘Before the race I said to Stu, “Why don’t I come up to Paris–Roubaix and we can go to Disneyland with Seth the next day?” I was thinking that Fabian Cancellara was the favourite and Stu was working for him, so I figured he’d race that day then we’d go on a bit of a holiday.