Read Online Eddy Merckx: The Cannibal by Daniel Friebe - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Daniel Friebe
Ads: Link
Tour of Lombardy, won by Adorni’s then Salvarani teammate Gimondi. Now, by some coincidence or serendipity, Adorni was lying on a twin bed in Merckx’s hotel room,
their
hotel room, observing his young teammate through half-amused, half-admonishing eyes.
Adorni had arrived in Gavirate, dragged his suitcase through reception, up the staircase and through the door a couple of days earlier and found Merckx already fussing and fretting. ‘What are they?’ were Adorni’s first words, index finger outstretched accusingly towards the three large bags encumbering the space. ‘No, you don’t,’ he’d said without waiting for an answer. ‘Where do you think you’re going? On holiday? No, you’re not doing that. If we’re sharing the same space, it’s one suitcase each…’
Soon, it wouldn’t be luggage but an item of clothing that was bothering Adorni: the hallowed
maglia rosa
, the pink jersey awarded to the Giro leader. Two kilometres from the finish line of what should have been a non-eventful first, true stage of the 1968 Giro to Novara across the plains of Piedmont, Merckx had catapulted out from behind teammate Martin Van Den Bossche’s rear wheel and into the slipstream of a television motorbike. He had dwelled for a second, suspended mesmerically in front of the main peloton, before kicking again to finally cross the line six seconds ahead of the rest. He had then matter-of-factly made his way to the podium to exchange his world champion’s rainbow-striped jersey for the pale pink of the
maglia rosa
, the same pink jersey that was now draped over a chair in his and Adorni’s hotel room.
Before the lights went out that evening, thoughts and the conversation turned to the tactic they should now adopt over the next week, until what was predicted to be the first decisive stage of the race to Brescia.
‘
Non ti preoccupare
’ – don’t worry, Adorni told his young companion. ‘We’ll give the jersey to someone else and let their team control the race for a few days. That way you can be
tranquillo
…’
Adorni waited for an answer. Silence. He looked across to see Merckx’s lips pursed in defiance, his head shaking.
‘No no no no no.’
‘What do you mean, “No no no”?’
‘Why would we lose the jersey? The race finishes in Napoli, right? Right, well, I want to keep it until Napoli.’
A long-standing member of the International Cycling Union’s management committee, even now in his 70s, Vittorio Adorni is a frequent visitor to cycling’s major races. More often than not a sweater is draped over his high, broad shoulders and the creases ironed in his slacks are the only things sharper than his observations.
‘Eddy was adamant: he was going to lead the Giro from start to finish,’ he remembers with a smile. ‘I kept telling him,
tranquillo
.
Calmo
! But at first he wouldn’t have any of it. Then, eventually, he saw sense. He learned more in that Giro than most people learn in a career.’
For all that he would raise his voice to Merckx more than once during the ’68 Giro, Adorni was not generally known for his authoritarian style of leadership. ‘Diplomatic’, ‘gentlemanly’ or even ‘ambassadorial’ were more common descriptions. This, primarily, was why Vincenzo Giacotto had signed him a few months earlier. Giacotto wanted to ‘Italianicise’ Merckx and his racing, and Adorni had both the experience and the tact to impart a rigour that seemed to elude the Italians in everyday life, but for some reason imbued their approach to cycling. A former and possible future Giro winner in his own right, Adorni boasted another key selling point: he had spent three years in the same team as Gimondi and knew his every secret. He would therefore act not only as Merckx’s mentor, his chaperon and his domestique de luxe, but also as his informant.
Adorni was certainly under no illusions about Merckx’s potential. The previous year’s world championship road race at Herleen was, he
their
hotel room, observing his young teammate through half-amused, half-admonishing eyes.
Adorni had arrived in Gavirate, dragged his suitcase through reception, up the staircase and through the door a couple of days earlier and found Merckx already fussing and fretting. ‘What are they?’ were Adorni’s first words, index finger outstretched accusingly towards the three large bags encumbering the space. ‘No, you don’t,’ he’d said without waiting for an answer. ‘Where do you think you’re going? On holiday? No, you’re not doing that. If we’re sharing the same space, it’s one suitcase each…’
Soon, it wouldn’t be luggage but an item of clothing that was bothering Adorni: the hallowed
maglia rosa
, the pink jersey awarded to the Giro leader. Two kilometres from the finish line of what should have been a non-eventful first, true stage of the 1968 Giro to Novara across the plains of Piedmont, Merckx had catapulted out from behind teammate Martin Van Den Bossche’s rear wheel and into the slipstream of a television motorbike. He had dwelled for a second, suspended mesmerically in front of the main peloton, before kicking again to finally cross the line six seconds ahead of the rest. He had then matter-of-factly made his way to the podium to exchange his world champion’s rainbow-striped jersey for the pale pink of the
maglia rosa
, the same pink jersey that was now draped over a chair in his and Adorni’s hotel room.
Before the lights went out that evening, thoughts and the conversation turned to the tactic they should now adopt over the next week, until what was predicted to be the first decisive stage of the race to Brescia.
‘
Non ti preoccupare
’ – don’t worry, Adorni told his young companion. ‘We’ll give the jersey to someone else and let their team control the race for a few days. That way you can be
tranquillo
…’
Adorni waited for an answer. Silence. He looked across to see Merckx’s lips pursed in defiance, his head shaking.
‘No no no no no.’
‘What do you mean, “No no no”?’
‘Why would we lose the jersey? The race finishes in Napoli, right? Right, well, I want to keep it until Napoli.’
A long-standing member of the International Cycling Union’s management committee, even now in his 70s, Vittorio Adorni is a frequent visitor to cycling’s major races. More often than not a sweater is draped over his high, broad shoulders and the creases ironed in his slacks are the only things sharper than his observations.
‘Eddy was adamant: he was going to lead the Giro from start to finish,’ he remembers with a smile. ‘I kept telling him,
tranquillo
.
Calmo
! But at first he wouldn’t have any of it. Then, eventually, he saw sense. He learned more in that Giro than most people learn in a career.’
For all that he would raise his voice to Merckx more than once during the ’68 Giro, Adorni was not generally known for his authoritarian style of leadership. ‘Diplomatic’, ‘gentlemanly’ or even ‘ambassadorial’ were more common descriptions. This, primarily, was why Vincenzo Giacotto had signed him a few months earlier. Giacotto wanted to ‘Italianicise’ Merckx and his racing, and Adorni had both the experience and the tact to impart a rigour that seemed to elude the Italians in everyday life, but for some reason imbued their approach to cycling. A former and possible future Giro winner in his own right, Adorni boasted another key selling point: he had spent three years in the same team as Gimondi and knew his every secret. He would therefore act not only as Merckx’s mentor, his chaperon and his domestique de luxe, but also as his informant.
Adorni was certainly under no illusions about Merckx’s potential. The previous year’s world championship road race at Herleen was, he
Similar Books
