would be bitter and resentful as Raphael was when he returned home. He had a talent, a great talent but never got a break or the encouragement that might have made him a star. The ACBB had destroyed him. How many other great talents had been destroyed in the same way?
Encouraged by my return to form, I decided to stick it out. On the weekend that Raphael returned to Ireland I rode a three-day stage race in the north of France. It was my first stage race with the club. This was because of a French Federation rule that limited each club to one foreign rider per team. The ACBB had up to ten foreigners to choose from and I was never considered good enough, but Ostricourt changed that. Fifth on the first stage, third on the second, I became the race leader with just a seven-kilometre time trial and an afternoon stage to go. Escalon pulled out all the strokes for the time trial. I was given a special carbon-fibre bike and a one-piece racing suit for the short time trial. I was very nervous starting the test. Roche, Millar, Anderson – all had 'honoured' the ACBB in races like this one. This was my chance to join them. I blew it and lost the jersey by four seconds. Four lousy seconds. Escalon was not angry but I knew he was thinking, 'This Irish boy hasn't got it.'
I rode some evening races in Paris shortly after. It was while returning home from one of these that I heard the news. My friend David Walsh, who was working as a freelance journalist in the city for a year, told me that Martin Earley would shortly be signing as a professional with the new Spanish team Fagor for 1985. I was stunned: Earley, my arch rival. The bastard had made it as a professional. I felt more jealous than at any other time in my life.
Martin had also been picked for the Olympic Games. In July we rode a preparation race in Colorado, the Coors Classic, and then flew on to Los Angeles for the Games. I now found I no longer thought of Martin as a rival; he was assured of a pro contract, had escaped up the ladder. We became more friendly towards each other. A few days before the Olympic road race I remember training with him in the Hollywood hills. I told him that if I was given the opportunity I would turn professional for nothing. He said I was mad, but I argued that the ACBB had cost me all my savings and in a pro team I wouldn't have to put up with guys like Escalon. Looking back, I can see just how naïve about the professional game I was. Years later, when I was haggling with my directeur sportif Bernard Thevenet over my contract fee, I would often remember that conversation and smile. And there were directeurs sportifs far more ruthless than Escalon.
The Olympics were wonderful. I had always been sceptical about them, but I must admit they were one of the highlights of my career. On the big day, I was desperately unlucky – again. I had just bridged a gap to the leading group of twenty riders when a rear wheel-spoke snapped and fell out into the gear mechanism and I skidded to a halt. I didn't see the twenty-man group again. If only . . . if only . . . 'if, that word again, 'the nearly man' once more. I was riding much better than Martin that day and he finished nineteenth, the highest-ever placing by an Irish cyclist at an Olympics. I was twenty-seventh.
I returned to Ireland straight after the Games for the Irish championship in Kelly's home town of Carrick on Suir. My performance at LA had not gone unnoticed in the Irish press, and they made me favourite before the race. I was obsessed with proving that bad luck had robbed me from being top Irishman at the Olympics. I had to win. I attacked from the start and followed every move. With one lap to go, I got clear with Eddie Madden of the Irish Road Club. Eddie was riding strongly and my efforts were starting to tell, making me a bit wary of an attack from him. But incredibly he said to me, 'Don't attack, we'll sprint it out at the finish.' I was surprised, Eddie was a hopeless sprinter – he
Encouraged by my return to form, I decided to stick it out. On the weekend that Raphael returned to Ireland I rode a three-day stage race in the north of France. It was my first stage race with the club. This was because of a French Federation rule that limited each club to one foreign rider per team. The ACBB had up to ten foreigners to choose from and I was never considered good enough, but Ostricourt changed that. Fifth on the first stage, third on the second, I became the race leader with just a seven-kilometre time trial and an afternoon stage to go. Escalon pulled out all the strokes for the time trial. I was given a special carbon-fibre bike and a one-piece racing suit for the short time trial. I was very nervous starting the test. Roche, Millar, Anderson – all had 'honoured' the ACBB in races like this one. This was my chance to join them. I blew it and lost the jersey by four seconds. Four lousy seconds. Escalon was not angry but I knew he was thinking, 'This Irish boy hasn't got it.'
I rode some evening races in Paris shortly after. It was while returning home from one of these that I heard the news. My friend David Walsh, who was working as a freelance journalist in the city for a year, told me that Martin Earley would shortly be signing as a professional with the new Spanish team Fagor for 1985. I was stunned: Earley, my arch rival. The bastard had made it as a professional. I felt more jealous than at any other time in my life.
Martin had also been picked for the Olympic Games. In July we rode a preparation race in Colorado, the Coors Classic, and then flew on to Los Angeles for the Games. I now found I no longer thought of Martin as a rival; he was assured of a pro contract, had escaped up the ladder. We became more friendly towards each other. A few days before the Olympic road race I remember training with him in the Hollywood hills. I told him that if I was given the opportunity I would turn professional for nothing. He said I was mad, but I argued that the ACBB had cost me all my savings and in a pro team I wouldn't have to put up with guys like Escalon. Looking back, I can see just how naïve about the professional game I was. Years later, when I was haggling with my directeur sportif Bernard Thevenet over my contract fee, I would often remember that conversation and smile. And there were directeurs sportifs far more ruthless than Escalon.
The Olympics were wonderful. I had always been sceptical about them, but I must admit they were one of the highlights of my career. On the big day, I was desperately unlucky – again. I had just bridged a gap to the leading group of twenty riders when a rear wheel-spoke snapped and fell out into the gear mechanism and I skidded to a halt. I didn't see the twenty-man group again. If only . . . if only . . . 'if, that word again, 'the nearly man' once more. I was riding much better than Martin that day and he finished nineteenth, the highest-ever placing by an Irish cyclist at an Olympics. I was twenty-seventh.
I returned to Ireland straight after the Games for the Irish championship in Kelly's home town of Carrick on Suir. My performance at LA had not gone unnoticed in the Irish press, and they made me favourite before the race. I was obsessed with proving that bad luck had robbed me from being top Irishman at the Olympics. I had to win. I attacked from the start and followed every move. With one lap to go, I got clear with Eddie Madden of the Irish Road Club. Eddie was riding strongly and my efforts were starting to tell, making me a bit wary of an attack from him. But incredibly he said to me, 'Don't attack, we'll sprint it out at the finish.' I was surprised, Eddie was a hopeless sprinter – he
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