26 January 2016

What They Did Before And After They Raced: Jean Hoffmann and Jacques Anquetil

An article in BicycleQuarterly No. 54 outlined the life and career of Jean Hoffmann.

Jean Hoffmann.  From pdw

Chances are, unless you’ve read BQ 54, you haven’t heard of him.  I hadn’t either, until my copy of the magazine showed up in my mailbox. On the other hand, anyone who has followed bicycle racing for as long as it takes to lap the Arc de Triomphe has heard of someone who “served in the trenches”, if you will, with him.

That compatriot is none other than Jacques Anquetil, the first five-time winner of the Tour de France. 

Jacques Anquetil.  From Ina.fr


They rode for the same team—the legendary Raphael Geminiani —though not at the same time.  They did, however, serve together with the same French Army battalion in Algeria.  (At that time, even such luminaries as Yves St.Laurent had their careers interrupted for mandatory military service.)  Although Hoffmann crashed and was dropped after the 14th stage of the only Tour he rode, in 1959,  he arguably was, in his own way, as much of an iconic figure of French cycling in the 1950’s and ‘60’s.

In those days, someone who won amateur hill-climbing competitions like the Poly de Chanteloup or rode at or near the head of a major randonnee like the Paris-Brest-Paris could garner nearly as much attention as the professional riders who won multi-day racers (which France certainly didn’t lack!) enjoyed.  In fact, Hoffmann was known in the cycling press—a major part of the French media at that time—before anyone heard of Anquetil.

It didn’t hurt Hoffmann’s popularity that he so dominated the qualifier for the Poly—on, as he recalls, a heavy old bike with a single chainring and “way-too-large gears” at age seventeen that Rene Herse loaned his own bike to Hoffmann for the actual competition.  It almost goes without saying that Herse was delighted to have Hoffmann on his team—so much so that he gave Hoffmann a velo de service that was chromed, like Rene’s own, rather than the typical Herse blue (a lovely color, by the way) other team members received.

After riding on Herse’s team for a few years, Hoffmann couldn’t resist the urge to race.  He quickly found success, mainly because of his climbing abilities.  One of his major successes was winning the climber’s jersey in the 1955 Peace Race, often nicknamed “the Tour de France of the East”.  He was selected to ride in the 1956 Olympics.  But, fate intervened:  He—and Anquetil—were drafted.

After completing his military service, Hoffmann continued his racing career, turning pro in the year he rode his only Tour.  He would retire from racing after three years.  He never stopped riding, though:  He rode gentleman races—which pitted young riders against older ones and gave the latter a handicap based on his age—as well as rides like the Audax and Randonee Paris-Brest-Paris.  Today, at age 81, he does a 50 km ride (which includes at least one climb) every day. 

Interestingly, he rides a Look carbon bike.  He has no interest in machines like the one he rode for Herse’s team in the ‘50’s.  In those days, it was the most technically advanced bike available; being a racer at heart, he moved on to what technology offers today.

As we all know, Jacques Anquetil not only rode in the Tour; he would become the first cyclist to win that race five times.  No one disputes that he is among the handful of greatest racers of all time: in the same league as Eddy Mercx, Bernard Hinault, Gino Bartali and a few others.  He retired in late 1969. 

In contrast to Hoffmann, Anquetil did not come to racing from the world of randonees and other such endurance rides.  He also didn’t retreat to that milieu.  In fact, Anquetil got on his bike only three times after retiring.  “I have done enough cycling,” he declared. He died in 1987, at the age of 53.


After reading the BQ article, I have the impression that Jean Hoffmann might live to be 100—and won’t stop riding!

25 January 2016

Going Dutch In The Snow

Yesterday, for the first time in years, I didn't anyone riding on the streets.  Today there were a few people pedaling; I think they were all making deliveries.  

The cold, snow and wind were enough to keep most people off their bikes.  However, I think that fear was also another factor in keeping cyclists off the road.  

Even under optimal conditions, cyclists (at least here in the US) are seen as "crazy".  Of course, someone who imputes insanity to others is portraying him- or her-self as sane or right and, by implication, entitled.  Thus many motorists see themselves as the rightful owners, if you will, of the streets and roads.  They expect cyclists to defer to them or simply to get off the road altogether, ostensibly for their own safety but actually to, as a British neighbor of mine says, to "keep up that All American idea that everything should facilitate the movement of automobiles".

Now, I know that there isn't much of a comparison between my hometown of New York and a city like Utrecht in the Netherlands.  Still, I think the following video of cyclists commuting in the snow in the ancient Dutch capital can offer some lessons to American urban planners:



24 January 2016

This Made The World A Little Smaller

It is indeed a small world.  (You can add the "after all" if you like.)

And, yes, technology makes it smaller all the time.  

Case in point:  eBay.

I have bought and sold all sort of things, most of them bike-related, from and to people in Canada, England, France, Germany, Belgium, Italy,the Czech Republic, Slovenia,Japan, China and Korea as well as places in the United States I'd never heard of until I encountered them on what's been called "the world's largest garage sale".

Occasionally the interaction involves more than just the sale or purchase of something.  I have had exchanges about people's names (including one with a customer who just happened to have the same name as one of my favorite poets), hometowns or some aspect of cycling or local culture.

My latest such interaction, though, is one of the most interesting.




I sold a nice Nitto stem that, I finally admitted to myself, I'd probably never use.  It was not the right size for a current project.  Perhaps one day the "right" bike or situation would come along--but when?

I kept it mainly because it's a Nitto (Each of my bikes except my LeTour have at least one item from that company on it!) and because it's interesting. It's one of a brief run of TIG-welded chrome-moly stems Nitto made in the early '90's.  Of course, being a Nitto, the welds were much cleaner, neater and  less bulky and blotchy than on other welded stems of that time--including those of pricey after-market stems like Syncros and Control Tech.  The stem I sold is probably one of the few welded stems that wouldn't look out of place on a vintage road  bike.  

The fellow who bought the stem e-mailed me.  He said he received the stem and left nice feedback.  Then this: "I noticed the name on the shipping label.  Are you the gal with all of the Mercians?"

It is a small world indeed!  

P.S.  This is not the first time eBay has "outed" me.  A couple of years ago, a fellow bicycle blogger (whom I read regularly) also connected my eBay ID with me when he saw my name above the return address on the package I sent.