White knuckle ride; Barry McCarthy took his life in his hands in Fdj.fr's team car on the Giro in Ireland, enjoying a chaotic and exciting once-in-a-lifetime day out.
Barry McCarthy brings us inside an exhilarating day in the Fdj.fr team car as the Giro d'Italia hurtled from Armagh to Dublin on Sunday's stage 3. He got to witness the chaos that descends in the cavalcade after a crash, got close up with riders getting back on and got very near to the back of the bunch at times, seeing the Giro from a really interesting vantage point. Oh yeah, he also had a former winner of Paris-Roubaix driving him, all put in place by Cyclesuperstore.ie
You really can’t put into words the chaos that descends in the aftermath of a crash during a bike race.
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There is no such thing as ‘calm’ during a stage of a Grand Tour. But there exists an almost bizarre rhythm which presides over the peloton which almost seems normal.
This was stage 3 of the 2014 Giro d’Italia; 187km from Armagh to my home town in Dublin. After three hours perched in the passenger seat of the Fdj.fr team car, I was almost coming to terms with the sudden punctuating crack of the race radios as the riders fed back the action from the front lines.
I speak absolutely no French. The radio was completely indecipherable to me; a foreign white noise. However, by the pitch and tone I could usually tell if a rider needed some water, some food or a new wheel; exciting. But on my first day at the Giro I began to get used to this dart of action.
A crash? Well, that was something entirely different. Panic!
The motor: All pack up and ready to go
Our driver Freddie swerves into the left hand side of the road - the business side; overtaking five team cars to his right and four motorbikes to his left all while cornering.
I manage two breaths before we are right in the middle of the action. Nico, the team mechanic, sat directly behind me springs into life and out of the car. With two wheels in hand he shows total abandon for his own safety.
He sprints over bodies, bikes and cars looking for our team riders and to survey the damage. I froze.
I had watched days of bike of racing from the comfort of my couch usually dissecting the damage with a casual familiarity. But here I didn’t know where to look or if I should.
The race radio shrieks the names of the fallen riders’ teams with a compressed panic "Belkin, Omega Pharma, Astana, Saxo…." we wait. Finally, with Nico sprinting back to the car it appears none of the team’s riders were caught, injured or needed attention.
Pretty close to the action; the Fdj.fr car was able to get right up to the back of the bunch and there were plenty of riders passing it all day going backwards and then returning to the bunch again.
Focus shifts; let’s get out of this mess and back into the race. Here the real scramble takes place, with riders desperately trying to get back to the peloton without losing too much time or energy.
Riders are drafting anything that moves - cars, bikes, mopeds - as if the road is a wave and they were surfing on the back of sharks; it’s fucking fast. It’s reckless, it’s exhilarating, it’s very, very real. I’m in a race!
As our car shoots down the road past rider after rider I realise that my hand is turning white from the pressure of bracing against the dashboard. Embarrassed, I peel it away.
I notice Freddie smirk a little. For him; this is life, this is normal. This is what he was born to do.
Frédéric Guesdon is no driver, he is a legend. Ask about Freddie and you will usually hear two words “Paris-Roubaix”
In 1997 Freddie entered cycling’s elite and toughest club when he won the race dubbed “The Hell of the North”.
Frédéric Guesdon was the man of the moment on the velodrome at the finish of Paris-Roubaix 1997.
Paris-Roubaix - the ultimate classic - is 280 of the toughest, bone rattling, energy sapping kilometres known to man.
It’s the race. It’s described as a circus (Boardman) Hell (Pinot), bollocks (De Rooij) and to win it is the most unique glory.
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Since retiring Freddie has worked as manager for the team he once rode for. In total he has been with them for 18 years. He has truly seen it all.
It is clear the esteem with which Freddie is held throughout the peloton. Some of the other team’s drivers and support teams seem to carry an arrogant scowl on their face as they blaze alongside the other team cars and drivers.
This bullying goes on every minute of the race in both the peloton and the support convoy but not with Freddie.
Whenever a driver or rider notices Freddie, their demeanour changes. Their tough-guy look melts away and is replaced with a respectful nod towards a man that they know was stronger, tougher and crazier than they could ever expect.
Freddie and Nico spoke no English and I had no French. But the race was all the mattered. Freddie would point out the wind, the tricky descents; where the team would attack from and how they planned to set up their team leader, sprinter and former French national road race champion Nacer Bouhanni.
With plenty of riders from Fdj.fr dropping back to the car, Barry was kepy busy snapping through the stage
Nico would point out the big names on the road, “Paolini, Maglia Rosa Michael Matthews, Uran, Kittel…. happy birthday”. It made for a truly incredible experience.
We all had a laugh at the pink sheep, the decorated trailers with Céili bands in full swing and I soon learn to nod at the pretty girls waving at the car. Racing is fun, right? Kind of.
There was no gradual increase in pace, it was a full on shock of speed which was impossible to predict.
But with 24km to go, there was a massive scramble to control the front of the peloton. I knew these roads and effect the wind could have from Clontarf to the flame rouge. But I could have never expected just how fierce the fight would be for the front.
I could hear Freddie instructing his riders to watch for “Roche” as they all feared Nico would try and take the stage in Dublin, his father’s hometown and a place he spent a lot of time as child.
In the end the break never materialised and we were set for a bunch sprint. I have for a long time marvelled at Mark Cavendish’s ability to account for sprint finishes with almost total recall.
There was no dice for Fdj.fr's Nacer Bouhanni on Giro stage 3 into Dublin but two days later he would take stage 4 (above) back on Italian soil.
Cav can describe in the finest detail every split second of the chaotic finishes at break neck speed.
From the team car it was almost a blur. In a split second we had devoured the coast road, slammed around by the 02 Arena, and galloped up the quays before – bang, bang - another couple of corners; mind the barrier feet on both sides.
Then it was head down and the strongest man wins! Then silence, no radios, no noise, no racing, the wait.
Finally the blasted radio punctures the silence: “Stage 3 winner, rider 171 Marcel Kittel”.
No victory for Bouhanni. He doesn’t make the podium. The car remains deathly silent before being suddenly engulfed by fans.
I wait maybe five minutes before finally deciding to make my excuses and slip out of the car and into the anonymous masses.
In the space of a few footsteps I was out of Giro and just another fan. I walk away from the crowds carrying a musette and bottle which Nico gave me as a souvenir; time for a toast I think.
I take one swig of the bottle and my face fires up. The bottle contained the hottest, strongest tea which must have had eight sugars in it. I laugh and drink again to what was the best experience of my life.
Freddie Guesdon; now retired from racing the Fdj.fr manager piloted the team car in which our man Barry McCarthy hitched a ride on stage 3 from Armagh to Dublin.
I cannot thank the team at Fdj.fr and the CycleSuperstore.ie enough. Elisa, my contact sums up everything I love about bike racing. She travels 110 days a year and monitors up to three races a day.
She knows her racing and loves her racing and allowed me to sit in the lead car for a once in a lifetime experience.
To Freddieand Nico for allowing me the privilege of joining them on the front lines and making the experience all the better; thank you. My only regret is not being able to thank them in their native tongue.
Finally I wish to thank the riders. Their effort is what made the day and race. On the very next stage. Bouhanni would battle through the wet and claim victory on Stage 4 of the Giro d’Italia – a true champion in every sense of the word. Forza Fdj!
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