Old Days - Part Three

Cheers Vitas and Henry

Further delving into my ridiculously large collection of old magazines has thrown up some more great photos, these ones mostly from the early issues of English monthly Procycling. It's always good to remember that these old mags aren't just props, but cool hard copy reminders of fun times past. There's no real rhyme or reason for me picking the specific pictures, just that they grabbed me somehow as I flicked through the pages, so I hope you like them, and apologies to those of you who have already seen these on my Facebook page...

Here's Fausto Coppi climbing in the Alps on his way to victory in the 1949 Tour de France. Il Campionissimo won the Tour again in 1952, along with every other big race going during his career.



The legendary character Raphaël Géminiani in the Yellow Jersey rides alongside his French Team captain Louison Bobet during the 1958 Tour de France, won in the end by the "Angel of Luxembourg" Charly Gaul, with the fading powers of former triple winner Bobet only capable of letting him end up in 7th.



The late Peter Post (who just passed away on January 14th) rides an unidentified race in 1965, the year he won Paris-Roubaix in what is still the fastest ever time of an incredible 45.129 km/h for the 265 km.



Eddy Merckx on his way to his first of seven victories(!) in the great Milan-San Remo classic, 1966. Shots of him in his Peugeot kit aren't thick on the ground, but this is a goodie.



Italian superstar and '65 Tour winner Felice Gimondi rampaging his way to winning the 1966 Paris-Roubaix classic.



Gimondi rides in the Maglia Rosa during the 1967 Giro d'Italia, flanked by Jacques Anquetil and Eddy Merckx. Gimondi rode his Bianchi to victory in this Giro, as well as the '69 and '76 editions. Add these to his 1965 Tour de France and '68 Vuelta a España wins, his 1973 World Championship and several Classics and you begin to get an idea of how good this classy rider was.



Felice Gimondi again, this time riding alongside Jean Stablinski during the 1967 Tour de France, which was run along national Team lines and won by France's Roger Pingeon.



Eddy Merckx rides through the hellish heat of the cauldron that is the Mont Ventoux during his second Tour de France win, 1970.



Roger de Vlaeminck attacking in his inimitable style, 1975. Not sure of the race, sorry, but I don't believe there's any such thing as too many pictures of this Belgian hardman who will be forever known as Monsieur Paris-Roubaix for his incredible four victories in the Hell of the North.



1976 World Champion Freddy Maertens being chased by Didi Thurau in the 1977 Amstel Gold classic, trying unsuccessfully to defend his title from the previous year. Maertens was a mercurial talent who sadly only really had two good years on his palmares, '76 and his "comeback" '81 season.



Francesco Moser piles on the pressure attempting to shell French Champion Bernard Hinault and the dogged Willy Panizza during the 1978 Tour of Lombardy - the string would snap and Moser would go on to win the Race of the Falling Leaves for the second time of his illustrious career.



Bernard Hinault won Paris-Roubaix in 1981 wearing the colours of World Champion. He did it despite regarding the race as a foolish anachronism, and after a grand total of 8 - yes, 8 - crashes on the day, including being decked by a loose poodle!



Classy Irishman Stephen Roche rides ahead of the phenomenal Greg LeMond on the Aubisque during the 1985 Tour de France. Roche won the stage but the Tour was won by LeMond's team mate Bernard Hinault, with Roche finishing 3rd on GC behind Hinault and LeMond.



The Badger riding the Colorado Worlds, 1986. For me, no one epitomises the toughness of the pro cyclist better than Bernard Hinault. This Championship, the first on US soil, was won by Italian Moreno Argentin.



An unusual and very cool perspective of a descending Gianni Bugno, taken during the Tour de France 1992. Bugno would win his second consecutive Alpe d'Huez stage and go on to finish third overall in Paris behind Claudio Chiappucci and final victor Miguel Indurain.



A Mapei domestique and Italian Champion Gianni Bugno set the tempo on a climb in the 1996 Giro d'Italia. Spaniard Abraham Olano in pink behind Bugno would go on to finish third behind Russia's Pavel Tonkov. Thanks to my friend Glenn for the unpaid help on this one.



A random shot I stumbled upon of New Zealander Chris Jenner during early-season training in 1999. Hailing from the Hutt Valley, Chris used to terrorise the Wellington road race scene before his departure to France to successfully follow the pro dream. Despite being licensed as a Frenchman at the time, he is still the only New Zealander to have won a stage of the Tour de France, being a part of the Credit Agricole squad that won the Team Time Trial of the 2001 Tour.



Italian Champion Andrea Tafi punches through the choking dust as he stomps to victory in the 1999 Paris-Roubaix. He wanted to emulate his hero Moser by winning in the tricolore, and he did.



Well, that covers about half my pile of Procyclings - I'll see what else I can come up with in the second half. Until then, thanks for reading.

Please note that I have written several more Old Days posts - check the sidebar for the links.

Rimutaka Incline Ride

On a day during the first week of the New Year I somehow persuaded my lovely wife to ferry myself and my good friend Alex "The Commander" Tashkoff out to the Rimutaka Rail Trail to ride over to the Wairarapa...

A weird sea mist shrouded Cook Strait and Island Bay as we picked up The Commander from his secret Base. Despite the clammy cold cloud, the day was still and promised to improve.



The salubrious parking accommodations certainly inspire great confidence when considering leaving ones vehicle parked for hours. Luckily Jacq was taking the car far away after she had kindly dropped us there to meet our third rider Matt.



As soon as we hit the trail Al took off like he had a date waiting - here Matt chases while I fumble for my camera.



The ford is not mandatory to ride, although I didn't get that memo.



One of the surviving rail bridges.



Clear roads ahead, but not for long as Al is about to launch another vicious attack, dropping Matt and I once more. Of course I can't speak for Matt, but even though I was feeling good Al's torrid pace was just a beat above my comfort level, so I opted to let him go and ride my own tempo.



I love riding through the cuttings. You can almost see the old Fell engines puffing their way through them...



I made sure of stopping to read all the cool information boards and periodically drinking in the atmosphere of this lovely trail as my excuses for being left behind. By now Matt had seen the camera come out once too often and had upped sticks and disappeared off up the trail to join The Commander...



Roughly speaking, Rimutaka = to sit down. And who am I to disobey?



The top was reached almost too soon - it felt like we'd only just got going! The slightly eerie dilapidated remains of what used to be the small settlement of Summit give a glimpse into what must have been a hard life for the families who lived up here.



The story is told on the plaque...



Poor long-suffering Al and Matt were waiting patiently.



The entrance to Summit tunnel, by far the longest one of the three on route but the only one where our feeble lights were required.



The cheap LED headlights Jacq had dug out of somewhere weren't exactly the best replacements for the good lights I'd forgotten and left at home, but somehow we made it through without major incident...



The Wairarapa side of the tunnel, Matt and Alex exit side by side.



The Tolkien-esque tunnel exit avec waterfall.



Looking down the valley where we would ride the super-fast and super-fun wide open doubletrack that led to Siberia Gully...





...which arrived after an exhilarating swoop. The grave words on the sign concerned us hardened hardmen not one jot.



"Slip sliding away" - never a truer word written down. The massive scale of the slips visible up on the cliffs above the river valley isn't really apparent from this picture.



Looking back down to the river running through Siberia Gully, which had low water levels and was easily cleanable. Although in the spirit of full disclosure, I must state that I fluffed my gear change into the granny and stalled as soon as I began to climb out of the Gully. The Commander made it up okay, but then proceeded to perform an unauthorised lying down while still clipped in dismount at the top. Matt managed to retain his sense of decorum.



A vast bridge support from the long gone railway bridge over Siberia Gully. According to the Kennett Brothers Bible, in the 1890s a 10-tonne locomotive was blown off the tracks by the gale force winds that sometimes blow through here - they don't say though whether the crew survived or not!



Matt and The Commander say their good-byes, as Matt was heading back to the trail head to see if his car was still unburnt, while Al and I would continue on down to the Wairarapa.



More cool warp speed downhill that seemed both to go on forever, yet be over way too fast. Al set off first but when the trail tips down gravity for once becomes my friend and, without even pedalling, I soon caught and passed him in a blubbery blur...



...giving me just enough time to stop and pose my bike...



...before snapping him as he blasted past.



And as suddenly as the Summit had arrived Cross Creek appeared! Surely this couldn't be it already?



We stopped for a while and chatted with a lovely couple out hiking the trail, then rode over the walking bridge across the Creek...



...that led to some neat twisty-turny trail that followed the Creek all the way to the Wairarapa end carpark. I did manage to avoid that tree, by the way. I need to work on my one-handed riding while taking bad pictures technique.



The trail twists and winds along the river...



...and past a farm, where I took a picture of the black faced sheep for Bodhi...



...before ending at the Western Lake Road carpark, which we exited via a gravel road with Lake Wairarapa in the background.



Amazingly for the Wairarapa we weren't dealing with a screaming NWer for once, and the gentle southerly we'd barely noticed all day wafted us happily along the road to Featherston. Despite the cloud the day was a hot one, and we were grateful the sun was being kept under wraps.



Once we hit the road I was feeling good so I set about making Al pay for his early efforts by half-wheeling him until finally he cracked.



All my life I've wondered what the stories might be behind these ex-houses; what were the people like and what did they do? Did they love their house? Was it a home or just a house? Why was it just abandoned?



The sultry heat was exacerbated by the almost total lack of breeze. What might have been thunder clouds amassing over the hills never seemed to amount to much.



The road did go on for a while...



But Featherston arrived soon enough.



As did The Commander, slightly etoliated but none the worse for wear.



We repaired to a secluded street so that I could quickly divest myself of some lycra and jump into comfy shorts and a t-shirt for the train journey home, and so that I didn't frighten the locals. While organising myself I couldn't help but notice that my cunning use of fords and all available puddles had added a carefully cultivated layer of dirt to my bike.



Once changed we located the railway station and confirmed the train would in fact be coming when we expected. We really craved beer and burgers, but sadly decided we didn't have quite enough time for a decent pub feed so it was off to the Kia Ora Dairy for our well-earned snack instead. They do great milkshakes but please make sure you get them to fully heat your pie or it might bite you in the arse. I speak from bitter experience, as the tepid mince and pastry tasted so good I didn't bother to nuke it and I suffered badly later on that night and for the entire next day. Al's two (!) pies were fully heated and caused him no ill effects other than slight sleepiness on the train...



Of course it wouldn't have been the delicious chocolate shake or the superb raspberry slice...mmm, mmm...



After sitting outside the local Police Station finishing our repast, we rolled up to Featherston railway station. It only $13 each to get back to town, with the bikes travelling for free. Good deal, I reckon.



We settled into our seats on the comfortable new unit, feeling that nice post-ride feet-up feeling and looking out at the Wairarapa as it disappeared behind us. Less than an hour later we were back in town.



"Get off your bikes, gentlemen!", the Fat Controller bellowed. Wellington railway station apparently isn't the place for ripping mad skids.



We cycled slowly around the waterfront.



Finishing the day off it was a lovely evening looking north, but when I dropped Al off later on the fog and mist were as thick on the South Coast as when we'd left home that morning...



Apart from the short (but not to be sneezed at) obstacle of Siberia Gully the Rimutaka Incline is almost entirely non-technical, yet is a truly rewarding and scenic ride that I'd have no hesitation in recommending as a fun journey to anyone, no matter their skill level.

From the carpark to Summit took us less than 40 minutes, even with plenty of dithering on my part. From there it was only 30 minutes to Cross Creek, and another thirty or so to Featherston, making for less than two hours in total all up. The train isn't frequent, but it turned up at the advertised 4.20pm to the minute, and had plenty of room for our bikes as well as the three others belonging to some like-minded souls.

Next time I want to extend the ride by catching the train out to Upper Hutt and cycling through Tunnel Gully, then continuing on the rest of the way as described above...

Thanks to my good friend Alex for the company, and Matt for his also. Great rides are made greater by great mates.

Cheers for reading, Oli