I once read a book about the 1976 Tour de France called, “The Great Bike Race”, or something to that effect by an English author called Geoffrey Nicholson.
I was only a boy at the time but it must have been good because I can still recall several passages from it and I read it from cover to cover which was unusual for a lad as I was at the time.
For the record, the race was won by the Belgian, Lucien Van Impe who, for one year at least, stepped in to uphold his nation’s honour in the absence of his legendary countryman, five time Tour winner Eddy Merckx who had not started the race in 1976 due to an infected saddle sore sustained in the Tour of Italy a few weeks before.
As it happened Merckx would never win the Tour again despite appearing in the 1977 edition. Injury, illness and burnout had taken it’s toll and he finished a distant 6th that year, well off the pace and retirement called him in early 1978. He remains cycling’s greatest champion. But I am getting off track. Back to “The Great Bike Race”.
As I mentioned, several passages in the book still reverberate in the closed perimeters of my mind and one sentence in particular always takes my fancy and often pushes itself to the forefront of my thinking when I expose myself to the barren tundra of my workplace reality.
The Tour director in 1976 was a fellow called Jacques Goddet who, if memory serves me correctly had helped organise the race since the end of the Second World War and would continue to do so for some years after 1976.
A man who was obviously infused with great passion for the race and lived and breathed Le Tour de France.
However, in the 1976 edition there was a stage, I can’t remember where it ran from or where it ran to, which was evidently very long and, as the day concerned was extermely hot, very slow and boring as the riders simply meandered along for most of the day.
Rather than waxing lyrical in describing the glacial pace of the riders on such a dull day, Nicholson merely quoted Jacques Goddet’s words about the stage. “A journey to the edge of boredom!”, the old man gasped in exasperation.
That comment from a man like Goddet was worth a thousand words and carried enough weight and conviction that Nicholson felt no need to paint a canvass for his readers about the conditions of that particular day. It was mind numbing and Goddet’s comment left no doubt in the mind’s of Nicholson’s readers it was so.
So, yesterday as I surveyed the empty work floor from my position at our clock in area, just as I was preparing to commence work, Jacques Goddet’s words from 1976 popped into my head and would have been quite well applied if concerned with what I was about to face for the the day.
“A journey to the edge of boredom!” neatly sums up my two hours sorting large letters and things didn’t improve after the break with another two hours on parcels. Things hot up after 6pm and we have to lift the tempo and culling mail improves the mood as you haven’t got time to appreciate how hard done by you are and after that the day is nearly done so it’s a nice slide to the chimes and it is home again.
Goddet’s words may strike me again as I walk through the doors this afternoon but I will do my best to stick it out and make the most of it and who knows, memories of my childhood may flood over me again, freeing me from the mental bondage of which I am held every working day and remind me that there are greater things to aspire to and imagination is a gift and can help me through the dullest days. I hope it can help you too. Have a good one.
I was only a boy at the time but it must have been good because I can still recall several passages from it and I read it from cover to cover which was unusual for a lad as I was at the time.
For the record, the race was won by the Belgian, Lucien Van Impe who, for one year at least, stepped in to uphold his nation’s honour in the absence of his legendary countryman, five time Tour winner Eddy Merckx who had not started the race in 1976 due to an infected saddle sore sustained in the Tour of Italy a few weeks before.
As it happened Merckx would never win the Tour again despite appearing in the 1977 edition. Injury, illness and burnout had taken it’s toll and he finished a distant 6th that year, well off the pace and retirement called him in early 1978. He remains cycling’s greatest champion. But I am getting off track. Back to “The Great Bike Race”.
As I mentioned, several passages in the book still reverberate in the closed perimeters of my mind and one sentence in particular always takes my fancy and often pushes itself to the forefront of my thinking when I expose myself to the barren tundra of my workplace reality.
The Tour director in 1976 was a fellow called Jacques Goddet who, if memory serves me correctly had helped organise the race since the end of the Second World War and would continue to do so for some years after 1976.
A man who was obviously infused with great passion for the race and lived and breathed Le Tour de France.
However, in the 1976 edition there was a stage, I can’t remember where it ran from or where it ran to, which was evidently very long and, as the day concerned was extermely hot, very slow and boring as the riders simply meandered along for most of the day.
Rather than waxing lyrical in describing the glacial pace of the riders on such a dull day, Nicholson merely quoted Jacques Goddet’s words about the stage. “A journey to the edge of boredom!”, the old man gasped in exasperation.
That comment from a man like Goddet was worth a thousand words and carried enough weight and conviction that Nicholson felt no need to paint a canvass for his readers about the conditions of that particular day. It was mind numbing and Goddet’s comment left no doubt in the mind’s of Nicholson’s readers it was so.
So, yesterday as I surveyed the empty work floor from my position at our clock in area, just as I was preparing to commence work, Jacques Goddet’s words from 1976 popped into my head and would have been quite well applied if concerned with what I was about to face for the the day.
“A journey to the edge of boredom!” neatly sums up my two hours sorting large letters and things didn’t improve after the break with another two hours on parcels. Things hot up after 6pm and we have to lift the tempo and culling mail improves the mood as you haven’t got time to appreciate how hard done by you are and after that the day is nearly done so it’s a nice slide to the chimes and it is home again.
Goddet’s words may strike me again as I walk through the doors this afternoon but I will do my best to stick it out and make the most of it and who knows, memories of my childhood may flood over me again, freeing me from the mental bondage of which I am held every working day and remind me that there are greater things to aspire to and imagination is a gift and can help me through the dullest days. I hope it can help you too. Have a good one.
Strange Notations From a Laborious Life 