I couldn’t have told this amazing story, with all its fascinating strands and diversions, without the first-hand testimony of so many who were right there in the white heat of those astonishing three weeks. It was an absolute privilege to hear the tales and opinions of many legendary names from the pro cycling ranks in the late ’80s – Alcalá, Delgado, Hampsten, Kelly, LeMond, Mottet, Riis, Roche, Sherwen, Yates and so many more. Thanks guys.
For arranging interviews or offering up phone numbers or just passing on general encouragement, gratitude goes to Mike Anderson, Rob Banino, Ian Cleverly, Daniel Gray, Andy McGrath, Mercedes Martinez, Barry Meehan, Christel Roche, Ian Rooke, Keith Sinclair and Graham Watson. For his cover-designing skills, a salute goes out to Joe Eden at Tidydesigns.
For their enthusiasm, knowledge, friendship and occasional translating skills, James Witts and Keith Warmington deserve their respective places right at the head of the peloton.
For igniting each other’s passion for cycling as teenagers in the late ’80s – when we’d shimmy up lampposts to watch the likes of Roche, Kelly, Elliott and McLoughlin fly past at seemingly impossible speeds – a shout-out to my old pals Steve Cooper and Martin Stanton.
Thanks to Mogwai whose score for the film Zidane proved a suitably epic, but not intrusive, soundtrack to long writing shifts. Similarly, on the home stretch, my own blast down the Champs-Élysées against the clock, British Sea Power’s euphoric Machineries of Joy fired me towards the finish line.
A hearty tip of the hat goes to Pete Burns at Polaris for his editorial rigour, unflagging enthusiasm and flexible concept of deadlines. Also, much gratitude to my steady, wise and graceful agent Kevin Pocklington, Guimard to my Fignon (maybe). Chapeau to you both.
But the biggest thanks go to Jane, Finn and Ned for their patience, tolerance and understanding. The man with his head in his laptop at the other end of the kitchen table loves you very much.