by While my bread and butter here at Cyclingnews is the product testing side of things, I do get to sharpen my elbows and report on the pro racing every now and then. So far that experience is limited to the Tour of Flanders, the Criterium du Dauphine, and now Paris Roubaix. Something that keeps coming back to me is that the journalistic work that myself and my colleagues do seems to mirror the character of the racing we are covering.
Flanders was solid, hard work but it wasn’t necessarily frantic, while the reporting at the Dauphine was positively light and breezy compared to how Roubaix felt. The Queen of the Classics is officially a one-day race (albeit twice, for the men and the women), but from my point of view, it was a three-day frenzy.
My tech galleries are some of the work I’m most proud of here, and it’s what I really enjoy creating, but in addition to snapping surprise gravel bikes, mullet wheel setups and all the other mad mods that come to the fore for one day each spring I also get a little trigger happy trying to capture the vibe of the event itself. Throughout the weekend I took a hair under 1200 pictures, so it would be something of a waste to not share them in some form.
Here we are then, the magic and mania of both the Paris-Roubaix Femmes & Hommes, from the odd world of pre-race press conferences in window factories to the historic Roubaix shower block when the racing has finally subsided.
The race doesn’t start on Sunday, or even Saturday. On Friday we schlepped out to the headquarters of Deceuninck, a PVC window company and key sponsor of Alpecin-Deceuninck, the team home to two of the pre-race favourites.
TV usually gets the best access, with interviews in reception after the main press conference.
What’s the matter, babe? You’ve barely touched your limited edition Alpecin-Deceuninck press conference chocolates…
Thanks to the advent of mobile hotspotting, journalists tend to just sit where they can and get to work. Time from press conference to print is now a matter of 20 minutes in some cases, meaning it always feels rather frantic.
Morning press conferences done, it was off to the Forest of Arenberg to scope out the new chicane and see if we could catch any teams on recon duty. A memorial to Jean Stablinski stands at the entrance to the famous trench, commemorating the man who suggested the cobbled road be added to the route, and who also worked the mines beneath the forest before he became a professional cyclist.
As well as being the day before the women’s race, it was also the day before the sportive, so members of the public scoping out the cobbles for themselves while rubbing shoulders with spectators and pros, all while the barriers were being laid out.
Not only testing out the new road layout, but a gravel bike too for Israel-Premier Tech’s riders.
DSM-Firmenich, team of Mr. Cobble himself John Degenkolb, flew in at speed as we walked the secteur.
It’s difficult, but not impossible to climb up onto the famous railway bridge that crosses over the cobbled road. From there one can appreciate the length of the section, which disappears over the horizon in a remarkably imposing way.
As we left the cobbled section there was a few minutes to take stock of the amassed crowd. A couple of gentlemen had just arrived on bikes from the 1920’s.
The commitment to period correct gear is remarkable.
Elsewhere I spotted this gorgeous audax bike, complete with matching anodised fenders.
The lug work was stunning, but hidden slightly by the galactic paint scheme.
Nearly everyone who passed by this bike was also a fan, as we all waited for more professionals to arrive. Downtime at Roubaix is a valuable commodity, so even the odd half an hour between teams is to be savoured.
Still, no rest for the wicked – The St. Michel–Mavic–Auber93 soon arrived, fuelled, one imagines, by extremely delicious biscuits.
Most teams appeared rather grubby on arrival, but Movistar were especially grotty.
One rider had clearly come a cropper on his recon ride, as evidenced by his bike on the roof, missing a brake lever and bar tape all torn up.
Late arrival at the Arenberg Ball, Iván García turned out to be the rider who’d had an unscheduled lie down. He was in high spirits though, despite the mud and blood down his left side.
Recon work done it was back in the car and off to the velodrome in case we could catch anyone finalising their route plans. No joy, as is often the way, but I did get to take a trip to the velodrome while it was being set up.
Saturday morning, off to the start of the women’s race – fortunately only 40 minutes away from our lodgings, and a pleasant early afternoon start time meaning no early alarms. While most teams are respectful to their equipment you do occasionally just see thousands of pounds of gear leant up against team cars.
The women’s paddock, unlike the men’s on sunday, was totally open to the public. Journeying Bretons had flocked, likely to catch a glimpse of Maurène Trégouët or Audrey Cordon-Ragot, both local riders.
Space is often at a premium, especially for the smaller teams. You don’t often see the rows of complete squads that you get with larger teams, with riders on turbo trainers in nooks and crannies around the team campers.
While the crowds were all at the start it’s always useful to continue to hang out at the busses. Eventual winner Lotte Kopecky dashed back to the bus five minutes before the official start time for a last-minute tyre pressure change, during which time I was also able to snap some pics of her bike for the tech gallery.
While it’s almost entirely about the pros, it always pays to keep an eye out on spectator bikes too. One local had ridden to the start aboard a near mint condition Vitus 979 frame (I believe). These used aluminium tubes bonded with epoxy to the head tube, bottom bracket, and seat tube cluster, and it looked to be running an early 105 groupset, back when it still had downtube shifters.
When trying to get snaps of the pros’ bikes, the only real way to go if you don’t have an inside contact is to lean over the cordon and ask any of the team staff, usually with a caveat of “It’ll only take a minute, max!”. Shout out this fella who leant Marianne Vos’ bike against the bus for me.
Once the flag drops it’s a race for the riders, and the press too as we all dash to our cars en masse to get to the next spots as fast as possible, resulting on Saturday in everyone getting stuck at the car park exit.
There is a hierarchy to the access arrangements at the velodrome. The usual press pass gets you into the main central complex of hastily erected barriers, but if you have a photographer’s bib (which I didn’t have) or are part of the teams’ support crew, you can more or less access all areas. The ASO heavies patrol the ground, but given the importance of the event, there is a not-insignificant police presence too.
This was my first Roubaix, and I’d be lying if I said being trackside and this close to the riders didn’t excite me.
Rather than fight through the scrum of riders, reporters, and photographers, some riders just sit the other side of the barriers for a little while. Here Christine Majerus is looked after by her soigneur.
Monica Greenwood left it all out there, and was barely held aloft by her bars after crossing the line.
The metaphorical barriers that are erected between teams for the duration of the race very quickly crumble after the finish line, with everyone seemingly just elated it’s finished for a year.
Ellen van Dijk seemed remarkably fresh and was happy to talk to the amassed throng of journos.
Alison Jackson, too, was more than willing to talk to reporters, her sunny disposition seemingly undimmed by unsuccessfully defending her Roubaix title.
If in doubt, the best course of action is to simply stick a microphone nearby someone and hope for the best. Bike reporting is a numbers game at times.
What really struck me, which doesn’t come across on the televised coverage as this is normally given over to those who are fresh enough to talk, is the vast majority of finishers look absolutely hollowed out. There were countless thousand-yard stares in the hour or so following the race finish.
The winners’ bikes all get tagged for testing, but the commissaires also tag bikes at random throughout the peloton, regardless of how gasping the rider is for a small euro-can of Cola.
After coming in in 22nd, Marta Lach embraced her team…
…and then sat here for a long time, seemingly in the eye of the storm.
Before there’s any chance to take stock following the finish of the women’s race, it is time for a 0530 alarm to get up and drive to the start of the men’s race in Compiègne. Here, the start paddock is half closed to press and teams only, though it seems to operate on a first come first served basis, with the remaining teams open to the public on the main avenue beyond the events square.
Thanks to the longer distance between the start and the finish, it’s straight back into the car after the flag drops and onto the motorway for another two hours and back to the velodrome. Kamil Małecki from Q36.5 could barely stand at the finish…
…and was attended to by both his partner and then latterly by his soigneur.
The post-race hand check was an almost universal experience too.
Grabbing quotes from any rider is always useful, so even Jordan Labrosse, who came in in 101st had just as many microphones aimed at his mouth as anyone in the top ten.
Laurence Pithie rode a fantastic race, only coming a cropper and washing his front wheel out in the closing kilometers.
Most riders in the men’s field seemed in a state of some sort of disbelief. One notable exception was John Degenkolb, who I am absolutely convinced would have been happy to ride the race again immediately.
Nils Politt, my outside pick for the day, didn’t seem too cut up about missing the podium.
Just like in the women’s race, the number of riders simply collapsed in a heap was staggering.
Even in a dry race, the accumulated filth and fatigue is beyond that of any other one-day race.
The face of a man who’s ridden Roubaix on the widest tyres in the peloton.
While the press conferences were going on, I rounded out the weekend by watching the comings and goings in the famous Roubaix shower block. Some riders were there clearly paying homage to history, some were there on media duty, but all found some relief in the stream of hot water.
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