This might be: Chapter 1 Opening Page
When I first heard about an upcoming reunion of my old teammates on the Raleigh Team to be held July 4th weekend it was mid December and I knew then that I had to lose 20 pounds before all of us old farts from yesteryear got together for some “social rides” and trips down memory lane.
“Lose 20 pounds for some social rides my wife asks, you guys are all over 60 + years old who the hell cares if your not in top shape any more. You all had great careers what do you have to prove now?”
Sara had forgotten the last time we all got together for a reunion 10 years earlier when we were all just in our early 50’s, that there was a “throw down” social ride that lasted for a few hours in the rolling hills outside of Somerville, New Jersey.
Before we were married, (I was 53 on that fateful day) Sara would hear bits and pieces of our notorious team and about one particular legend, John Allis. When she finally met John at our wedding party held at the Rogers Lake Clubhouse, former teammates, Dave Chauner, and Doug Dale were in attendance and the stories were in full swing. Her comment was something to the effect of, “What is big deal about this guy? He looks like a little old college professor how could he have been so painful to ride with?” To which, Chauner replied without hesitation, “Sara you had to be there!”
So now its 35 years after our “Rock Star” years as America’s top cyclists who helped set the stage in the early “70’s” for what is happening today with Americans winning the Tour de France and other top professional races around the world.
At our second reunion held over the July 4th weekend in Fitchburg, Ma. During the 50th edition of the Longsjo Classic we would gather once again, not to race, but to rekindle the flame.
Thirteen of the original fourteen riders had committed to making the trip. John Howard, three time Olympian, and Iron Man winner had flown in from San Diego to Maryland to drive up with the Baltimore Bullet, Bobby Phillips while Flip Waldteufel, (Chef) Olympian & former National Team member had taken time off as executive chef at his new bistro in Santa Rosa, CA and Dickey Dunn, The Rocket, had flown into Boston from Asheville NC.
John Allis had airport duty once again just like the old days when we would all gather at his families house in Cambridge before departing for stage races in Europe. Others were driving in from New Jersey, Delaware, Vermont, and New Hampshire
As guys were pulling into the Wachusetts Inn parking lot it began to look like old times. Many were traveling with their wives and all were anxious to get their bikes out of the trunk and get ready for our first ride before an early reception at the Fitchburg Historical Society.
John Howard, voted “Rider of the Decade” for the 70’s was searching frantically for some antique seat bolt for the ancient Raleigh International he had borrowed from Bobby Phillips to ride over the weekend. John was not always fond of sharing his prizes with his teammates who would often times sacrifice their chances to win for John. He was grudging in his compliments to those who had helped him but he was a dominant rider who didn’t leave us much choice.
There was that time when he helped chase me down while I was in a breakaway during the Tour of Louisiana and it was obvious for other riders to see. The next day I would work against John helping Tom Officer win that stage race and Tom would thank me by giving me the Campagnolo pedals off the new Raleigh Bicycle that was first prize.
John Allis arrived with an extra bike that John Howard would be glad to ride in place of the non-functional Raleigh. Allis had been on the 1964 Olympic team and had raced with success for the ACBB amateur team in France. He was “The Man” before “Howie” came on the scene, and was known for his climbing and his ability to stay at or off the front of the hardest races in America reeking havoc and inflicting pain on the peleton before causing it to split apart. He should have turned professional on the European scene (there was no professional racing in the US at the time) by the time he made his second of 3 Olympic teams but maybe the social pressure on a Princeton Grad from the family of a tenured Harvard professor influenced him to stay amateur.
I see that both the “monk” and the “rocket” John Gromek and Dickey Dunn have rolled up in their usual immaculate kits and bikes while both look as fit and trim as they did 30 years ago. Known for their impeccable clean bikes, aged tires and scrubbed handlebar tape with perfectly shaved legs covered just over the ankle by clean white socks and shiny black Dettoe Pietro shoes, they were totally opposite in the strong points of their racing styles. Dickey showcased the Allis influence by constantly pushing the pace at the front helping him become a solid time trial rider. Gromek on the other hand was a calculating rider who could climb with the best and play off the tactics of his adversaries.
Bobby Phillips and Doug Dale are high fiving, laughing and busting each other’s balls as they pump up tires and tell lies about how out of shape they are. Bobby grew up in a cycling family and has been winning races since he was 5 years old. A prolific sprinter on the track and road, he has won more races than any active rider in the country. Not always a great worker in the pace line, as sprinters tend to be, Bobby was hard to get rid of before the finish line, where he won many races in bunch sprints and of course many field sprints for the left over places.
Doug was from a different background but had known Bobby since they were young teenagers racing on the track at Kissena, Long Island. Doug would take his track bike on the train from Westport, CT. to NYC where some old six day riders would drive him to Kissena for workouts and races then he would take the train back home. The drive and cunning these two developed by learning from the old pro’s back in the day was still in them as we gathered for our first reunion ride.
At this point about eleven of the original 14 Raleigh Boys are together for a short ride, just to get the kinks out, before the evening festivities begin. This will not be punishing, it takes too long for our old legs to warm up these days, but it is never the less a very special moment for us all. We have another ride scheduled for Saturday to ride out to the road race course to watch the pro men’s race and then continue on with our own ride.
By Saturday’s ride time we get the news that the “Hornet” Dave Chauner has come down with Lyme disease and will not be making the trip up from Philly. Dave is a central figure on this team, an Olympian on the track who made a successful transition to road racing by winning and making the podium in many top stage races in the U.S. and Canada.
He caught us all by surprise by retiring from racing right after his brilliant stage win in the 1975 Milk Race while he still had many years of great racing ahead of him.
By now we all had time to catch up on things and tell more lies about how we were not riding enough. I did notice however that we were all riding relatively new bikes with the latest technology. We had all dug out our replica or original wool Raleigh jerseys for this ride and the chatter was non-stop as we rolled along in double pace line out to the racecourse.
Once there, we stopped to watch the pro men’s and then the pro women’s fields go by with many of our old adversaries, now managers & mechanics waving to us from the entourage of colorful team cars following the race. That is when John Howard announced that we had “Passed the Torch” a long time ago.
It was an “Anger” driven sport back then presenting a rare opportunity for negative energy to actually be a good thing for those of us determined to get to the front and defy the odds of getting ahead in a hard and unrecognized sport in this country.
It was difficult to find entry into bike racing back then and new riders were not always welcomed with open arms. Finding training partners or clubs with coaching was elusive and even under the best conditions it was a lonesome endeavor. The turnover was high many kids got discouraged and quit.
We made our way in the same direction of the race on the backside of the course for several miles before we reached the bottom of the climb that led up to and around the corner to the start/finish line by the village green.
As we turned the corner at the top of the hill and begin our ride through the finish line the race officials actually stepped aside to let us through and Richard Fries, the announcer, grasped the moment and began his description of our accomplishments for the spectators who applaud while calling out our names.
Richard, is telling the crowd that without these guys riding through the finish line area there would be no American Tour de France winners that we, “The Raleigh Boys” were some of the pioneers who raced in Europe in the early 70’s with success and opened the doors for future Americans to race there.
Memories in the legs once awakened, bring back lost stories of days long ago and far away when hanging tough in stiff cross winds on cold rainy days earned us the respect of our hardnosed peers many of whom are gone now, while others of us are still out there remembering the old times.
For old guys from the 70’s it doesn’t get much better than this for recognition of what we had accomplished over 30 years earlier. As we rolled by the crowd was cheering and the applause was chilling us to the bone. I gave John Allis a hand sling to the front of our group as he was the heart and soul of our era and the reason to this day that any of us could still ride a bike with passion and style way beyond our years.
The Raleigh Boys spawned a movement of riders from around the country that over a 25 year period from the early 70’s to the early 90’s made a conscious decision to put their heads down and overcome all the built in obstacles that prevented cycling from being popular here. Slowly discovering by trial and era the established traditions of the european racing culture and devoting themselves to the dream regardless of the consequences this group broke down the barriers and took US cycling to respectability on the international scene.
We decided to put our “Futures” on hold with no thoughts for “What are you going to do when you grow up?” Go to college, get married have kids and full time jobs? We had miles to put in and races to ride. It was a small world here, but we knew how big it was elsewhere. We had experienced “elsewhere” and we wanted more.
Suffering through stages when we had to wear two pair of wool shorts because our butts were so sore from racing day after day on rough roads in the rain while washing out our own shorts and jerseys in hotel sinks knowing they would still be damp when we put them on the next morning was all part of the life we had chosen. Finishing too far down on certain stages meant getting to the hotel too late for their to be any hot water left for a shower before cramming 4 riders into a 2 person room for the night.
This was just part of the job, the payoff for making it to any kind of stage race in Europe or South America. We had arrived, we were where the real action was, where the euro kids were fighting tooth and nail for every wheel every day and no American was going to take their spot. We clawed our way up thru the bunch, got our butt’s kicked and came back for more, we took some wheels and some wins in the process.
When we came home there was only another teammate to pick us up at the airport no cycling blogs, websites or mainstream press there to interview us. We were on our own to get a job in the off-season so we could afford to go racing the following spring.
My Mom used to complain to anyone who would listen. “My son is racing on the USA cycling team in Europe and I cannot read about it anywhere in the news or hear about it on the radio or TV?”
So here we are 35 years later, the nucleus of an undocumented time in U S cycling history, flushed by the moment that had just happened but soon we will be by ourselves again on a training ride where time stands still.
Everything clicked as without a word Allis got down on the drops and went to the front the rest of us falling in line behind him, our backs were flat as the sound of chains clicking outward on cassettes filled the air and the tempo increased for what would be the “pace line from the past” our wool jerseys, took on a glow that had not been seen for many a year.
I instantly recognized that this was the inevitable instinctive motion that would take us back in time as the speed increased heart rates got pegged and we turned back the clock for “The throw-down” that know one else could see.
We were all way too fit for guys over 60 and it hurt just like it did years ago, but there was no slacking off and no pointing out the potholes as we passed through a time warp to a different time. A time in our lives that none of us would ever want to change.
For a brief moment after coming thru on the front and sitting near the back of the line before Doug Dale was to take another one of his excruciating turns on the front, I had this epiphany that for a fleeting moment removed me from the eyeballs out pain I was experiencing. The nagging question that came barging into my head was simply:
“How the hell did I ever get hooked up with these guys in the first place?”