We rejoin the final kilometer of the race with a shot from the rear of Hennie Kuiper in the back of the four-man breakaway, sitting up straight out of the saddle and stretching his arms. The narrator says, “The time is 10 past 5. A little relaxation before riding into the stadium.”
Next, we see Kuiper doing the funky turkey move with his legs, wobbling them from side to side, trying to shake the lactic acid out of his muscles before one of the biggest sprinting showdowns in his career.
The 1976 running of Paris-Roubaix, as masterfully documented in the film “A Sunday in Hell,” has come down to this: De Vlaeminck, Moser, Demeyer and Kuiper. Pretty much riding in that order. Last week, we saw Eddy Merckx make one last desperate attempt to bridge the gap, but it didn’t last long. It came much too late.
“De Vlaeminck and Moser have probably expended the most in building up and consolidating the breakaway’s lead. So, just how fresh are Demeyer and Kuiper?” asks the narrator.
If you’ve been following our careful – sometimes obsessive – analysis of this race for the past year or so, you’ll know that the narrator’s remark is a huge understatement. Has De Vlaeminck “probably” expended the most muscle fibers trying to keep this breakaway going? No. He has DEFINITELY invested the most in keeping the breakaway group a comfortable distance from Merckx. The last few kilometers have been a one-on-three contest, with De Vlaeminck being constantly attacked by the other riders. The Belgian hardman has put on a master clinic on how to respond to the challenges. With amazing reflexes and speed, he chased down each attack, nipping them all in the bud within seconds. It’s an astounding display of incredible athleticism and an amazing will to win.
We see the four leaders cruising down the road amid an eerie quiet. Then they turn a corner and we can hear the muffled cheering from the crowd in the velodrome. It makes our heart beat faster. Suddenly, the leaders are on the track! The announcer’s voice is booming in French.
It seems so ironic that a race that took the cyclists over so many stretches of brutally barbaric, Medievally cruel cobbles ends on a smooth track, a place that seems so civilized, scientific, modern and just. Few other sports do this to competitors, push them through such different worlds, make them compete in such contrasting environments.
Naturally, De Vlaeminck, the man who seems to want the victory the most, leads the group into the velodrome. The narrator says, “There have one and a half laps to do on the track. De Vlaeminck maintains his command of the situation. “
At Waffles & Steel, we’ve been spending the past year or so reliving the 1976 Paris-Roubaix classic, as masterfully documented by the film “A Sunday in Hell.”
We’re getting close to the finish – just 22 miles away. The lead bunch has been reduced to 25, with all the big names of that fantastic cycling era positioning themselves for a decisive move. Earlier, Eddy Merckx used a monster effort to devastate the field with no success. Eddy is a bit past his prime and not as dominant as he used to be.
The narrator says, “Freddy Maertens, his teammate Marc Demeyer and (Walter) Godefroot are at the front. Merckx has stopped trying to split the field.”
They’re jackhammering over a narrow cobbled primitive road that cuts through a farm field. Finally, they reach a section of modern pavement, and most of the riders get out of the saddle for a surge on the smooth surface – a great relief after the severe pave pounding.
Oh no! There’s another crash! It will serve as foreshadowing for another awful event that will develop soon. But this time, one of the victims is the great Belgian cyclist Walter Planckaert. He’s sprawled out – his legs in the street, the curve of his back on the curb and his torso on a grass strip off the road. He’s not moving. His bike is trashed, with one wheel bent into a taco shape, the tubular half off the rim like a limp black snake.
After a brief lament about losing Planckaert, the narrator returns to the front: “Up here, the battle is coming to a boil. Every other second the rhythm is broken by someone trying to break away. All the favorites are active now and have put themselves at the front of the field.”
He continues: ”DeVlaeminck, Demeyer, Godefroot, Maertens. … They keep a sharp eye on each other. Maertens takes the lead. But off to the right, DeVlaeminck suddenly attacks. Way out on the side of the road, he pedals away in a new attempt to get free. Moser is the first to react, then Maertens. This time they know it’s do or die.”
They catch DeVlaeminck and we lose sight of the bunch as they round a corner on a spectator-lined road through a small town. But as we clear the corner, we see it. It’s a crash! Someone is down! It’s Freddy Maertens!
He’s on his side, screaming in pain as he moves his body. When he’s helped to his feet, he immediately doubles over. He’s finished, out of the race. There’s a touching moment when he’s ushered into the white doctor’s car. Before he gets in, he stops to watch a mechanic pick up his bike and load it on top of a team car. In a time of personal tragedy, he still wants to be sure his ride is being handled properly, even though didn’t have to spend an entire month’s salary to buy it.
The narrator says, “Maertens sadly ends the race as a passenger in the doctor’s car.”
Welcome to the weekly revisit of “A Sunday in Hell,” a fantastic documentary about the 1976 Paris-Roubaix classic. This week, we see a paceline of cyclists barrelling over a brutal stretch of pave that cuts through a farm field. They’re actually riding on a thin ribbon of packed dirt on the road’s shoulder, sparing themselves the jarring, torturous experience of riding over the medieval stones better suited for ox carts and hooved ungulates than thin bicycle wheels.
The narrator explains that with only about two hours left in the race, the riders are going crazy fast now. It’s hard to hang on to the wheel in front of you. Then he names the leaders. It’s a list that sends a chill up the spine. ”Maertens, Demeyer, Dierickx, Godefroot, De Vlaeminck and Merckx leading,” he says. “Merckx tries to break the others with his tremendous power.” They were all part of a Golden Age in cycling. I planned to say a bit more about these guys, but I’m not. For those who know them, nothing more needs to be said. We just bow our heads and let ourselves be overcome with nostalgia. For those who don’t know what I’m talking about: I can’t help you. Please go off and do your homework.
Today is the birthday of Belgian cycling great Roger De Vlaeminck and another cyclist of far lesser talents whose name should never be mentioned in the same sentence with the man nicknamed “The Gypsy” and “Monsieur Paris-Roubaix.” The rest of this day will be spent on a long celebratory ride.
I hope you will enjoy this week’s installment in the ongoing series of the best quotes and scenes from Jorgen Leth’s brilliant Paris-Roubaix documentary “A Sunday in Hell.”
The Brooklyn team is digging into breakfast at a long table with bottles of mineral water and plates of apples and oranges, which no one is touching. Everyone seems relaxed and there appears to be lots of joking, friendly banter going on. The narrator says:
“The competitors consume a solid breakfast. Brooklyn is a good “The competitors consume a solid breakfast. Brooklyn is a good team. Roger De Vlaeminck can expect loyal and effective support …. A rare steak is a good breakfast for what lies ahead.” (close-up shot of De Vlaeminck cutting up his steak into tiny pieces)
Sunday is the best time to talk about “Hell.” Please enjoy the weekly installment of the best quotes and scenes from Jorgen Leth’s incredible cycling documentary “A Sunday in Hell.”
A cello provides the background movie as Roger De Vlaeminck is shown warming up for the race, pedaling along in his wool Brooklyn team kit. The narrator says:
“Roger De Vlaeminck gets ready. Psychology plays a big part, a quest of mind over matter, and Paris-Roubaix is a special challenge for him. Like Merckx, De Vlaeminck has won the race three times. It’s his ambition to set the record with four wins in the finest and most difficult classic event in professional racing. He knows his arch rival Merckx might be the one to do it tomorrow. Four victories.”
saddle and stretching his arms. The narrator says, “The time is 10 past 5. A little relaxation before riding into the stadium.”
nipping them all in the bud within seconds. It’s an astounding display of incredible athleticism and an amazing will to win.
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