Merckx: Half Man Half Bike, William Fotheringham (2012)

An enjoyable biography of the greatest rider that is, nevertheless, not in quite the league of its subject

Random House 9781409018956 320pp quarto £16.00

Eddy Merckx won more than 500 bicycle races. In his best years he triumphed nearly every other race that he entered. As Fotheringham frequently points out, it makes him the most successful racing cyclist ever – a spot from which it is almost impossible to imagine him being dislodged, if only because it is unheard of now to race so hard, or to seriously contest events over the entire season.

Merckx stands as a colossus over cycling and over Belgian sport. Until Lance Armstong, he was the only cyclist most native-English speakers could name, and his mid-70s Elvis quiff and thick sideburns serve as a racing-cyclist archetype every bit as eternal as the hook-nosed, pigeon-chested Coppi.

He has not had a recent biography in English – although as Fotheringham’s bibliography makes clear, the Merckx literature in French and Flemish is considerable. So, in the modish spirit of retro cycling literature, it is easy to see why this book seemed like a good idea.

It is a curious hybrid of a work, however. The only interviews with his subject that Fotheringham cites are ones conducted for journalistic purposes, some years ago. Instead, the narrative is compiled mainly from secondary sources and from interviews with other riders – possibly undertaken for a forthcoming work by the author on Flemish cycling. Nor is there much of the colourful evocation of places that might suggest that Fotheringham had re-immersed himself the scenes of his subject’s triumphs.

There are, of course, Merckx’ astonishing victories to savour anew. The 1969 Tour, his debut, when he won all three jerseys; his relentless pursuit of Luis Ocaña in 1971 when the Belgian’s reaction to apparently certain defeat was sufficient to disconcert his rival so much that he abandoned.

Many of his peloton contemporaries were content to contest races, simply to try and come second. Others crossed the finishing line imagining themselves to be first, only to find that Merckx had beaten them so convincingly that his feet were up and he was enjoying a massage.

Fotheringham also provides some analysis of his own – for example about why Flanders, from whence Merckx family sprang, remained ambivalent about their champion. He also considers just what it was that drove him, time and again to risk everything for victory.
Fotheringham, however, merely hints at subjects that could be grist for entire books.

It is an enjoyable read, and is evident from the author’s other books, he is as good a writer on cycling as there is at work today. By the time i reached this book’s conclusion, however, I had the feeling that I had consumed a giant ‘cuttings job’, albeit one that had been masterfully woven together.

PS April 12