One More Kilometre and We’re in the Showers

Memoirs of a Cyclist. Tim Hilton . Harper Collins 2004. 396 pages hardback. £16.99. ISBN 0-00-257194-3

Tim Hilton’s parents were Bohemian communists who had met at Oxford in the thirties. They lived for a time in Edgbaston, the bourgeois suburb of Birmingham and left for France leaving young Tim in the care of his maternal grandparents in Raynes Park. It was the catalyst for his introduction to cycling.

In a lengthy anthology and memoir the author breaks the surface of post-war cycling in Britain and on the Continent. Club cycling reached its zenith in the fifties: memories of reliability trials, track racing at Easter, the Isle of Man, fixed wheels and the BLRC. He sees the classless ideal of communism as making him perfect material for a cyclist and there are many references to the Left.

Fausto Coppi appears throughout, often as a touchstone for contemporary, modish, Italian life. Radical, supposedly atheist, he is cast against Bartali, robust, conservative, Catholic.

Hilton explains the Clarion movement and identifies the link with Percy Stallard – innovation. Introverted club cycling clashed with the extroversion of the Leaguers, their shades, jazz, Italian road jerseys. The Clarion movement encouraged fellowship while the BLRC became divisive and foundered on amalgamation.

Reg Harris was a perfectionist, professionally ruthless, a showman who developed a strong rapport with his audience and cultivated journalists without giving too much away. His reputation, built up by the newspapers, attracted crowds to the tracks. His training was shrouded in mystery, but a ‘true’ story claims that on one occasion he told a twelve-hour time-trial specialist that their training methods were similar.

Tour heroes have their place, especially those of the fifties. Bobet’s metamorphosis from callow aspirant to champion is uplifting. Obsessive and self-centred, he regarded other riders as enemies or as servants. There are vignettes: Koblet, at once romantic and short-lived, yet unforgettable; Robic, aggressive and bad-tempered; the volatile Géminiani; and Vietto, taciturn and influential, but destined never to win the Tour de France. Anquetil, unsentimental, pragmatic, calculating, challenged the received wisdom of how a champion behaved in his professional and private life.

Hilton’s atmospheric accounts of the classic races reflect knowledge of geography, buildings, social history and culture. Despite his classlessness, Hilton is a traditionalist. Cycle races, he opines, belong to newspapers and not TV companies.

A return to Oxford and undergraduate days leads to pondering on village halls and the approaching demise of domestic time-trialling: Ray Booty, the end of a golden period; the eccentric Alf Engers, the determined, gritty, obsessive Beryl Burton paving the way for Chris Boardman, sports psychology and modern technology and training.

Hilton is a clever and erudite writer but prone to unforced errors. In a wordy description of cycle gearing: ‘a complete revolution of the front wheel of a “penny-farthing” would cover the same amount of road as the wheel’s diameter’ – no mention of pi. ‘The League International exists to promote massed-start events for veterans.’ In fact, TLI promotes age-related events for juveniles up to veterans of 75+ years. ‘There are no cyclists in the Navy.’ The Royal Navy and Royal Marines Cycling Association, with over a hundred members, might have something to say about that. There are other examples to irritate the devotee.

However, this book is written with authority and relish. Tim Hilton is more readable by not taking himself too seriously. Sentimental and nostalgic for the past, he seems uncomfortable in a world dulled by materialism and high disposable income.

Gordon Daniels

Copyright © Association of British Cycling Coaches 2005