Every now and then, I see a headline that I know won’t soon drift from my memory. Frank Vandenbroucke was found dead today in his hotel room; he had apparently died of a blood clot. The death reminds me of a similar headline in 2004, of the death of Marco Pantani. Both capable of incredible rides, both prone to devastating depression, both legends that end in a hotel room.
VDB was the picture of late 90’s cycling: extraordinary, jet-fueled exploits that made bike racing spectacular, if not realistic. And when his wings were clipped by drug scandals, he picked himself up and returned to the sport, only to fall again and again. His popularity never returned to where it was during 1999 when he won Het Volk and Liege-Bastogne-Liege.
It’s hard for us fans to recover from the pain of a fallen hero. We know it all too well. When a rider we don’t like tests positive, we are angry. When our favorites fall, it’s nothing short of heartbreak. For me, it’s not so much disappointment that they doped (or attempted to dope). I’m a realist about our sport and while I wish there was no doping, it is part of it. For me, it’s not disappointment that they cheated – it’s disappointment that the fairytale is over, and my hero won’t be back in the bunch lighting up the races they way they once did.
I don’t think we kept VDB at arms length because of his past drug scandals; it was more that he was so easy to love and so prone to failure that we kept him at a distance in order to spare ourselves the heartache of his next fall. I suppose that, in itself, is heartbreaking.
A glorious talent and spectacular rider. A man I can’t help but believe was driven, tormented, and consumed by cycling. One who welcomed the culture as it was when he was young, ambitious and was taught the ways of the sport by his own heroes – and who embraced it fully.
Here is Frank, at his finest.
I know as well as any of you that I've been checked out lately, kind…
Peter Sagan has undergone quite the transformation over the years; starting as a brash and…
The Women's road race has to be my favorite one-day road race after Paris-Roubaix and…
Holy fuckballs. I've never been this late ever on a VSP. I mean, I've missed…
This week we are currently in is the most boring week of the year. After…
I have memories of my life before Cycling, but as the years wear slowly on…
View Comments
@Roadslave
I really need to read that book. Just, finally, ordered Le Metier so at least I'll have some cycling reading material for the long off season after the 15th (hangs his head and wanders off like a lost puppy).
@Buck Rogers
It's well worth reading, not just for the insight into the doping culture but for a feel of what it's like for a non euro rider to break into the big time.
I've got alot of time time for Millar, I grew up in Hong Kong and kind of get what he says about how it shaped his personality. He also gets my vote for the way in which he's moved on and faced up to what he did.
He's been tweeting about trying to get a couple of other pro who've written books together for a sort of book club discussion with readers. Could be an interesting evening out.
@Chris
Thanks. Definitely added to my next book order list. I still haven't picked up a copy of "Slaying the Badger" either. Those, with Le Metier, should help pass the months until the Tour Down Under kicks off.
@Buck Rogers
I've got a couple on the go, Anquetil and Simpson, Le Metier and Slaying the Badger will follow.
Editor's Note: The Weight, an original piece by Patrik dedicated to the enigma known as "VDB".
The Weight
As a young boy he was special. At sign tables and start lines fathers would point him out and whisper to their boys, " That's him, the special one I told you about." Greetings and praise met him at the start of even the smallest races.The big events were like coronations for the young Prince. "This one is going to be something special, you'll see." A Messiah had been born in Belgium.
The Weight of Possibility.
It all seemed so easy so preordained. His victories grew and appeared so effortless to the mere mortals that worshiped Him. When He won, He won in grand style, with spectacular attacks that disposed of his competition and drove the hero starved masses into a frenzy. They cheered , they cried, they drank Belguim dry. A culturally divided nation was now united under one God.
The Weight of Responsibility.
As much as they willed him to be a God he was as fragile as any other man. The Wind, Rain, and Cold wear down even the hardest stone. He looked to the shadows and to those who prey on self doubt to ease the suffering and fear. When He succumbed. The spell was broken. Adulation soured to disenchantment. " He was a fraud,He made us believe. How dare he assume the Crown and all our hopes.
The Weight of Expectation.
It ends for him much as it started.
In a misty rain, as they carry the coffin past the silent faithful, a father whisper to his young son.
"That's him, that's the special one I told you about."
Entombed below the dirt of Flanders -
The Weight of Belgium Upon Him for Eternity
There's a great cyclingnews piece on VDB at the '99 Vuelta:
http://www.cyclingnews.com/features/vuelta-a-espana-iconic-stages-vandenbroucke-and-the-99-race